heard

In October [-], New China was established.At the end of the same year, National Shangyong University moved back.On the day when the first winter snow fell, Zhao Changgeng stood downstairs of the revived Mingde building and asked Chen Xu: "Mian Gong, do you still accept students?" With silver-rimmed glasses, he asked back: "Brother Ying Xing, you were also a leader in economics in the past, why do you want to study history again?" Zhao Changgeng slightly raised his head, watching the snowflakes flying in the sky: "I heard that studying history can learn the past and learn from the present. He once told me that he wanted to study General History with you, so I wanted to know what it was that made him willingly give up his life."

Later, the students of NUS found that Chen Xu had an assistant by his side.The man was not young, but he was not a lecturer on a temporary basis in the department;Every time he attends class with Chen Xu, he sorts out the lecture notes and notes for him. Occasionally, when Chen Xu is ill or attends an academic conference, he will also give lectures on stage.The man seldom mentioned his own name. The students only knew his surname was Zhao. He had an excellent memory, and he could easily understand a lot of historical materials, which was no worse than any formal professor.

As time went by, there were gradually rumors that he was also an alumnus. Before the Anti-Japanese War, he had a bad style of work, which caused the school to be expelled.Once, a few students didn't pay attention, and after they finished speaking, they found that the person concerned was right behind them. Their faces turned pale with fright, but the person walked away without saying anything.It was Jichun when the Yanji class suspension movement spread to Shanghai. Chen Xu stopped writing when he heard the voice on the radio, looked at the thick green sycamore leaves outside the window and said, "George is here." Then he turned to the opposite side and was no longer there. The young man asked, "Do you regret it?" Zhao Changgeng looked up at him, and his gaze fell back to the manuscript in his hand.

With the joint efforts of the two of them, almost four-fifths of the draft of the general history of China was completed that year.Soon the campus was in chaos, and Zhao Changgeng was accused, dragged to the street and brutally tortured. Those people threatened Chen Xu and asked him to report Zhao Changgeng's crimes.Chen Xu looked at them and said only: "That's my student." Then there was a long period of suffering. Chen Xu couldn't survive that time, and was burned to ashes together with the general history that was about to be completed. Zhao Changgeng broke his heart. Two ribs miraculously survived.

Two years after resuming classes, Zhao Changgeng, as one of the few old scholars left in the history department of the National University of Shanghai, was hired exceptionally.His lecture notes are excellent, and his classes are even more exciting, especially good at modern history. The classrooms are often overcrowded.Many people urged him to write a book and said that at least another professor title would be more than enough. However, in the past 20 years, Zhao Changgeng has not published any academic papers.He threw himself into the mountains of materials, filling in the burnt drafts from memory; he also asked people to ask if anyone had heard of Hisakawa Shigeyoshi, or knew the former chief of staff of the 23rd Brigade, Kitai Mozo family.

It was probably during that time that his little friend in Japan sent me this memoir.The book is not too thick, and it is rare to use a female voice to describe the espionage experience lurking inside the East Japanese army during the period from [-] to [-].Zhao Changgeng has seen too many similar things, true or false, serious and joking, but they are often more profit-seeking than truth-seeking, disappointment more than hope.But when Zhao Changgeng opened the book, his eyes froze, he knew that he couldn't be wrong, this person had really done love work.

The author said that her father was a samurai in the East, and her mother was a Chinese actor. Her half-brother participated in the war and served as the chief of staff of the brigade. After graduation, she stayed in China and had to rely on her elder brother to provide medical assistance for the brigade. In the military camp, she met her brother's trusted deputy, who had grown up in China, and was a lover she could not declare.Zhao Changgeng's hands trembled suddenly, it was an uncontrollable trembling that instantly spread to the whole body.He knew that the person who wrote this book was Tsing Yi.

"...At that time, I was ready to dedicate my life. Ishi Yuan-kun and I must pay the price for this mistake. But he stopped me. I knew he had his plan. I saw the stars in his eyes. Then It’s a belief that I can’t understand... Later, I was escorted into the execution room of the spies, and through the crack of the door, I saw a man with wounds all over the body bound on the execution chair. I didn’t know if it was him...I and Shi Yuan You have all resisted, but we know that the suffering has just begun..."

