This Was His Haven

In the vibrant Baiyue Province, at the scenic Mantou Port, Pali—wearing a hard hat under the blazing sun—clutched a welding torch, working intently perched on a rebar framework a meter above the ground. Here, there was neither war nor plague, nor the foolish Tyr. There was only the scorching sun and pesky flies and mosquitoes. Compared to Batoya Province, which was living through an earthly purgatory, this place felt separated not just by another corner of the globe, but by several light-years of starry void. In truth, leaving aside the vast variety of insects, it was quite a pleasant place to live. The only fly in the ointment was that fertile land inevitably tended to make people lazy and undisciplined. In just two months, he had completely forgotten his half-year of military life, no longer giving any thought to things like "For His Excellency the Marshal" or "Fighting for land in the sun." After all, the impression that shipping container had left on his mind was far too profound... "Have some water." A melodious voice sounded from the side, like the spring wind sweeping across the lawns of Batoya Province. Looking at the water bottle offered to him, Pali wiped the sweat from his forehead and flashed a sunny, cheerful smile at the girl handing it over. "Thanks." The girl nodded with flushed cheeks, mumbled something, shoved a boxed lunch into his arms, and then hurried away. Pali watched her retreating figure until she paused at the street corner and looked back; seeing their eyes meet, she fled bashfully. Only then did he chuckle, unscrewing the bottle cap and taking a sip. The girl wasn't an extraordinary beauty, but she was petite and lovely. In particular, he never grew tired of looking at her rosy cheeks—so completely different from the girls back home. And most importantly, he could tell she was kindhearted. On her face, he saw none of the fanaticism or hatred so common back home; such purity and simplicity were rare among peers in his homeland. Her name was Queena, and their meeting had been pure coincidence. Her family ran a general grocery store. At the time, he happened to go over to weld a mounting bracket for their air conditioner, and later used spare steel to weld them a handrail ladder on the side. Being similar in age and in the prime of youth, after a few interactions they had grown close. Whenever she wasn't too busy, she would bring him water at the construction site, and sometimes brought lunch that she had "accidentally cooked too much of" and her family couldn't finish. Pali was not a picky eater. Food in the POW camp was cooked in giant cauldrons, and it was considered lucky if the cooks didn't cut corners and serve slop; it naturally couldn't compare to home cooking. What was more, her cooking was first-rate. Later, Pali learned from casual conversation that she was of the Bird Tribe, hailing from Brahma Province, where his unit had originally been bound. Upon discovering her background, an involuntary pang of guilt had welled in his heart. Come to think of it, she seemed to be the first person from Brahma he had encountered since enlisting. Thinking back on it now, it had been utterly foolish. Two months ago, he had been shouting slogans with his officers in a fever pitch of excitement, clamoring impatiently to march off to a place he had never been and slaughter people he had never seen. What on earth had turned a young, upright, handsome lad into a clawing, fanged beast? He had pondered this question many times, but the answers always came back murky. Sometimes it was Tyr, sometimes himself, and other times different people altogether. Yet, even if he couldn't figure out where exactly the problem lay, he had come to realize another truth: The destiny of a collective was always determined by every single person within it. Tyr was not special. And those of them led around by the nose had never been innocent either. At Mantou Port, the lunch break for most jobs began at 11:30 in the morning and lasted until 1:00 in the afternoon, after which work resumed until 5:30. For manual labor under the blazing sun, the break was granted an extra hour, extending until 2:30 in the afternoon, while quitting time was pushed back by only half an hour. Pali usually headed to the docks by the coast, finding a shaded spot beneath an awning in the warehouse district where the sea breeze reached, quietly enjoying the lunch Queena had brought him. When he arrived at the spot, the foreman of his construction crew happened to be sitting there as well. The man was named Ding Ning, in his early thirties—twelve years older than Pali—and said to hail from a small place called Mafu Town in Jinchuan Province. Unlike the officers in the POW camp, these contractors were self-employed businessmen. Their relationship with the prisoners was not between superior and subordinate, but employer and employee, so they got along quite well. Seeing the lunchbox in Pali's hand, Ding Ning teased with a grin: "That little gal brought you food again?" Pali sat down beside him and smiled. "Don't make it sound like I'm freeloading." Ding Ning chuckled. "Oh? Don't tell me you