77

The two tall stone tablets stand quietly on this lush Gobi Desert. The vigorous and powerful characters engraved with the names of the two martyrs, and the photos of their slightly smiling eyes. In their eyes, there was a hint of desire for life, and perhaps more nostalgia for this world.

However, the nostalgia that once had now become a masterpiece of life. The cold handful of loess isolates them from the world and buried their dreams deeply in the vast land. The breeze is sad, shaking the flowers in front of the monument. The flowers are sobbing, the wind is speechless, and only the paper ash is flying gently, as if they are telling their last yearning for this world in pain.

Fugui's heart was trembling silently, and he seemed to think of the favorite song of his comrades in his ears: "... Maybe my eyes can't be opened anymore, do you understand my silent feelings, maybe I'll sleep forever, can't come back, do you believe that I have turned into a mountain range, if so, don't be sad, there is the love we give in the soil of the Republic..."

But, now, where are you looking for that mountain range? Here, there is only the breeze, the Gobi Desert is vast, and the poplar euphratica stands!

Perhaps in a few years, their flesh and blood will be integrated with the hot land here. On the land stained by their blood, lush grass or tall poplars will grow, which can still smile here in the wind. But will their names be sung by the years?

The stone tablet engraved is immortality, a kind of tragedy, a kind of spirit, and an eternal memory left to them.

Xu Guoguang and Wei Mingsheng's parents left in the afternoon. Fugui silently looked at the sad expressions on their faces. There was no tears flowing down their red and swollen eyes. They just held the urn so carefully, for fear that the slight shaking would wake up their eyes that would never be opened. The comrades watched them with tears, and their staggering steps were deeply imprinted in the hearts of their comrades.

The captain opened the car door for them. Xu Guoguang's father did not get on the car. He hugged his son's ashes tightly and slowly turned around. Looking at these comrades of the same age as his son, he bowed deeply, and tears fell on the urn, and it took him a long time to get on the car slowly... until their hunched figures slowly disappeared into the open horizon, and only dust was scattered, covering their once familiar backs forever...

At that moment, Fugui's heart was pricked. They were the first comrades to sprinkle blood on this hot land, but they were definitely not the last! Perhaps, one day in the future, his blood will dye every inch of land here red, and his life will always accompany the poplar forest here. But, on that day, how did he let his weak parents hold up the heavy wooden box, and how could he let the swallows who loved him face his departure?

I once dreamed of the pride of being a soldier, the tragic pride of galloping on the battlefield, and the heroic spirit of wearing corpses in horses and corpses, but how could his parents have the strength to hold that heavy urn!

The flying dust was still hovering in the air, and then quietly fell on this ancient yellow dust road.

"When I return to the team to write a suicide note, my comrades' blood cannot be in vain."

"No matter who is leaving next, his parents are everyone's parents!" Yang Aiguo and Liming's voices were like war drums in front of the battle, shaking Fugui's ears.

He looked at the excited faces of his comrades, and wealth suddenly felt a warm current, and blood was stirring in his body. The former drums and horns and the former flags covering the sky seemed to have become reality in an instant. He seemed like a soldier about to set out to defend this hot land, even if his blood dyed the familiar grass and tree red, but I hope that in the future, the tall stone tablet engraved with his name could stand forever on this vast Gobi Desert!
Chapter completed!