It has been nearly 60 years since he received the last telegram that night, and Zhao Changgeng finally learned about Zhao Qiming again.He called his friend in a foreign land, and he could hardly press the number with trembling hands. He asked the other party to find the author of this book no matter what.Soon there was a reply saying that the person had been found, and he was in Hirokawa County, Yoshida City.Regardless of his old age and frailty, Zhao Changgeng took the opportunity to rush to the local area in person. He was greeted by a young girl, just as they were back then.

The girl told him that Noriko Kitai, her grandmother, had died of illness five days ago.It was a very beautiful Dongri girl, and Zhao Changgeng could vaguely see the appearance of Tsing Yi on her face.The girl led him to the cemetery where Noriko Beijing died, and carefully handed him a pocket watch in front of the snow-white tombstone. It was not a valuable item, but it was well maintained.There was a shocking bullet mark on the case, and a person's name, Qiming, was engraved in small script on the back.

The girl said in a gentle Hengdu accent that her grandmother had told her that this pocket watch belonged to that man. If someone finds it in the future, she must return the pocket watch to him in front of her and tell him that that man once said leave it to him.When the man was finally free, he said that he never blamed him.Zhao Changgeng held the pocket watch tightly in his hand, as if embracing his brother after decades.He knew that time had taken away his last chance to find Zhao Qiming, and he passed by that person, fearing that no one in this world would know his existence except himself.The tears that had been in arrears for 60 years finally broke the embankment at this moment and filled them all up.

After returning to China, Zhao Changgeng turned down all the invitations, locked himself in the room, consumed piles of papers, and consumed the little energy he might have left.In the autumn of the second year, the "Manuscript of General History of China" was written, and in the third year, the manuscript was published in the summer.Zhao Changgeng fell seriously ill, and even he himself felt that he couldn't survive that winter, but he still watched the new year's shoots grow into fertile leaves, until they finally withered and fell off the branches.Only then did he gradually realize that the published general history has been praised to an unprecedented height.Zhao Changgeng thought, he already knew it would be like this, but unfortunately Chen Xu and Zhao Qiming couldn't see it.

When he was discharged from the hospital and returned home, countless reporters rushed to interview him.It was at that time that Zhao Changgeng suddenly realized that his memory was failing. Like Jiang Lang who returned the colored pen, the memory originally engraved in his mind was getting weaker and weaker, and maybe one day it would become blank.He has nothing for reporters to write in the manuscript, and what he wants to say has already been said in the book, and the rest, after all, is not enough for outsiders.He lived tenaciously like an old vine, but gradually he couldn't memorize a large amount of historical materials, couldn't remember what he had just done, couldn't recognize the students and grandchildren who came to visit him, and even forgot the name of the person he was looking for name.

Zhao Changgeng lived to be a hundred years old, very few people can reach his age.Many times he even thought that even if Zhao Qiming survived by chance, he might have already died of old age!He is no longer obsessed with searching, but has already regarded searching as a habit.When a person gets old, it is easy to feel that time is rushing and chaotic. Sometimes his mind is very clear and he can type out the telegrams he has sent in paragraphs. However, most of the time, he feels that he just closes his eyes and rests. passed.

It was as if he woke up in the night before dawn, still holding the pocket watch that had stopped moving in his hand.He saw a star hanging high on the eastern horizon, so bright that it dimmed the moon.That star is called Qiming.As the old saying goes: Once you see Qiming, you see Chang Geng at night.Zhao Changgeng knew that it was almost dawn.He laughed suddenly, and it was early morning, as they had hoped.Zhao Changgeng felt the rare clarity in his mind, those past events that had long been forgotten in the dust of time were flashing back vividly.

He remembered the day when the cement road was paved at the National University of Shanghai, he was standing downstairs in Mingde, piously holding a handful of soil and filling it into a jar.That is the land that Zhao Qiming once stepped on.He planted an asparagus in a small clay pot, so slender and petite, but so full of vitality.Today, the branch plants of unknown generations are still placed in the window, above the dense branches and leaves, there is a star that is gradually fading.Zhao Changgeng slowly closed his eyes as he looked at the white belly rising from the sky.There was silence all around, the rocking chair creaked a few times, and it fell into silence.The morning light penetrated through the window and splashed silently, and the pocket watch he was fumbling for finally fell from his hand.

(Finish)