"I collapsed onto the oversized wedding dress and cried until I fainted at the post office door." Elena raised her head, her gaze drifting into the distance. "When I woke up, I thought that was the darkest thing the war could ever bring me."
"But everything that followed proved it was far worse."
She wiped her tears with her palm, took a deep breath, and continued:
"Later, Alex and I had no contact for a while. Then I heard that the commander of that war had dispatched large numbers of tanks and artillery from our town to the front line."
"I realized a major battle was about to begin, so I wrote to Alex again—both to confirm his safety and to persuade him not to take part in such a dangerous war."
Elena covered her face with her wrinkled hands, her voice turning hoarse.
"I waited for a long time. I stayed at the post office day and night, anxiously waiting, but I received no reply from Alex—until the day before the war began."
"That letter… that one…"
Her voice broke, as though she could not bring herself to say its name.
While listening to Elena, Bai Liu continued sorting through the letters. Once again, he found the final letter Alex had sent to her.
It was long—a family letter arranging matters after his death, and also a desperate suicide note.
-----------------
[To Elena:]
I should not have written this letter to you. But after thinking it over again and again, it seems that besides you, there is no one else to whom I can entrust my final affairs.
It is strange, Elena—little girl—that I have never met you, yet you bore the title of my fiancée, endured the death of the person I loved most, and accompanied my parents through their hardest years.
If nothing unexpected happens, you may soon have to witness my death as well.
It is selfish of me. You have been present in name during all the most important moments of my life, yet I never once met you, always rejected your existence—and now I must tell you, the stranger who knows me best, the most important truths before I die.
But there is no alternative. You are the only person to whom I can entrust these matters without guilt.
I know my death will not bring you great sorrow. If anything, it will free you completely from a marriage that should never have existed.
Perhaps only with you can I believe that my death might be a good thing for someone. That thought brings me a strange sense of calm.
Now I must confess all the mistakes of my life.
I devoted my life to saving others. In the end, I saved no one.
I invented a potion to delay death—but those rushing toward death never announced it in advance. They did not say, "Alex, I'm about to die—freeze my time."
I could only press against their bleeding wounds, breaking down and begging them to hold on for one more second. In the end, I carried their bodies back helplessly, sitting beside them until dawn, waiting for the next wave of casualties.
It feels as though Pluto—the lake of death—must find my struggle amusing.
I worked frantically to improve the potion. But no matter how much I slowed death, it still arrived. All I did was prolong their suffering.
In unbearable pain and despair, they would grip my hand and beg me to let them die quickly.
Because even if they survived, they would likely die in the next offensive.
Sometimes I ask myself: Is my selfish desire to keep them alive in agony more cruel than allowing them to die?
Am I wrong?
Elena, I could never bring myself to reply to your earlier letters because I could not face the name that appeared in every one of them—Guy.
Guy did not die on the battlefield.
I lied about his death. Using my authority as a battlefield medic, I secretly transported his "body" to my laboratory.
I poured everything I had into saving him.
And miraculously—he revived.
When I saw him open his eyes, I almost wanted to thank the devil.
Whatever god was responsible, I wanted to thank him for returning Guy to me.
I must be honest with you. My potion alone was not strong enough to achieve such an effect. Our facilities here are limited; I lack the proper university-grade supplies. I had to rely on locally sourced materials.
Most of them were of poor quality and caused failures.
Except for one strange substance—a red paint.
The natives use it to coat the statues of their so-called evil god. It is oily and highly flammable. When we ran out of proper solvents, my superiors confiscated half a jar from a captured native and sent it to my lab as a substitute.
It looked thick and unsettling—like blood mixed with oil.
But I had no other choice.
When I added it to the formula, an incredible change occurred.
Guy, whose heart had stopped for nearly half a minute, came back to life.
At first, I thought I was hallucinating.
But he improved day by day.
No—that is not accurate.
Time itself began to reverse for him.
His torn skin reattached. His shattered bones mended. Even the nails and hair that had grown after death shortened again.
This is not within human capability. This is the realm of the gods.
I have always despised the so-called evil god worshiped here. I believed it was merely a symbol invented by ignorant people to explain the incomprehensible.
But when Guy sat up, opened his eyes, smiled in confusion, and asked why he was in my laboratory, I closed my eyes and held him tightly.
If this is the evil god's work, then perhaps I understand why people go mad for him.
But when Guy awoke, he had forgotten the past seven days.
He did not remember the massacre of villages. He did not remember rebelling. He did not remember being shot.
He remembered nothing. I hid him in the laboratory and waited anxiously for the coming battle.
Before the war even began, he learned the truth from a recruit assigned to clean the lab.
He discovered that the commander planned a final offensive—to obliterate all native settlements, along with the neutral zones where women and children had taken refuge.
Though those people never participated in the war, the commander declared that such "inferior" believers must be eradicated entirely.
You can imagine what Guy did.
He attempted to assassinate the commander.
He failed.
He was riddled with bullets and burned to ashes by a flamethrower.
When I arrived, there was nothing left.
I relieved the guard on duty and stood alone all night where black scorch marks remained.
Elena—do you know what I saw that night?
Cannons thicker than a child's waist are being moved into position. Cold tanks lined in rows. Soldiers ready for slaughter. Eyes burning with anger, fear, and greed.
At that moment, I understood—
No potion I could invent would save anyone from this war.
Those who wish to kill will kill.
Those who refuse to kill will suffer and beg not to die.
There seems to be a natural food chain between these two kinds of people, endlessly cycling.
Even the power to reverse time cannot change this outcome.
So I volunteered for the commando unit.
I will venture deep into the rainforest to meet the evil god who granted me this power to ask what price must be paid to bring this war to an end.
For that, I am willing to give everything.
If I do not return, please forgive me for selfishly entrusting my parents to you. Care for them until you come of age.
Then live your own life.
—Alex
-----------------
"This was the last letter I received from Alex," Elena whispered, her eyes distant and unfocused. "The next day, the war began."
"I will never forget it. The artillery shook our town. Ash fell from the walls. Plates and glasses shattered. Planes roared overhead. Everyone huddled indoors in terror. I hid under the bed and saw flames flickering in the distance."
She fell silent for a few seconds.
"The shelling lasted three days. On the third evening, the town where the soldiers were stationed—the place storing all the weapons—was attacked by the natives. They coated the weapons in that same red paint."
"It triggered a massive explosion."
"After the blast, there was nothing left. The town, the rainforest—everything was torn apart. It was half a month before anyone came to investigate." Elena looked at Bai Liu steadily.
"You said you were Alex's comrade. That's impossible."
"Because there were no survivors in that war."