CHAPTER 962: CHAPTER 959·"LOOK AT IT, HOW MUCH IT RESEMBLES THE STARS THAT REPRESENT HOPE.

Su Ming’an raised his head.

The man in the forty-fifth painting looked young, his expression resolute, the glass bottle in his hand emitting a brilliant glow, like a fireseed burning bright.

Su Ming’an stared at this painting intently, until he was absorbed into it.

...

[No.45 link the fire (Fire Transmitter)·Tang (Tang)]

...

Tang realized the gravity of his responsibility as soon as he received the glass bottle.

The special medicine was accompanied by issues such as high mortality rates and instability. He only had one sample in hand and needed to research more backups quickly.

He immediately contacted his true friend — the Deputy Minister of the City Guardian Department, Su Shize. Known as a unifier of various organizations, Su Shize knew where to find the right research institute.

In the bright conference hall, their hands clasped together.

"This matter can only be conducted privately, as the City Guardian Department, being a lawful organization, cannot openly defy the Oracle." Su Shize, a middle-aged man, advised: "Based on the experience of the previous forty-four, the Deity must have already discovered us. Soon, the Holy Alliance Army will come knocking. Tang, are you sure you want to take on this hot potato?"

Tang lowered his head, gazing at the glass bottle in his hand. It displayed a splendid blue color, as if an endless star sea was wandering within the small glass bottle. This appearance... engendered expectation, making one want to preserve it.

"See how much like a star of hope it is." Tang said.

Simple words, yet instantly made Su Shize understand that they would not turn back.

One by one, people sacrificed their lives to pass this fireseed into their hands, believing their place was the endpoint.

"If we cannot firmly stand our ground, where can this fireseed be passed to? Isn’t it for passing it to us that the forty-four sacrificed themselves?" Tang said.

Su Shize said nothing, just patted Tang’s shoulder. This action indicated he would always stand by Tang’s side.

After this meeting, the Human Self-Rescue Alliance immediately entered a wartime state.

Soon, the Holy Alliance Army gathered and declared war on the Human Self-Rescue Alliance. Both sides faced off in the neutral territory - the independent land of Uthers City.

Unlike the previous forty-four — this time, it was no longer a one-sided hunt and execution by the Holy Alliance Army, no longer the powerless escape and death of forty-four.

— It finally became a war of equal strength.

A large-scale war fought at any cost to preserve the fireseed.

It was Tang’s turn, the forty-fifth, and the fireseed side finally had the power to resist, rather than only fleeing in disarray, as if it symbolized a leap.

Su Shize went to contact research institutes that could improve the special medicine, while Tang was responsible for leading this war.

Tang had long foreseen the future carnage.

— War was not a casual matter, even far more grievous than the previous fireseed transmission. Just a few minutes on the battlefield could far surpass the casualty number of "forty-four". The list of the dead would be presented to Tang’s hands every day.

On the battlefield, people shouted with fervor, moved their steps to bid him farewell. He held the glass bottle, gazing at these young soldiers, waiting for their triumphant return.

"Alliance Hierarch! Rest assured! We will preserve human history! On the day the war ends, I will paint a stone mural for you!"

"Alliance Hierarch! We repelled the Holy Alliance Army today by dozens of miles! The war situation is steadily improving, we promise to bring you victory! Do you like blue roses? I wish to offer you a blue rose."

"Alliance Hierarch! You don’t need to worry, even if it’s tough, we’ll persevere. I don’t want those ballads, those paintings, those literatures... to be burned in the flames. I wish our next generation to know humanity has a history of thousands of years. This weight and accumulation must not be erased."

And he held the tablet with the soldiers’ names, reciting them softly, trying his best to remember their names.

Otis was a young lad, his favorite was the handmade stone murals by his mother and grandmother; he wouldn’t let this cultural heritage vanish. When promising Tang, his smile was more fervent than the bonfire by the tent.

