Chapter 221 - 137: I Killed a Person (Part 2)

Chapter 221: Chapter 137: I Killed a Person (Part 2)

The mouthful of sweet soy milk he had just swallowed suddenly felt like a cold stone lodged in his throat. He couldn’t swallow it down, nor could he spit it out.

His mind went blank for an instant.

"What did you say?"

Chen Zhuo blurted out.

He thought he must have misheard, or that Miao Shian was playing some kind of twisted joke.

’Miao Shian was always so proper and by-the-book. As far as I knew, the most he should be doing now was preparing for some project of his. How could he possibly be involved in someone’s death?’

"Don’t be ridiculous. Where are you?"

Chen Zhuo’s tone grew serious. His grip on the cup of soy milk tightened.

Only the sound of wind could be heard through the receiver.

"I got a phone..."

Miao Shian didn’t answer the question.

His train of thought seemed to have derailed. He could only mechanically spill the images that were crushing his mind.

"The kind... a maritime satellite phone for international calls. I have it at the camp."

’Camp?’

’What camp?’

Chen Zhuo’s brows furrowed into a tight knot.

"There was a man..."

Miao Shian’s voice was strained.

"He borrowed my phone to call home. His wife and three children were in Baghdad."

Baghdad.

Chen Zhuo’s pupils contracted slightly.

He watched the news from time to time; he knew what that name meant.

"The call went through."

Miao Shian gasped, his voice starting to fracture.

"His neighbor answered and told him... a bomb dropped last night. The house was leveled. They couldn’t dig anyone out. Not even bones were left."

Chen Zhuo’s fingers tightened around the plastic cup. It warped under the pressure, and white soy milk overflowed, dripping to the floor.

"He hung up, stood up, and bowed to me. He thanked me."

Miao Shian’s voice took on a chilling, deathly stillness.

"At five-thirty this morning, he used a rope he’d taken off a tent and hanged himself from the frame of the generator I’d just fixed. I stood right below... and watched him for three hours."

At the end of the hall, a window that hadn’t been closed properly creaked in the wind.

Chen Zhuo’s breath caught in his throat.

He stared at a patch of peeling whitewash on the hallway wall as an overwhelming sense of absurdity washed over him like a tidal wave.

Just ten minutes ago, he had been reading a martial arts novel, engrossed in tales of heroes drawing their swords to right wrongs.

And now, countless time zones away, a satellite phone call meant to be a beacon of hope had become a hangman’s noose.

Chen Zhuo said nothing. He didn’t know what to say.

Through the receiver, Miao Shian’s breathing grew increasingly ragged.

It was as if he didn’t dare to stop, terrified that the images would swallow him whole if he did.

"I thought I could help them..."

"I brought water purifiers. I assigned them numbers. I even drew lines on the ground to show them how to queue for water."

Miao Shian rambled, his words tumbling out incoherently.

"But a few days ago, the shelling started... Hundreds of people were trampling each other, fighting over the muddy water leaking from the generator."

"I tried to stop them, and they shoved me into a puddle of filthy water."

Miao Shian paused.

"Captain, a kid came for water. He was only ten years old."

"He rushed at me and bit me. He bit clean through my arm, like a rabid dog."

Miao Shian’s voice was completely raw.

"His mouth was full of blood. My blood."

"He cursed at me... He said the bomb that killed his mother dropped from a machine just like mine. Because my clothes were too clean, my machine too advanced."

"Captain... in their eyes, I’m no different from the pilots who drop the bombs."

Chen Zhuo’s Adam’s apple bobbed.

His neck ached. He slightly relaxed his left shoulder, which had been clamping the phone to his ear.

SLAP.

A muffled sound.

The martial arts novel he had been pinching between his fingers dropped to the hallway floor.

The book landed face down, its pages spread open.

The swordsman on the cover was now pressed against the rough floor.

Chen Zhuo didn’t bend down to pick it up.

He slowly raised his right hand and gripped the receiver. It felt slick in his palm, covered in cold sweat.

"Am I just making things worse?"

Miao Shian murmured on the other end, his voice filled with utter confusion and self-doubt.

"I thought just following the rules would be enough... I thought just giving them clean water would be enough."

"Was everything I brought here a mistake? Captain... Did I... just screw everything up?"

A long, dead silence fell over the line.

Only the crackle of static and the dull roar of the generator on the other end pulsed against Chen Zhuo’s eardrums.

Chen Zhuo opened his mouth to speak.

His throat was tight and dry.

He wanted to say something.

But he realized that the experience from his two lifetimes combined was utterly useless at this moment.

He’d never seen a bomb, never seen a hanging, and he’d certainly never seen a ten-year-old boy bite someone with a mouth full of blood.

He was just an ordinary person who had grown up in an age of peace.

The most profound comfort he could offer was telling someone it was okay to fail a test, or not to worry about being scolded by a teacher.

But on the other end of the line was a life lost, and a sixteen-year-old boy whose entire worldview was being shattered.

Holding the receiver, Chen Zhuo turned and leaned his back against the cold hallway wall.

He tilted his head back, staring at the row of old fluorescent lights on the ceiling.

A full half-minute passed.

He finally spoke.

His voice lacked its usual confidence. It was strained, almost a stammer.

"Shian."

Chen Zhuo spoke slowly, as if testing thin ice that might crack at any moment.