Chapter 147: The Night Before the Ceasefire

July 1953, the Korean summer was as suffocating as a steamer. Gunpowder smoke mixed with the dampness clung to the face, sticky and hard to breathe. The position at the foot of Mount Geumgang was oddly quiet, a silence more oppressive than a sky full of artillery.

Li Ping'an crouched in the newly‑dug defensive artillery tunnel, polishing his gun by the sliver of light at the entrance. This sidearm had been his companion for three years; the red lacquer on the stock was nearly worn away, revealing the iron beneath.

Battalion Commander, will the cease‑fire talks succeed this time? the junior communications soldier couldn't hold back, his voice tinged with hope.

Li Ping'an didn't answer immediately. He deftly disassembled his Handgun, using an oiled cloth to meticulously wipe each part. In the past three years, hope had been dashed countless times. Just last month, the U. S. troops were still grinding it out with us at Shixian Cave, North Mountain.

Just wait and see. He finally said calmly, "Until we receive orders, not an inch of the position may be relinquished."

When the tunnel darkened, Lao Chen slipped in, hunched over, his face beaming: "Old Li, good news! Panmunjom is really about to sign an agreement!"

The defensive artillery tunnel erupted with activity. Several soldiers who were sorting ammunition halted, eyes fixed on Lao Chen.

When exactly? Li Ping'an's voice remained steady, but his hand polishing the gun slowed.

Within a day or two. Lao Chen lowered his voice, adding that the superiors had said, "The later it gets, the more vigilant we must be, guarding against the enemy's final counter‑attack."

Li Ping'an nodded. He understood that principle all too well. In three years he had seen countless comrades fall on the eve of victory. War, that ferocious beast, is most dangerous just before death.

After night fell completely, Li Ping'an performed his routine patrol of the position. Under the moon, Mount Geumgang was oddly still; if not for the trench barbed wire, this place would have been a paradise. The Sentinels stood upright in the moonlight, like stone statues.

Ping'an.

A familiar voice came from behind. Li Ping'an turned and saw Lin Xueqing holding a medical box, standing in the moonlight. Her white coat was faded to yellow from washing, yet still upright.

Why did you come up? Li Ping'an frowned, "It's not safe these days."

I brought some medicine. Lin Xueqing placed the medical box atop the ammunition crate, "and I have something to tell you."

She paused, her voice light yet firm: "When the cease‑fire comes, I plan to stay in Korea for a while, helping rebuild the hospital."

Li Ping'an fell silent. He stared at the lights of the U. S. position in the distance, suddenly recalling crossing the Yalu River three years ago. Back then everyone sang proudly, believing they'd soon return home. No one expected that one crossing would last three years.

"That's appropriate." After a long pause he whispered, "We need you here."

Lin Xueqing looked at him, moonlight flickering in her eyes: "What about you? Any plans?"

Li Ping'an fished the goldenrod from his chest‑pocket. Three years of war had long since withered the flower, yet he still kept it carefully.

"I'll go back to Four Nine City to look after my sister," he said softly. His parents were gone, only she was studying in Beiping. "Then… maybe continue selling Braised Meat."

He suddenly smiled: "When you come back, I'll treat you to Braised Meat."

Lin Xueqing also smiled. In three years, it was the first time Li Ping'an had seen her smile so freely.

Suddenly, a few illumination shells ripped through the night sky, lighting the position like snow. Immediately after, U. S. artillery rained down, the final frenzy before the cease‑fire beginning.

Take cover! Li Ping'an shoved Lin Xueqing into the defensive artillery tunnel in one swift motion.

The shelling grew denser; the U. S. forces were clearly making a desperate all‑or‑nothing push. Gunfire roared across the position, and the soldiers hurried to their stations.

Stay put, don't move! Li Ping'an shouted to Lin Xueqing, then raised his gun and charged out.

The position was already in chaos. The U. S. troops, as if maddened, poured in several times the usual force. Li Ping'an had just burst out of the tunnel when he saw a handful of American soldiers breaking through the front line.

Second Company, follow me! he shouted, leading the charge toward the breach.

The battle was especially brutal. The U. S. troops charged forward heedless of casualties, tearing several holes in the defensive line.

Battalion Commander! The left wing has fallen! a blood‑splattered soldier reported.

Li Ping'an felt a weight settle in his heart. The left wing was the key to the entire line; if it fell, Geumgang Mountain would be in danger.

Order the Third Company to retake it at any cost! He issued the command decisively, personally leading the Reserve Unit toward the left wing.

The left‑wing position was locked in close combat. Soldiers and American troops grappled, bayonets, gunstocks, even stones becoming weapons. Li Ping'an surged forward and saw Wang Da Niu swinging an iron spade, fighting three Americans alone.

Da Niu! Li Ping'an shouted, raising his gun to knock down a sneaking American soldier.

Battalion Commander! These bastards have gone mad! Wang Da Niu wiped the blood from his face and grinned.

Li Ping'an had no time for words, he organized a counter‑attack. He activated his Bajiquan, darting through the enemy crowd, each strike targeting vital points. Yet the Americans were too many, and the position was on the brink of being overrun.

At the critical moment, a charge horn sounded from the rear. Reinforcement troops arrived in time, and the fresh troops turned the tide as soon as they entered.

After two hours of fierce fighting, the U. S. final assault was finally repelled. The position was littered with corpses and wounded, the smell of blood stinging the nose.

Li Ping'an, his body nearly falling apart, trudged the position, tallying casualties. Though the battle was held, the cost was enormous. Many familiar faces were gone, including the chatty junior communications soldier who always laughed.

When dawn began to gray, the artillery fire gradually ceased. An eerie silence enveloped the battlefield, even the birds' calls were absent.

Battalion Commander, look! suddenly a soldier shouted, pointing at the U. S. position.

Li Ping'an looked in the direction indicated, seeing American soldiers dismantling the barbed wire. Even more surprising, several Americans were carrying white flags, hauling stretchers to collect the dead.

On the position, the Volunteer Army soldiers stared at each other in disbelief. In three years they had grown accustomed to U. S. aircraft, artillery, and tanks, but never to seeing them raise a white flag.

Cease‑fire! No one knows who shouted it first.

Cease‑fire! We've won!

The cheers rose like a tide sweeping over the position. Soldiers tossed their hats, embraced each other, and many wept.

Li Ping'an, however, did not join the cheers. He walked silently across the position, looking at the comrades forever left here, his heart a swirl of emotions.

At the highest point of the position, he halted, gazing at the mountains bathed in morning light. Three years of war had scarred the land, yet under the sunrise the charred craters and broken trees possessed a tragic beauty.

At some point Lin Xueqing had come to his side, standing quietly.

"It's over." After a long pause, Li Ping'an said softly.

"Yeah, it's over." Lin Xueqing's voice was also choked.

They stood side by side, looking ahead. The rising sun stretched their shadows long, casting them over the blood‑stained ground.

Li Ping'an took out the goldenrod and gently placed it on a rock. The dried petals quivered in the morning breeze, as if bidding farewell to the land.

"Next spring," Lin Xueqing whispered, "this place will be covered with goldenrod."

Li Ping'an nodded, his gaze crossing the mountains toward the north. Beyond the river, that was the motherland.

"Home." He whispered to himself, his eyes finally reddening.

On the position, someone began singing the Volunteer Army battle song, and soon more and more joined. The heroic chant echoed through the valleys, carrying far and wide.

Within the song, Li Ping'an seemed to see the Alley of Four Nine City, his sister studying, a world without war.

In this moment, all the sacrifices were worth it.