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墨書 Inktalez
"Where have you been all these years?!" I asked him, a bit angrily.
He stuffed a piece of lamb dripping with sauce into his mouth, chewing with his head down. Then he sighed, not looking up or saying a word.
"Grandma has died, and you didn’t even come back?! Are you even human?"
This statement finally struck him hard. Song Gang slowly raised his head, his eyes vacant as they met mine. From those usually fierce and decisive eyes, I saw a hint of sadness and helplessness. I knew he had grown up with Grandma and was deeply attached to family ties. The fact that he hadn’t shown up for so many years, not even when Grandma passed away, must have had its reasons. Yet, I couldn’t contain the anger that had built up over the years and let out such heavy words. I felt he owed me, or Grandma, an explanation.
"Thank you. I wanted to come back, I missed Grandma, I missed you. But..." Song Gang's voice trailed off, revealing deep helplessness and pain in his eyes.
He pushed away the bowl of condiments in front of him, downed a gulp of beer, and lit a cigarette. Watching the smoke curl upwards, he continued, "We were together from the new recruit company; we never separated even after being assigned to different units. Later on, we offended someone we couldn’t afford to offend. We got into a fight—seven of us against more than ten of them—and we won decisively. I kicked one guy so hard that it ruptured his spleen.
He had connections in the military, and soon orders came down from above to make our lives miserable. Commander managed to withstand the pressure and reported it to the military district; we were expelled from the army. Although the punishment was severe, the person we offended had deep connections and considerable power; however, his influence was within the military. As long as we left the army, we could escape any potential retaliation from him. In a way, Commander protected us. Of course, this also meant the end of our military careers.
We were supposed to be sent back to our hometowns, but we all felt too ashamed to go home. One of our comrades suggested we try our luck at the border since he was from a village near the China-Myanmar border. When we got there, we realized that if we wanted to get rich, we either had to deal drugs or mine for Burma Jade Raw Stone. Both options were dangerous and came with threats from warlords and tribal militias.
At that time, we were young and lacked any standout survival skills; our most practiced skills were combat techniques learned in the army. This jungle country was rife with conflict and constantly recruiting mercenaries. According to recruitment propaganda at that time, if one could survive in such an environment for a year or so, the rewards would be substantial. Driven by a desire for money and dreams of returning home in glory, we joined a Mercenary Group without any hesitation. A year’s worth of pay was incredibly tempting for us back then.
But what awaited us first was the death of a comrade. We had barely been with this Mercenary Group for two months when according to our initial agreement among the seven of us, those who survived were obligated to take care of the fallen comrade's family—most importantly by providing them with compensation. When we approached the Mercenary Leader about our pay, he readily agreed but tossed us a package of drugs instead. In this jungle country, drugs were second only to USD as hard currency.
If we were willing to accept drugs, we would have gone into drug trafficking instead of becoming mercenaries. When we insisted on receiving our pay in USD, Commander shook his head—this was all he had for us. Among this Mercenary Group, not only were we united but also the most formidable fighting force; thus, the Mercenary Leader wouldn’t dare deceive us—he simply didn’t have the guts to do so. Since we refused drugs, in order to placate our anger, the Mercenary Leader offered another solution: going to Africa.
There was a huge demand for mercenaries in Africa, and payments were definitely made in USD. He connected us with an African mercenary organization and arranged our travel plans; all this was supposedly compensation for what he owed us. Later on, we learned that he sold us off in Africa for a significant profit—but none of that mattered anymore. Once in Africa, it was ruled by religious tribes; intense battles followed one after another without giving us any time to catch our breath."
The battles of the African Mercenaries were frequent and intense, with exceptionally high-stakes combat sometimes lasting for days. The physical and mental demands on both sides were immense; even a moment's lapse could turn one into the other's bounty. Of course, surviving the fight meant a considerable reward. We quickly gathered the first death benefit for our fallen comrade, fulfilling our promise.
However, before we could catch our breath, we faced the loss of another comrade. It was a vicious cycle, one I now clearly understood, but at the time, we had no way out and could only continue to throw ourselves into the endless fighting. Soon came the death of our third comrade...
To numb my fear and the bleakness of the future, I began to drink heavily and sought solace in the company of women. I tried everything that might ease my frayed nerves. Surviving didn't necessarily mean being lucky. In the end, only two of us remained alive. Da Zhang lost an arm while trying to save me; he dragged me back to cover with one hand. The path we traveled was soaked in blood—our blood. To this day, I still dream of that bloody trail.
That battle also completely settled our promise; I gave Da Zhang the last of our bounty.
Silence.
"Have you killed anyone?!"
Silence.
In that silence, we returned to my shop.
Behind the shop was a courtyard, and further back was where I lived. Song Gang was still immersed in grief; clearly, this had stirred his deepest pain. We didn’t speak again, brewing a pot of tea and drinking it quietly.
In my memory, Song Gang was not a silent or deep person. He should have been cheerful, carefree, living each day as happily as possible and forgetting unpleasant things in the shortest time. He used to chat quite a bit. His change unsettled me somewhat; I was more reserved and preferred to think things through before acting. His current state seemed to draw closer to mine. Two somber individuals sat in the cool autumn breeze of the courtyard drinking tea, appearing somewhat like reclusive sages while actually feeling quite miserable.
Suddenly, I remembered something and quickly said to him, "Your household registration has been canceled by the developer. Our compound has been demolished; you probably don’t know that yet. To minimize their share of housing, they’ve used underhanded tactics to cancel your registration since you haven’t been in touch. I can't prove you're still alive, and I can’t compete with that Fatty. I'm sorry I couldn't help you."
"I went to find that developer; I've got my house back."
"Dammit, I've run countless times, and in the end, they wouldn't even let me through the door. How did you manage to get them to give you a house so easily?"
"I gave him a circumcision, and he was so moved that he just handed over the house to me." Song Gang finally lifted his head, revealing a lewd smile.
"Go to hell," I cursed.
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