To the Radiant

Red! His vision was completely filled with red. Fragments of crimson dying wishes poured incessantly into Bai Zhou's body from across the heavens. Interlacing light and shadow flickered frantically before Bai Zhou's eyes like frames in a comic strip. He glimpsed an inconspicuous corner of history— and witnessed the unsung life of an "insignificant nobody." A wind reeking of rotting corpses swept across the wasteland. The slick veteran Ale skillfully hid himself in the most unnoticeable corner of the trench. Whenever a sound rumbled in the distance, Ale buried his head desperately into the dirt like a startled mole, his raised backside left comically exposed in the open air. —Before the zombie tide surged across the horizon and before the flames of war spread to Sky City, Ale had simply been a thief. Petty and cunning, he had slunk about stealing chickens and dogs. Neighbors eyed him with suspicion; his parents considered him a disgrace. He had even been hastily conscripted straight out of prison. At first, he rejoiced at being assigned to the rear camp as a cook. A cook's life was grand! It was safe, and he could whip up extra portions for himself on the side. As long as he behaved himself in the rear, he could endure until the day the war ended and return home— Yet before long, those comfortable thoughts vanished. With news from the front that the forces of Laia of Light had been completely wiped out, grieving humanity had nowhere left to fall back. Now, the front line was the rear, and the rear had become the front line. Recruits often turned into corpses before they could even steady their grip on a blade—or worse, staggered to their feet to join the endless tide of undead across from them. Through battle after battle, the comrades beside Ale were harvested like leeks, replaced batch after batch. Even their entire unit roster had been wiped out once, yet he always stubbornly survived to the very end. Not because he was exceptionally brave or skilled in combat, but simply because whenever supplies were handed out, he would slip to the front like a loach, and whenever the war horn blew, he would dawdle in the very back like a tortoise. Some called him a "black cat with nine lives," while others cursed him as an "undying maggot." They were right to curse him. Ale feared death—feared it to death. As long as he could survive, he was willing to admit he was a coward; being a maggot was fine by him. Even his proudest extraordinary ability— was a black cat's vitality and self-healing power. Until that day. The zombie tide mounted its sixth massive assault. A shrill horn pierced the sky, and then all fell quiet, leaving only grotesque, muffled chewing sounds coming from outside the trench. Trembling, Ale gingerly poked his head out of the trench, only to come face-to-face with his captain, severed in half and wailing in agony. As Ale passed by, the captain's mud-caked hand suddenly seized his ankle. "You're... the captain now... Go... report to the centurion—" Ale desperately wanted to shake him off and say he was just a campfire cook. Yet the captain's grip clamped like an iron vise, then gave one final, violent squeeze before he breathed his last. —In the end, Ale practically crawled all the way there. When he found the centurion, the scarred man was clutching a broken half-shield, his belly torn open and intestines spilling across the ground. "Son of a bitch... you're still alive?" His eyes widened, staring at Ale for a long moment. "Good... you're the centurion now... Go... go report to the general—" "Tell him... the position here hasn't fallen, requesting reinforcements—" Where was there any general left? When Ale reached the so-called general's command post, all he saw was an old, masterless warhorse pacing about. Beneath an overturned awning lay nothing but shattered limbs and a few soldiers whose gazes were even more terrified than his own. All greenhorns, their eyes clearer and more foolish than the rabbits he kept back home. The youngest was only twelve. Looking at their bewildered eyes, Ale suddenly realized that their unit roster had been wiped out once again. Yet this time was far more perilous than any before— They had become stranded, wandering ghosts, encircled deep within the zombie horde. He didn't know which wicked soul shouted first—perhaps some soldier on the brink of breakdown, catching sight of the somewhat decent coat Ale had stripped from a dead officer. Regardless, the boy rasped with a cracked voice: "General, are we going to die?" Ale immediately wanted to snap back, to tell him not to blabber nonsense. Yet the words caught in his throat. Because he noticed that the one asking was just a boy of thirteen or fourteen, dressed in rags, his dirty face unable to hide his boyish youth. The same age as the younger brother he hadn't seen in so long. This kid ought to be flying kites in the fields, or sneaking over to steal oranges from the neighbor's orchard. Not fighting a war here. —Yet now, soldiers of this age were a common sight in the army. Their eyes were like dust-filmed glass, devoid of light. Only when looking at him did a faint spark ignite, like a drowning man clutching a piece of deadwood. That spark was so faint that even they dared not place much hope in it. Yet that single spark sent a violent jolt running through Ale's entire body. These children needed hope. Even if it was a false hope. —Perhaps