Invasion [Towards the Outpost] Chapter 15
“The officers were too harsh. They inflicted such cruel torture, and when they realized the person was innocent, they just roughly bandaged the wounds and threw him out.”
Roy was a very compassionate man. He discussed with Lin Yuan, “He doesn’t seem to have any family coming to pick him up. Xiao Yuan, shall we help him?”
Lin Yuan glanced toward the dim alley.
There, a sentry leaned against the earthen wall, sitting in the half-light and shadow, his expression unreadable.
Lin Yuan watched for a moment. Something secretive moved from the alley and returned to her feet.
“I don’t think it’s necessary,” Lin Yuan finally withdrew her gaze. “The person he’s waiting for isn’t us.”
Chapter 7
After leaving the Military Administration Office and bidding Roy farewell, Lin Yuan boarded the bus heading home.
Leaning against the window, she tilted her head and watched the scenery outside blur past.
The bus window’s glass reflected a delicate, indifferent, and bored little face.
The bus itself was oddly shaped, like a strange doll haphazardly stitched and patched together from various scraps.
It rattled and jolted along the road, groaning under its burden.
In this era, human technological production had severely regressed. To obtain most mechanical parts, one had to rummage through old ruins. Complete pieces were impossible to find; patchwork was the norm.
The sun hung on the horizon like a salted egg yolk melting away, casting a faint orange-red glow over the bloated, sprawling imperial capital.
Even from this distant suburb, the white tower was visible in the distance.
Standing at the city’s center, it was the emblem of the entire empire.
Pure white, soaring into the clouds.
“Mom, look, it’s the White Tower!” A young boy on the bus excitedly pointed out the window.
He opened a huge picture book he was clutching and repeatedly compared the illustrations of the White Tower inside.
“Mom, this book says that hundreds of years ago, it was the White Tower and the king who saved humanity during the great catastrophe.”
The mother sitting beside him absentmindedly stroked his head.
Exhausted, she cared little for the king or the White Tower, only worried about dinner tonight and tomorrow’s survival.
“This book says that in the past, the clouds in the sky were white. The same color as white sugar.”
The child’s innocent voice continued to echo through the carriage.
“The book says that at the very beginning, the sentries and guides were equal in number. They held hands and marched to the battlefield together.”
“The book says…”
The passengers all smiled indulgently.
Children’s words were naive and often amusing.
Who ever believed clouds were white? Everyone knew clouds were either purple or green.
How could frail guides possibly fight? It was pure fantasy.
As the bus picked up and dropped off passengers over a long journey, the scenery along the road changed from cramped, chaotic adobe houses, shanties, and wooden huts to increasingly neat, grand, and luxurious buildings.
The White Tower grew larger and more sacred in view, impossible to ignore.
The White Tower was the city’s heart; the closer one got, the wealthier and more noble the neighborhoods became.
Lin Yuan got off here and slowly walked up the clean, orderly cobblestone street.
It was late; street lamps flickered sporadically, casting light on the sparsely populated streets.
In a corner by the road, a couple and their young daughter tended a small fruit stall.
Their worn-out cart held only three small green apples, drooping and unappealing.
Still, the family was reluctant to pack up and leave.
Fruit was a rare luxury these days. They waited in the quiet night, hoping even for a single sale.
Lin Yuan showed no interest in the apples, taking measured, small steps and lifting her skirt as she walked past.
[These must be the best apples in the world.] A voice suddenly echoed in her mind.
It wasn’t a phrase formed from actual words—more like a feeling rising from shallow consciousness.
Yet it was so strong and pure that even without deliberate focus, the voice came clearly into Lin Yuan’s mind.
She looked toward the stall and saw the source: the thin little girl behind the apples.
About four or five years old, she stared earnestly at the green apples, her eyes sparkling.
As if she could turn those shriveled little apples into a peerless delicacy just by looking at them.
Lin Yuan glanced at the girl, then at the apples, and kept walking.
[If you bite into one, the sweet and sour juice will burst out, flowing over your tongue and between your teeth.]
[It’s refreshing and satisfying.]
Lin Yuan’s steps faltered.
[It can fill your belly.]
[And sweeten your heart.]
[I really want to bite into one.]
[I want to eat one so badly.]
One phrase after another rang out clearly and loudly.
The onlookers all lifted their heads, their gazes drifting toward the apples.
Could they really be that delicious?
Lin Yuan stopped and turned back.
She stood in front of the stall, studied the three apples—neither fully green nor yellowish—for a long while, then took out a few imperial coins and placed the apples into a bag.
Just as she was about to leave, the sound of enormous swallowing echoed vividly in her mind.
So clear, so intense that Lin Yuan had no choice but to pick one apple by its stem and place it in the little girl’s hand.
Walking down the street, tempted by that swallowing sound, Lin Yuan wiped an apple on her dress and bit into it with eager anticipation.
Sour—extremely sour.