actually paid her?" Teased like that, Pali didn't blush at all, replying candidly, "She said she wants to open a restaurant someday, but she's only ever cooked for her family and isn't sure what outsiders like. Aren't I just helping her figure things out?" "Helping her figure things out, my ass," Ding Ning laughed, swatting his shoulder before suddenly adopting an earnest, fatherly tone. "I can tell she's a good girl. Don't let her down." Pali cleared his throat and adopted a serious tone as well. "You can question my craftsmanship, but don't question my devotion." On that point, there was truly nothing to fault. Ding Ning racked his memory; the Wilante couples he knew all lived in harmony, whether in Legion territory or the Alliance's. By contrast, the seemingly conservative Bolo people often experienced major upheavals in their lives and families after leaving Brahma Province. Of course, what they were like back in Brahma Province he couldn't say for sure; the Baiyue Strait was already the farthest from home he had ever traveled. "From what I see on the news, this war probably won't last much longer. Have you thought about life after leaving the camp?" Hearing the caring inquiry, Pali smiled and said, "I have. I plan to save up and open a restaurant. When the chance comes, I'll bring my father over from Batoya Province. He used to complain that our neighbors were all a bunch of old men and that staying around them only made you age faster. I remember him saying more than once that he wanted to leave Avent City and drink beer on a sunny beach. He spent his whole life breaking his back for the Legion; it's time he enjoyed life..." Pausing, he added, "Yet the old guy couldn't bear to part with his retirement benefits, nor the envious flattery of the neighbors. Much as I dislike Tyr, the man certainly had a knack for keeping those old-timers happy." Ding Ning looked at him in surprise. "Your home is in Avent City? How come I've never heard you mention that?" Pali chuckled. "I never mentioned it? Well, you know now. Not only was my home in Avent City, it was on Rongjun Road... Thanks to my two older brothers who died in battle, I moved there when I was very young, and because of that, I was recommended to the best military academy in Avent City. After graduating, I went straight into the army as a reserve officer." Speaking of which, his time at the military academy had probably been the highlight of his life. Handsome and with a bright future ahead of him, plenty of girls in his class had cast flirtatious glances his way. Only, back then, he had yet to suffer the brutal beatings of reality. His mind had been entirely bent on expanding territory and winning military glory; he hadn't given romance a single thought. Later on, after spending half a year in the recruit camp without even having made decurion, he was muddled into the most humiliated 100th Myriad in the history of the Southern Legion—a whole crowd packed into shipping containers by their officers, hauled thousands of kilometers, and wiped out the moment they hit the beach. The joke would last for centuries. Ding Ning looked the young man up and down. He had always felt his bearing and appearance set him apart from ordinary grunts, but he hadn't expected him to be a top graduate from a military academy. No wonder: though everyone was doing labor in the POW camp, while others only earned calluses on their hands, this fellow had already found a wife. Still, to think this kid's hometown was Avent City... Ding Ning fell silent for a moment, then spoke up: "...I heard some bad things have been happening in Avent City lately." "I heard too." Pali kept his head down, shoveling rice, giving a casual reply to avoid the topic. That was from half a month ago. Not just he knew, everyone here did. When they learned from the television news what was happening in Batoya Province, along with the harrowing accounts confessed by the 117th Myriad and the refugees stranded in southern Wilante Province, almost every soldier who had laid down their hatred felt the urge to take up arms once more. They wished they could fight their way back to Avent City, drag Tyr out of his bunker, and demand why that idiot had committed atrocities that outraged heaven and earth. The civilians driven into the sea were mostly their own compatriots; among them might even be their parents, wives, and children... Some soldiers whose homes were in Batoya Province had even broken down in hysterical wails. Though Pali hadn't reacted quite so intensely, that didn't mean his heart was untouched. He was merely comforting himself, trying his best not to think of the worst-case scenario. After all, his family lived on Rongjun Road, where many senior officers' families also resided. No matter how mad Tyr became, he wouldn't start by taking a blade to that street... Seeing Pali suddenly lapse into silence, Ding Ning realized he had touched on a sore subject. Rubbing his nose awkwardly, he was about to change the subject when he suddenly remembered something he had heard from the project tenderers earlier. A month ago, Baiyue Company's contract for the new development zone included