As a Fusang wanderer who eats in Chang'an City, the native of the Tang Dynasty, although he and Beidao Timber have a lot of friends in Chang'an City, and have seen all kinds of bad and beautiful people and things, but a brazen guy like Peng Hongyu, Beidao Timber is really the first time to see it. ∞ miscellaneous ∑ ∑ insects ∞

Beidao Timber said: "I have a small business at this time, and I really can't hand over so many silver taels and Datang treasure banknotes. ”

Peng Hongyu said: "Do you know who I represent? I represent the yamen, the government, you are a foreigner, you want to eat in our Tang Chang'an City, you don't pay the premiums and fees, how do you let us cover you. ”

Kitajima Timber said: "It's not that I don't pay, I really don't have any money in my hands. ”

Peng Hongyu said: "I don't care about you, anyway, we just want money, we protect you at this time, if you don't pay the money, your store will definitely not be able to open." ”

North Island Timber wanted to survive on his genuine goods and excellent service, and he proved to be too naïve. At night, they would trade their goods at the barracks for bread. And it was all carried out successfully. Their boots are a great temptation for us. Compared to the inferior boots on our feet, their boots are tall and soft and very comfortable. We received a lot of delicious food from home and exchanged it with them. A pair of boots can usually be exchanged for three pieces of your own hair bread, or a loaf of bread and a thin, hard lean sausage.

But most Russians have long since become destitute. They were ragged and pitiful, and they came to try their luck with trinkets or carvings made of shrapnel and bullet casings. However, these are not popular with us, and despite the great effort and elaborate workmanship, they can only change a slice or two of bread at most. The farmer on our side is very stubborn, but very cunning. They put bread and sausages under the Russian's nose and dangled them, and the man drooled, turned pale, and stared in a daze, and took all the good things in one fell swoop. Our peasants wrapped up the spoils of war with something, and then took a knife and cut a loaf of bread from the stock for their victory, and treated themselves with crispy sausages. Looking at their cunning appearance, I felt very uncomfortable, and I really wanted to hit them twice on the head. They can only calculate others, and they will not give anything to others. We were so poor in communication.

I was always assigned to guard the Russian peasants. At night, they are like sick birds curled up, and like giant beasts arching their upper limbs. They always stick their faces to the barbed wire, their hands fishing in the net, their eyes glazed over, their expressions blank. They lined up in a line, enjoying the dry evening breeze blowing in the woods of the wasteland.

Very few of them spoke, and sometimes only in a few words. But I feel like they get along much better and sleep better than we do. Anyway, the war is over with them. However, once you get dysentery, you are also in pain.

Listening to the old national army who guarded them, they were quite lively when they first arrived. Fights and disputes over the use of knives also occur from time to time. And now, they are like defeated roosters, sluggish and indifferent, many people are too lazy to go, they are too weak and weak, but sometimes this kind of thing happens again, and the whole room is moving and making a fuss.

…

They were next to each other and side by side behind the barbed wire, one after the other. As soon as there is a vacancy, someone will fill it quickly. They were silent; Occasionally, someone wants to ask for a paper cigarette butt to smoke.

Their figures stand in the darkness. A messy long beard swayed in the evening breeze. I didn't know them in the slightest, I just thought about a group of prisoners of war in front of me, and I was excited about it. They lived an ordinary life and toiled, but they were sent to the front for no reason and became prisoners of war. If I had learned more about them, their names, their past, their families, their wishes and their troubles, I might have changed my mind and felt sorry for them. And at this moment, I only feel the suffering of life, the hardship of life and the cruelty between people.

We will treat them as enemies after an order, and we may become friends with them because of an order. Those men gently took a pen and wrote a few lines on the table, and what we used to think of as the despicable means of the world became a new way of pursuit. But every time I see their childish faces and their religious beards, I can't distinguish them from friend or foe! In the eyes of the recruits, every junior officer, in the eyes of the students, every senior teacher, is the most hated enemy, but in our eyes they are even more hateful. As soon as they return to freedom, we will see each other as enemies and aim our guns at each other.

I panicked at this terrible association and almost went astray. Not yet, but I haven't forgotten these thoughts, and I'll keep them in my memory until the end of the war. I was thrilled: Could it be the kind of noble and great goal that I had thought about in the smoke of gunpowder, that I had pursued after the baptism of the battlefield? Is it a task that must be completed without the passage of time?

I divided a cigarette into two sections and handed it to the Russians. They bowed down respectfully to me gratefully and greedily lit their cigarettes. The red light shimmered on their faces. My heart was a little more relaxed; Like a farmhouse in the night; Through the small window, there is a calm, lighted hut.

Time passed without a word. On a misty morning, another dead Russian was buried; On average, people die every day. I stood guard just in time to catch him buried. The muddy hymns sounded like the sound of an organ in the wilderness, and the Russian peasants sang in a circle.

Just like that, the funeral was quickly completed.

At night, in front of the barbed wire, they stood silently, letting the cold wind blow in the birch forest. The sky was filled with cold starlight.

There were a few Russians who knew a little German, and after a few encounters, they became acquainted with each other. A musician who used to be a violinist in Berlin learned that I could play the piano during a casual conversation, so he took out his belongings and started playing. The people around them listened quietly with their backs to the barbed wire. He stood there and pulled back and forth, his eyes closed slightly, and he looked very intoxicated, as if he had completely forgotten everything around him, and was immersed in the wonderful sound of the lyre; He also played his instrument rhythmically at me in a friendly manner.

The people hummed softly along with the melodious Russian folk songs he played. The sound was solemn and deep, as if it came from deep underground, and the Russians were more like a raised hill. The sound of the piano is crisp and subtle, just as weak and thin as a shy girl standing in front of her.

(End of chapter)