it was madness; who could tell? Yet driven by some inexplicable impulse, he sniffled his bulbous nose: "I am the general." "Follow me." A few words felt heavier than a thousand jin, yet they tumbled past his lips all the same. He said: "—I'll take you home." In that instant, the feeble sparks in those pairs of eyes— flared. And so, on this battlefield where all communication had been severed, long written off as possessing only zombies and no living humans, a fake general led a band of nameless, battered survivors onto the road "home." This company of wandering ghosts, erased from the roster of the fallen— grew along the way, swelling to as many as a thousand at their peak! Even if they were either old or young, or missing arms and legs. Ale truly became the "General." A general unrecorded and unrecognized by history. He donned the armor the general had left behind and mounted the general's old steed. In the general's name, he gathered remnants and rallied their spirits, giving these wandering ghosts the false hope that they had not yet been abandoned. Ale remained just as terrified of death—more terrified than ever before. So he took the vanguard to plan their escape routes, using his veteran experience to find safe hiding spots; In one skirmish, he even used a scavenged saber to personally pierce a zombie's skull, simply because the creature had tried to lunge at a child soldier who called him "General." Even thieves had their code; he was a thief of principle, and a promise made had to be kept. If the "General" said he would take them home, then he truly would take them home. He grew less and less like the old Ale. Yet he also seemed to remain that very same Ale. They trudged, they struggled, their numbers dwindling day by day. Their homeland drew steadily nearer. At last, Sky City came into view. "Home" seemed just within reach— The final battle erupted in a dried-up riverbed beneath the city. A pitch-black deluge descended from the sky, surging forward all at once. Ale remembered nothing. He only recalled someone screaming behind him, "General! Take us home!" After his consciousness sank into darkness, only that scream continued to echo ceaselessly in his mind. When Ale woke again, that was all he could remember. *I am the "General."* *I have to take them home!* A rotting undead, clutching a saber, wandered across the desolate wasteland. By instinct, he gathered broken corpses and skeletons one by one, making them follow behind him, tireless and unending. All the unresting spirits shared a single dying wish— Home. And finally, countless years later on this very day, the shared wish of a thousand souls was borne upon the "General's" shoulders alone. He was forever alone, yet seemed never lonely. He seemed to become the general once more, leading his thousands of troops each day, traversing heaven and earth. —Yet no matter how many times he went back and forth, he could never halt his stride. Because in Sky City, they could no longer find their "home." Having weathered the cutting wind and biting frost all the way, the home they sought was never that trampled ruin, nor any physical coordinate. It was a time to which they could never return. Yet this seemed to become an insolvable riddle. Ale and his battered remnant could never find peace. They were doomed to wander this wasteland forever, wandering until Ale felt an exhaustion deep in his soul, yearning for release. —Until a youth appeared. "Perhaps he cares about this one." "He cares about this one, and this one too, and this one, and that one..." Bai Zhou buried the remains that Ale had not yet had the chance to collect. In the unseen depths, Ale had been touched. It was just that back then, the undead's simple, blunt mind had failed to comprehend— Bai Zhou slowly opened his eyes, filled with indescribable emotion. He had thought the entity was a delusional lunatic talking to himself, a theater enthusiast roleplaying a general— He was indeed no general, yet perhaps few generals in the world— were more worthy of being called "General" than he. "—Hm?" Looking up, he was startled by the sight before him. "What is this?" The scene that had just been strewn with white bones and corpses, resembling a living purgatory, had vanished without a trace. Above countless bleached skeletons, soft, shimmering figures were now rising in dense clusters. They were no longer broken, silent, lifeless husks strung together by a whip. They were people. Distinct, gentle figures dressed in ragged yet clean military uniforms, faint golden light radiating around them. Like endless fireflies gathered on a summer night, they illuminated this desolate wasteland that had been silent for who knew how long. Their figures stood densely packed before Bai Zhou's eyes. Every one of them looked quietly at Bai Zhou, their gazes carrying a serene release that transcended life and death. And standing at the very forefront— was naturally Ale. The general who was no general. No longer a hideous skeleton, but the phantom silhouette of an ordinary middle-aged man. "Where one's comrades stand, there lies home." His expression was full of deep emotion as he earnestly thanked Bai Zhou: "What you wished to convey must surely be this truth. Foolish as I was, I failed to grasp it for so long!" All they had wanted was rest after the struggle and exhaustion. That peace was not entirely the same as "going home." After all, where