a resettlement area project covering roughly thirty mu, reportedly meant to receive refugees evacuated from the quarantine zones in southern Wilante Province. Most of these residents hailed from Avent City. After spending a month in quarantine and nearly half a month drifting at sea, they were finally docking today. Half a month ago, Port French Fries's Survivor Daily seemed to have mentioned it in passing, but with so many breaking events happening, it hadn't received much front-page fanfare. In his memory, that report seemed to mention the ship's arrival time, and it appeared to be today! Those survivors from Avent City would surely know something about the situation back home. At that thought, Ding Ning perked up immediately, turning to Pali with renewed energy. "I've got good news. Want to hear it?" Pali glanced at him. "You already said it's good news, and you're still asking if I want to hear it?" Ding Ning smiled mysteriously without explaining. "This evening after work, don't rush back to the dorms to rest. Head over to the docks and look around." Pali looked at him, completely baffled. "What for?" The kid really didn't know! Ding Ning gave him a secretive grin and refused to elaborate. "Don't ask. You'll know when you get there." Pali rolled his eyes, annoyed by his suspense, but kept the words in mind nonetheless. After finishing his meal, he took a short nap. Upon waking, he washed the lunchbox clean. On his way back, he took a detour to Queena's house, set the lunchbox beside the mailbox at her front door, and tucked a note inside with his compliment for the day. Strictly speaking, it wasn't just praise; to him, it truly was a rare delicacy of the mortal world. Humming a little tune, he returned to the work site, briskly wrapped up the rest of his tasks, and clocked off right on time when the six o'clock chime sounded. Returning his tools to the warehouse, Pali remembered the foreman's words. Instead of heading back to the barracks to rest, he walked toward the docks. Along the way, he strolled while taking in the street views on either side of the road. Thanks to the hard labor of prisoners like them, this formerly barren wasteland had grown prosperous of late, no longer just a bare harbor. Under the guidance of Alliance engineers, they had used concrete said to be infused with biomass to build self-healing roads. Next came lumber processing mills of various sizes, followed by rows of tropical-style standalone cottages lining the streets. Once those houses were built, a stream of survivors from Haiya Province and the South Sea Alliance soon moved in. Some of these people sold clothes, some sold shoes, others sold hardware tools and bicycles, or opened bars and restaurants, and the silver coins the prisoners had previously received from the Alliance finally found a use. Yes, the Alliance wasn't joking. They genuinely paid them wages according to the Alliance's minimum wage standard, paid without fail for two whole months starting from the day they landed. What's more, after he signed on with a privately contracted construction crew, his pay had even increased! This was the most unbelievable part to Pali; in his eyes, it was downright insane! And the craziness didn't stop there. Baiyue Company, which managed the POW camp, not only encouraged them to take jobs, but also urged them to start businesses, even providing limited-liability guaranteed loans for their business plans! Except for being forbidden to leave Mantou Port or carry firearms, they were virtually indistinguishable from the survivors living nearby. If they rented or bought a home, they could even apply to switch from collective barracks to "residential surveillance with once-a-week check-ins," moving outside the POW camp. The Alliance wasn't worried about them fleeing at all; after all, where could they possibly run on two legs? So long as they generated more value than sitting idle in the camp, the Alliance didn't even care whether they did mental or physical labor, much less where they worked. As far as Pali knew, the captain of their combat engineer squad had founded a construction company named "Build Fast." A third of the construction sites in the newly developed area were handled by them, and their work was both fast and excellent. Those fellows had probably drawn on their experience digging trenches and building pillboxes; living up to their name, two- and three-story houses really did sprout from the ground at breakneck speed. Not just the combat engineer squad; the captain of the adjacent century wasn't to be outdone either, leading his men to open a lumber mill called "Jungle Destroyer." Rumor had it business was booming so hard they worked overtime every day. As for why they chose that name, it was probably related to the Jungle Corps that had thrashed them before. Yet the Alliance people weren't so petty. They didn't take the name to heart at all; some even grinningly went over to take photos beneath the mill's sign. From Pali's observations, officers at the centurion level seemed to do quite well when taking the plunge into business. As frontline grassroots officers, they had strong execution