Spy Wars: I am the Captain of the Military Police

Chapter 994 Home, truly gone.

Occasionally, he could see a few figures moving slowly among the rubble, just like himself, in the gaps between the ruins.

Most of them were citizens with withered faces and empty eyes. Some were futilely rummaging through the ground with sticks or their hands, hoping to find some usable items or food. Others, like him, seemed to be searching for something, their eyes blankly scanning this familiar yet strange place.

When they met, they rarely spoke, only exchanging brief, numb glances before quickly looking away and continuing their seemingly hopeless search.

In those eyes was the same despair, the same sorrow, and a deep-seated numbness toward one's own and others' fates.

The closer you get to Zhonghua Gate, the more intense the battle was, and the more horrific the scene became.

The marks of battle are etched onto this land in the most direct and brutal way. The once pinkish-white walls are now riddled with bullet holes, like a honeycomb, silently testifying to the ferocity of the firepower at the time.

In many corners and on the streets, large patches of dried, dark brown blood remain—bloodstains that cannot be completely washed away, seeping into the texture of the bricks and stones, becoming permanent scars on the city.

Some sandbag fortifications, overturned and blasted apart by artillery fire, lay scattered in the street like torn entrails, with empty ammunition boxes and twisted bayonets discarded beside them, as if a catastrophe had just taken place.

He even saw an abandoned Nationalist army cap, riddled with bullet holes, half-hidden under rubble, covered in dust.

Finally, panting, he arrived at the street corner he remembered.

The shop that once displayed the golden signboard of "Ruifuxiang" has been replaced by a huge, charred pile of rubble that reeks of smoky smoke.

Several thick, charred beams, licked black by the flames, stretched out in an extremely twisted posture, pointing towards the gray sky, like the exposed, ferocious skeleton of a giant beast that had been burned to death, silently accusing the atrocities.

Despite having visited this place yesterday, Li Shouren couldn't help but shed tears, his heart filled with sorrow.

"My home is gone..." Li Shouren murmured to himself, his voice trembling uncontrollably.

Stumbling and staggering, he rushed up to the pile of rubble and began to dig through the heavy bricks and wood with his bare hands.

The cold, broken bricks chafed his palms, and sharp splinters pierced his fingernails, drawing blood that mixed with black ash, leaving filthy marks on his hands.

But he felt no pain; he just mechanically and desperately dug, as if his wife and daughter were buried beneath him, waiting for his rescue.

He pried open the burnt counter area and found only a few pieces of charred cloth, which crumbled into powder at the slightest touch.

He dug toward the location of the bedroom in his memory, moved a heavy beam, and his fingers finally touched something hard.

He excitedly pulled it out, only to find half of an abacus burned beyond recognition, with few beads scattered around.

Unwilling to give up, he continued digging downwards, the blood from his cracked fingernails staining the soil and bricks red.

Finally, under a pile of broken bricks, he spotted a few familiar shades of blue—the color of Xiu'e's favorite tea set.

He carefully peeled it open and only managed to dig out a few pieces of porcelain with the faintly printed character "瑞" (rui).

"Ah...!" A long-suppressed, beast-like wail finally broke out of his throat. Li Shouren slumped onto the ruins, his hands clutching tightly the pitiful, cold relics: half an abacus and a few shards of porcelain.

An overwhelming sense of despair and sorrow engulfed him like a tidal wave.

My home is truly gone.

The home that was once filled with laughter and life is now nothing but a pile of scorched earth and a few cold fragments in my hand.

Hot tears welled up uncontrollably, sliding down his face, which was covered in ashes and blood, and dripping onto the cold ruins, instantly freezing into tiny ice crystals.

The man did not shed tears, but he did not go to the sad place.

These ruins, these shattered porcelain pieces, are proof of the collapse of his entire world.

He sat on the ruins for an unknown amount of time, until the cold wind chilled him to the point of almost losing consciousness.

But in the end, an almost obsessive thought, like the last straw, pulled him back from the brink of despair.

"Xiu'e must still be alive! Xiao Juan must be alright too!" He roared to himself, forcing himself to pull himself together with all his might.

"They must have cleverly run away and hidden somewhere else, or been taken in by kind neighbors or monks at the temple... Yes, that must be it!"

They must be waiting for me somewhere!

This idea became his new spiritual pillar.

He struggled to his feet, wiping away the tears and grime from his face. Although his eyes remained vacant, his steps became firm again.

He no longer confined himself to this now-scorched "home" and began to expand the scope of his search.

He went to the nearby houses that had not yet completely collapsed and might offer some shelter, and carefully searched each one.

He knocked on the doors that still had dilapidated panels hanging on them, asking every survivor he encountered who looked somewhat kind and seemed to still retain a shred of humanity for information.

His voice was hoarse from the cold and sorrow, tinged with a humble, almost pleading hope:

"Excuse me... have you seen a woman named Xiu'e? She's in her thirties, not very tall, and quite pretty..."

"Excuse me, could you tell me if you saw a little girl, about four or five years old, named Xiaojuan, with two little braids, last December?"

"Brother, do you remember, on the day the city fell, did a woman run this way? Her name was Xiu'e..."

However, most of his questions seemed to disappear without a trace.

Some people shook their heads blankly, their eyes even more vacant than his, as if they couldn't understand what he was saying.

Upon hearing inquiries, some people immediately reacted like startled rabbits, waving their hands in terror, quickly closing doors and windows, and retreating into their own fear.

Others said nothing, but with red eyes and trembling fingers, they silently pointed to the more and wider ruins in the distance. The meaning was self-evident, filled with compassion for those in the same boat and a deeper despair.

Occasionally, very occasionally, one might obtain some clues as vague as a candle flickering in the wind.

An old woman, huddled in a corner of a dilapidated temple, pointed shakily south: "It seems... I think I saw a few women... running that way..."

A man rummaging through the ruins for food, cautiously looking around, said in a low voice, "I heard... at Xiaguan Wharf... the Japanese have captured a lot of people to work for... Why don't you go check over there?"

Each time, even with such a faint and elusive clue, Li Shouren felt as if an invisible hand were gripping his heart tightly, and the flame of hope flickered violently once more.

He would rush headlong in the direction indicated, as if he would miss Xiu'e and Xiao Juan if he was even a second too slow.

He ran through the ruined streets, leaping over potholes, his heart pounding in his chest.

However, the result was the same every time.

Apart from the surging eastward river, the icy cold water, and the menacing Japanese patrol teams, there was nothing else at Xiaguan Wharf.