Lawson was a middle-aged man, his wife loved blue roses the most, the hometown was filled with blooming flowers. He didn’t want to let this beauty disappear. He patted his chest and made loud promises, his eyes glittering.

Michelle was a military teacher, after the Human Self-Rescue Alliance urgently started conscription, she became a think tank. She always recorded things that people hadn’t forgotten, recording literature, art, and ballads in books. Her voice, while speaking, was light and slow, yet made people hear her determination.

She thought, when the war ended, she could return to teaching once more. This time not teaching military, but history, she wanted to be a history teacher, to tell all those heavy memories forgotten by people to children, including her four-year-old daughter.

— Your world is actually very long, and history is very full. It’s not just a few fleeting years; countless people used their lives to reclaim these for you, please remember them.

— And Tang listened to their prayers, expectations, aspirations, remembered their wishes, watched them step onto the battlefield time and time again. Under the sunlight, they waved their hands high, proclaiming their wish for certain victory, as if a step into the brilliant future.

"Alliance Hierarch, we’re off!"

"Return safely."

The yellow sand shrouded his eyes and the images of the young figures.

The first gunshot sharply rang out, the scent of burning talismans floating in the air, the tearing sound of fabric, the sound of flesh splitting... they echoed one after another. Hissing, dripping, like the sound of morning dew hitting leaves.

Afterwards, the yellow sand drifted away.

He remained standing in place... unable to wait for a single person to return.

In his hand, the names on the tablet darkened one by one, the death numbers gradually became piled and unclear to his eyes, like souls burdened in heaps.

The glass bottle stored in his left chest weighed like a thousand pounds, as if something intangible had gripped his heart, making him increasingly unable to breathe.

Deep into the night, he would awaken in cold sweat, subconsciously reciting the names of the deceased and the year of their death, because the deceased had said — they didn’t want to be forgotten. In this world, "forgetting" meant erasing everything, the names and appearances of the dead entrusted in his heart were his self-imposed responsibility.

He recorded their wishes for them.

Preserved their graves for them.

Expressed for them their longing and hope for the living.

Until most of the people he remembered became dried bones in his mind — as if their names had attained eternal life in his mind.

At this moment,

— He too seemed to become an immortal wraith.

"Today’s casualty report is as follows..."

"The First War Zone had 2827 deaths, 2917 severe injuries. The Second War Zone had 6028 deaths, 1920 severe injuries. The Third War Zone had 3092 deaths, 10281 severe injuries..."

"Alliance Hierarch, Alliance Hierarch..."

"Alliance Hierarch... I’m... sorry, I beg you... don’t let my mom and grandma... know about my death..."

"Blue roses... they’re really beautiful, Alliance Hierarch. My wife has always liked them. After the war ends, could you... deliver them to her for me..."

"Songs, paintings, literature... I still wish to keep them, to teach them to the children. But... I can’t do it anymore... cough, cough cough cough... but apart from me... someone else... will... do it. That’s, that’s good..."

"Alliance Hierarch, you must... live on... glass bottle... stars... live on..."

"..."

Countless voices echoed in his mind, growing ever more indistinct.

Sometimes he would lift his head in a daze, wondering if he was already dead? Was he now nothing more than a wraith wandering the world, listening to regrets?

Sometimes he would suddenly vomit at the mirror, as if the reflection was not himself, but a corpse covered with fresh blood, knife wounds, sword wounds, bullet scars, and burns.

... Will there be a day when this ends?

... Or is it destined to be a hopeless struggle?

To defy the deities with a human body... how reckless, yet how... courageous. Like those poets filled with romanticism and idealism before history buried them.

To challenge the vast with the small, to overcome the supreme with the humble.

He wiped the mirror, and what he saw was not his own face. Instead, it was—forty-four skeletons piled upon him, lowering their heads, gripping his hands, embracing him tightly.

Carrying their memories, he often forgot who he was—sometimes he felt like he was Tina, the doctor researching special medicine, clutching a glass bottle to her left chest and running desperately. Sometimes he felt he was carrying a backpack of drawing papers, trudging on a frigid road.