was home anyway— By clinging to his obsession, Ale had merely trapped himself in a dead end with no answer. "..." Across from him, Bai Zhou remained silent, merely blinking twice. When he had buried those corpses, he had simply been moved by what happened with Section Chief Liu— He truly hadn't thought that deeply into it. "We have lingered in this world long enough; it is time to depart." Turning around, Ale looked back at the phantoms behind him with a complex expression. Finally, his voice turned slightly raspy as he chose to speak the truth at the very end: "In truth, I was never a general—" His words were cut short. "You are our general," a young child soldier said. "Haven't we followed you all these years?" The phantom of an old man pointed playfully at the pile of his own bones beneath his feet. For right over the heart of those bones remained the mark of a gaping hole pierced by a whip— "What are you mumbling about? Are we leaving or not?" an old veteran rasped impatiently. Yet back in the day, he had died bringing up the rear for the "General." Then, a hand rose. A scornful middle finger thrust toward the eternal night dyed by the blood moon. Then a second middle finger, a third... This ragged rabble raised their arms high one after another. The next instant, several radiant figures began to turn translucent, gradually dissolving in place into golden specks of light that drifted slowly into the sky. Ten, a hundred— Dense silhouettes transformed into countless points of light rising into the air. They converged aloft into a rainbow-like bridge of light, stretching straight toward the sky. A rainbow bridge formed of countless rays of light rose directly before Bai Zhou, radiating warmth, carrying a tranquil serenity relieved of heavy burdens, along with—gratitude. *Hum—* Endless light surged toward the heavens like an inverted river of stars. The glow grew ever brighter and more concentrated until, at the highest vault of heaven, it vaguely traced the outline of an army, arranged like constellations. Those radiant figures stood upon the night sky, quietly waiting for someone to catch up. "General" Ale stood alone on the ground, casting one last quiet glance across this wasteland he had traversed countless times. Then he tilted his head up and looked toward the high sky. "Phew—" Looking upon that army above, he let out a long breath: "Veteran cook Ale Dodge requests permission to rejoin the ranks!" *Buzz—!* The skeleton on the ground vanished instantly. In its place, a golden rainbow of light soared into the sky. Then, *Neigh—!* A towering figure composed of light, astride an old steed forged of radiance, appeared at the head of that shining legion. The general spurred his mount, the crack of his whip echoing across the firmament. *Snap!* "Troops, march!" Just as the Skeleton General had always done, he gave the order. Only this time, he no longer needed to drag everyone along with a whip. Instead, they closely surrounded him. They were going home. And so, this legion forged of radiance began its slow march through the deep night sky. The road they tread was dazzling and bright, entirely incongruous with this eternal night. Just like long, long ago, across that dark, fallen scorched earth, where a cowardly fraud had been forced to lead a band of battered remnants, stumbling forward to fulfill his promise to "take them home." Only this time— they were no longer wretched, nor were they in despair. An army forged of light and serenity, their strides orderly, marched slowly across the horizon of the silent night sky, resolutely walking toward a distance deeper than the deep of night. On the ground, Bai Zhou looked up into the night sky. His face illuminated by the heavenly glow, he remained silent, his chest rising and falling. That journey home was a story known to no one. The grand departure of this long, radiant company across the sky— Bai Zhou was the sole witness. Just then, Bai Zhou vaguely saw that at the end of this radiant path home, the figure of light walking at the very front turned his head, offering him one final, gentle nod. And then Ale finally whispered the command that everyone had perhaps waited a lifetime to hear. He said: "Dismissed." The next instant, with a gentle *pop*, the countless luminous figures in the legion simultaneously dissolved into a sky full of tender points of light, dispersing outward. Like a magnificent cascade of fireworks blooming one after another. Even the ominous, deep eternal night that forever shrouded the wasteland could not conceal its brilliance. For a fleeting moment—dawn seemed to break across the sky. Just as they had once marched through the dark, fallen wasteland of the undead, illuminating the world for passersby, the world before Bai Zhou's eyes was illuminated as well. These points of light drifted back down to earth, seemingly breathing warmth and a touch of vitality into the ruined wasteland. The dead, desolate atmosphere vanished almost entirely. Something had begun to change. And amid the magnificent shower of light drifting down like snow, a single, dazzling droplet of golden essence descended from the vault of heaven, dripping onto Bai Zhou. Amidst the sound of boiling seawater echoing in his ears, a mystical character was branded into Bai Zhou's Sea of Ignorance, standing alongside [Light]. It was a parting gift— from the radiant host that had marched to the edge of the sky!