A week after Leitao and his team successfully covered the evacuation of some civilians from Nanjing City, they moved like ghosts through the darkness. Relying on their familiarity with the terrain and their indomitable will, they carefully skirted around the massive Japanese Army units that were searching for prey like demons. Every step was taken with extreme caution; they dared not make a sound, as if walking a tightrope where a single slip could mean total destruction.
They eventually slipped into a village more than thirty kilometers outside Yangzhou City. The scene before them, however, struck their hearts like a sharp blade. The village appeared as if it had been baptized by the apocalypse; everywhere were broken walls and ruined buildings, a silent, desolate graveyard. The crumbling walls shuddered in the cold wind, emitting shrill, mournful wails as if recounting the catastrophic disaster they had endured. Rubble covered the ground in chaotic piles, each piece stained with blood, resembling countless pairs of desperate eyes silently crying out about that horrific, inhuman past.
When the local Underground Party liaison officer recounted what happened, his eyes filled with instant fury. His gaze was like a raging fire, as if it would swallow all evil. His teeth ground together with a rattling sound, each snap an indictment of the Japanese Army's atrocities, his voice growing hoarse and trembling with extreme grief and indignation. He said, with deep sorrow, that this …
Chapter 43