Liang Song paused slightly, subconsciously lowering his head to look at his cuffs. Only then did he realize that the cuffs, which had merely been damp earlier, were now heavily stained with blood after a long day of activity. The color had deepened, blooming like a grotesque yet tragic flower across the fabric, a record of his battle.
The young recruits were only seventeen or eighteen years old, their faces still showing traces of childhood innocence. Their eyes were filled with awe, as if they were gazing at a legendary hero. One smaller recruit had his eyes wide open, shimmering with curiosity and admiration.
The night, like a massive black curtain, hung heavily over the entire base. The lights in the barracks flickered out one by one; the noise gradually faded, replaced by profound silence. Liang Song lay on his bed, staring at the pitch-black ceiling, his thoughts racing like a wild horse.
Chapter 430