skills and respect among the rank and file, and the grit to fight and struggle was something required not just on the battlefield, but in launching an enterprise as well. The only thing they had to overcome was the mental brand Tyr had stamped into their minds. Then again, those whose minds couldn't adapt had long since fled into the jungle to become fertilizer; they wouldn't be starting businesses, finding reemployment, and adding bricks and tiles to the Alliance's construction. Compared to those thriving centurions, the millurions and myriarchs fared somewhat worse. Though many among them had risen from the ranks, they had been away from the grassroots for too long. The Alliance gave them no preferential treatment on account of being millurions or myriarchs. Just adapting to that sudden drop in social status was no easy feat. Furthermore, the war wasn't over yet. Even if the flames of war had reached Batoya Province, and even if the stubborn Tyr was steadily becoming public enemy number one of the world, in their eyes who would ultimately triumph remained an open question. Moreover, even if it ended in a draw, they could be exchanged as prisoners of war and return to the Southern Legion to resume their posts as senior officers, so they naturally disdained the Alliance's monetary blandishments. Pali, however, felt that this time was very likely different from the last. The Eastern Legion had indeed exchanged prisoners with the Alliance, but the hatred and the scale of that conflict had been on an entirely different level, and back then the Alliance hadn't united so many forces as it did now. Furthermore, that eastern expansion had not represented the collective will of the Eastern Legion, but merely the remnants of the eastern expansion faction led by General Klaas's former subordinates. Thus, each side claiming its own victory had suited everyone's interests. This time was different. This war was a clash of entire systems—in other words, total war! Not to mention the line-crossing methods Tyr had employed in this war; no one would agree to let him off, not even the Wilante people themselves. This reckoning would likely reach all the way to Avent City... Regarding this war and the fate of the Southern Legion, Pali's heart was pessimistic—as foul as that shipping container filled with excrement and urine. Yet regarding the future of the Wilante people, he was optimistic. Though coercion had played a part, here in Mantou Port he truly saw another possibility. If Avent City's industrial machinery and steel had not been used to produce an already excessive glut of weaponry, and if the intellect and sweat of the Wilante people had not been made to serve the whims of their superiors, but rather themselves and those around them, they never would have had to endure so many lies and tribulations. He planned to write down his reflections on this war into a memoir; perhaps it could provide some enlightenment to future generations. At the very least, it might keep them from meeting a fate like his—shoved into a container reeking of filth and dumped onto some land they had never heard of to rot away. Pali knew well that not everyone was as lucky as he had been—not only coming ashore safely and transforming his worldview, but also meeting so many kind souls. Before him were ninety-nine other myriads, and after him who knew how many more, all without exception pushed into quagmires great and small. A whistle sounding in the distance snapped Pali's thoughts back from the newly conceived memoir. A hundred-meter-long passenger liner was slowly approaching the pier. The ship had come from the west. Pali didn't know what Ding Ning wanted him to see, but he waited patiently in the plaza by the pier. Before long, the gangway was lowered from the passenger ship, and weary travelers stepped onto the port one after another under the crew's guidance. Most of them were Wilante; their distinctive noses proved their heritage. Moreover, they must have traveled a long voyage: not only did they carry bulging luggage, but thick overcoats or leather jackets were draped over their arms. Evernight Port was in the southern hemisphere and should be having summer right now. So had they come from Silver Moon Bay? Or West Sail Port? No— Suddenly, Pali spotted two familiar figures in the crowd, freezing in his tracks. Almost instinctively, he shouted at the top of his lungs: "Dad?! Mom!" Hearing the cry from the shore, several passengers looked up, but seeing an unfamiliar face, they looked away. Two people, however, did not. Stepping down the gangway, Bazel froze where he stood, staring blankly at his son on the pier, his cloudy eyes gradually welling with tears. "By Marshal Julius..." His withered lips trembled as he muttered a prayer. Then he dropped his luggage, brandished his cane in excitement, and hurried forward, tapping the cane against the ground. His wife beside him did the same. The elderly woman kept pace with the old man, her steps even quicker, rushing forward in hasty strides toward their running son. She reached out with both hands and gripped his shoulders tight, as though terrified he might vanish into