Sometimes he longed for the taste of braised ribs, looking at the dishes on the table, always finding in his memory a mother who used to make braised ribs and chicken soup. Sometimes he would subconsciously brew a cup of hot water with wolfberries, thinking of an elderly class leader he never met, drinking it down.

—As if he had thus lived their lives.

The ancestors have not died, but rather have achieved eternal life through him.

In a book not yet burned, he once read about the madness of Middle Ages witch hunts. It was said that witches would preserve the fireseed in distant places, waiting for people to retrieve it.

And he had become the witch.

"Alliance Hierarch, remember to rest, look at you, your dark circles have deepened. Didn’t sleep well last night, did you... Although I know you need to contact all major armies, remember to eat on time, rest on time..."

Martha was an old lady, she was Tang’s grandmother. On the first day the war started, she hurried to Tang’s side. She often smiled kindly at the young people training, making hot flatbreads for them, waving goodbye.

She would also enter Tang’s room late at night to cover him with a blanket. Tang would talk to her about recent pains, and she would just smile and listen, a patient listener.

Su Shize finally found the right researcher for the medicine—

The most famous mysticist of the time,

Ms. Su Lixian.

She promised to exert her utmost effort to formally research the qualified special medicine.

As the war progressed, more and more people were drawn into it, with the flames of war gradually spreading everywhere. Even those who suffered from the oppression of order for a long time were awakened by the slogan of "saving human history," trying to—preserve human history.

—If humanity has any chance to resist, this should be the last time.

—If humanity does not want to become playthings in the hands of the deities, this should be the last struggle.

Once history is obliterated and the hatred of the past forgotten, suppressed in the grand rain, who’s left to stand as they do today, defying the world?

"Because we all know that winter is not eternal."

"The flowers will bloom all over the garden, the cracks in the wall will be mended."

"People will love amid the flames and shouting."

"People will love amid the flames and shouting..."

They sang such ancient ballads, reminiscing about an untouched past, and proceeded one by one to the battlefield.

Tang continued to watch them, personally arranging their marching routes, pushing them onto the battlefield, personally... receiving some soldiers’ relics.

His bouts of daze increased, as did his vomiting at the mirror, even developing into insomnia, dizziness. The memories of forty-four lives weighing down his mind, too heavy, enough to crush a person’s soul.

But he had to force himself to persist— he was the leader of the Human Self-Rescue Alliance, the initiator, moderator, commander, navigator of the war.

He was the Lighthouse in the eyes of all soldiers. If he were lost, everyone would be at a loss.

Remembering names, erasing names. Waving to the soldiers, sending them off, watching as the names on the tablet darken, again and again. Expressing the regrets they never voiced, fulfilling the wishes they never realized.

He repeated this process continuously, gradually forgetting how many days into the war it was. With too many people in his mind, it almost drove him mad.

Until that day, the Holy Alliance Army caught Grandma Martha, holding a blade to her neck, demanding Tang exchange a High Rank General for her life.

At that moment, what Tang felt was release—if he could also be an exchange, would this torment and pain end?

He saw Grandma looking at him, with gentle and caring eyes.

Her gaze always remained gentle and calm. On countless nights, she stroked his head, letting him rest amid the agony of life and death.

"Alliance Hierarch," the old lady said slowly, "in the future, without Grandma to cover you, you’d better cover yourself carefully to keep from catching cold, understand?"

"I believe spring will come. If that day truly comes, it must be... brought by you all."

"You’ve always been a good child, I know that."

Tang didn’t have time to speak.

Martha actively collided with the blade.

The vibrant blood burst open on the blade, even startling the soldier holding her. The soldier never expected an old lady to have such determination, daring to rush toward the blade.

Her neck was ripped by the blade, nearly piercing half her skull, with the neck bone visible, a posture so decisive it was shocking, yet her face remained smiling, radiant and gentle.

Just like,

...a fireseed.