thin air. Her lips quivered; not a word came out, yet it felt as if she had spoken volumes in that single instant. Looking at his mother, who seemed to have aged many years since he had last seen her, Pali felt a sudden urge to weep. In his twenty years of life, he had not shed a single tear since he was old enough to remember, but right now he could barely hold them back. Panting for breath, Bazel finally caught up. Propping himself up with his cane, his grin stretched from ear to ear. "Haha... You rascal! I knew you had nine lives! You wouldn't die so easily!" "What nonsense are you babbling, you old coot!" The elderly woman glared fiercely at her husband, then turned her tender gaze back to her boy, reaching up to touch his face. "Tyr's people told us you were lost at sea and offered their condolences. Your father and I never dreamed we'd see you again... No matter what, as long as you're safe, that's all that matters..." Looking at the two haggard elders, Pali sniffled, speaking through a choked throat: "Mom, Dad... I've put you through so much." The old woman gave a faint smile and replied softly, "Your mother and father haven't suffered any hardship. We're doing fine. Your dad was just down on his luck—the boat capsized while we were sailing, and he fell into the sea. Lucky for us, Captain Malok fished him out. But when he came ashore, he caught a cold, and our savior ended up quarantined too." Pali had seen reports about that "cold" on television; it seemed to be called the "Death Agent." At first, the news claimed it was a virus targeting the Wilante, but later discovered other races could be infected as well. Even some Awakened had caught it. "Then Dad is okay now...?" The woman smiled and said, "This old man had already picked out his grave, but thanks to the Alliance's Institute of Biological Research and the Academy folks, your dad pulled through." Though a specific cure had yet to be developed, as long as treatment was administered promptly and one's immune system was strong enough, recovery was possible. At Old Bazel's advanced age of seventy-nine, recovering could only be chalked up to the blessing of Marshal Julius... "That's wonderful..." Overcome with joy, Pali didn't know what to say for a moment. Seeing his lost son returned without a hair missing, looking even sturdier than before, Bazel wore a deeply gratified smile. "How have you been living here? I heard you guys..." Meeting his father's gaze, Pali quickly explained, "I've been doing well. The Alliance didn't make things hard for us; they gave us jobs and let us build our own homes... Though we're restricted to the vicinity of the camp, they haven't treated us harshly at all." Old Bazel looked at him in astonishment, then glanced past him at the orderly streets and rows of standalone cottages, asking incredulously: "These... were all built by you?" Seeing the amazement on his father's face, Pali couldn't help showing a hint of pride. "Yeah! The road connecting to the harbor and all those cottages—we built them ourselves!" Worry lingered on the woman's face. Her index finger gently stroked her son's cheek as she murmured with heartache: "You must have suffered so much... Look how tan you've gotten." "Ah, that's nothing," Pali smiled. "Work is work, but at least the Alliance doesn't ask for our lives. Working for Tyr was another story..." Mentioning Tyr made a flame flare up in his chest, wishing he could slice the bastard into ten thousand pieces. Still, now was not the time to think about that man. Looking at his parents, reunited after so long, Pali drew a deep breath and said earnestly: "...Dad, Mom, let's not talk about me. I've been worried sick about you two all these days. Tomorrow I'll take a day off and show you around." Worried about making things difficult for his son, Old Bazel said at once, "No need to go through the trouble. Keep to your work, behave well in the camp, and try to get released early... We have plenty of days ahead. Your mother and I have already decided to leave Batoya Province behind and settle down here." Pali laughed. "What trouble? I haven't even touched my leave for this month." Bazel stared at him, dumbstruck. "You get days off?!" Could this still be called a prisoner-of-war camp?! Pali chuckled. "Of course we do... Oh, right, do you have a place to stay? Let me help carry your bags there first, and we can catch up over dinner..." It seemed the world truly had changed. Watching his youngest son, who had imperceptibly come to think of himself as part of the Alliance, Bazel could not help musing silently. Perhaps the future wasn't as bleak as he had imagined. Even if the Southern Legion suffered complete defeat, and the Legion's final line of legitimacy was ruined at Tyr's hands, the Wilante would not vanish from this world. At most, they would just adopt a more normal way of living. The moment he realized this, he felt as if the entire world had brightened. The regret of not attending Marshal Julius's funeral in person, along with the wanderings, displacement, and hesitation endured throughout this journey, all became inconsequential in this instant. Here was his haven...