Chapter 25: Some Things Must Be Done, No Matter How Difficult

She had played her final card and laid bare the deepest, ugliest scars of her soul. She was prepared to accept any reaction from Xu Feng. Whether it was contempt, rage, being cast out like a monster, or even being killed by him to avenge the compatriots who had met such tragic ends—she had resigned herself to it.

However, Xu Feng's reaction caught her off guard once again. He did not look at her, nor did he touch the notebook again. He simply rose slowly, walked over to the water vat, scooped up a ladle of cold water, and tilted his head back to gulp it down. The icy well water slid down his throat into his stomach, yet it could not extinguish the raging, wicked fire burning in his heart.

731...

It was more than just a unit number; it was a bloody, festering wound carved into the collective memory of an entire nation. As a former soldier of the Anti-Japanese United Army, he had fought the invaders on the battlefield time and again. Many of his comrades and brothers had perished in that war. Did he hate the invaders? Yes, he hated them to the marrow of his bones!

But this woman before him... He turned and looked at her, sitting by the table, her frame so slight that she seemed as if she might be blown away by a gust of wind. She was Japanese. She had participated in the 731 project. Yet, she was also a victim of that very system. Her fear was not feigned, and he had seen the kindness in her eyes. If she were truly of the same ilk as those demons, why would she have risked her life to preserve this evidence of their crimes?

Hatred, reason, sympathy, and pity—countless complex emotions intertwined and collided within him, threatening to tear his chest apart. He remembered his own battered body when he had first arrived in this era, the helplessness of being alone in a strange time. And then he looked at her: a defenseless, fragile woman, clutching a secret capable of upending everything, hunted by two sides in a foreign land, like a bird startled by the mere twang of a bowstring, living in constant terror.

How similar they were. Both were wretched souls struggling to survive.

Xu Feng let out a long, long breath, as if exhaling all the malice and inner turmoil within him. He walked to the table and, under Lin Xue’s stunned gaze, picked up the black notebook. He wrapped it back in the oilcloth and tucked it securely into his clothes, keeping it close to his heart.

"From today on," he said, looking at her, enunciating every word, "I will be the one to keep this."

"You..." Moisture welled up in Lin Xue’s eyes instantly.

"Get some sleep." Xu Feng’s tone returned to its usual flatness, as if the heart-wrenching confession that had just taken place were nothing more than trivial small talk. "Whatever happens, it can wait until we wake up."

Without another look at her, he walked straight to the pile of straw in the corner, lay down fully clothed, and turned his back to her. Lin Xue sat there in a daze, tears sliding silently down her cheeks. She knew that this man had given his answer in his own way. By taking the notebook, he had also taken on her past—a past heavy enough to crush everything—and the life-or-death danger that came with it. He hadn't uttered a single word of comfort, yet he had provided her with the sturdiest of foundations.

That night, Lin Xue slept with unusual peace, as if the boulder that had pressed upon her heart for so many years had finally been nudged aside. But Xu Feng, lying with his back to her, did not sleep at all. His hand remained pressed tightly against the notebook on his chest, his eyes shining with startling intensity in the darkness.

731...

Village thugs like Wang Erhu were merely a minor irritation. Now, however, he was facing true wolves and tigers. The night was as dark as ink, and the wind outside the window wailed like the whimpering of countless wronged spirits. Xu Feng kept his eyes open, listening quietly to the steady, rhythmic breathing of Lin Xue behind him. The girl was clearly exhausted; once her defenses were down, she had fallen into a deep slumber.

He, however, felt no sleepiness. The hard, bulky notebook against his chest felt like a branding iron, searing him with pain. Evidence of the crimes of Unit 731... He had never dreamed that he would come into contact with the core of this dark history in such a manner. This object was a hot potato, a death warrant. Keeping it meant endless pursuit. The professionally trained Japanese agents were not in the same league as thugs like Wang Erhu. Like sharks smelling blood, they would use every means possible to track them down.

Turn it over? To whom? The situation in the Northeast was chaotic, with various factions locked in a tangled struggle. The Nationalists, the Communists, the Soviets, and local bandit militias—it was impossible to tell friend from foe. Handing this over rashly might not save Lin Xue; it could instead plunge them both into an abyss from which there was no return.

Xu Feng’s mind raced. He suddenly remembered his fallen comrades. Last year, his squad had received secret orders to investigate a project codenamed "Maruta," only to be wiped out entirely. Only he, by playing dead and fueled by a stubborn, unrelenting drive, had crawled out from the pile of corpses. So, this was what they had been tracking.

He recalled his memories from the future. Next year, in May 1946, the International Military Tribunal for the Far East would open in Tokyo. He remembered that trial of the century clearly. But what was the outcome? The mastermind behind Unit 731, the devil named Shiro Ishii, had used the vast amount of human experimentation data in his possession to strike a deal with the Americans, ultimately escaping the gallows and remaining at large.

Every time he thought of this history, Xu Feng’s teeth would ache with hatred. Why? Was the blood of those compatriots who had been used as "material" and died so tragically, and those comrades who had sacrificed themselves to expose the truth, shed in vain?

No! Never!

The notebook in his arms suddenly felt heavy as a thousand catties. He knew that this single notebook might not be enough to drag Shiro Ishii to the dock. The schemes of the Americans were beyond the reach of a small person like him. But this notebook was evidence! It was ironclad proof! It could prove to the entire world that this inhumane bacteriological war had truly occurred! It could force those scoundrels who sought to cover up and deny their crimes to shut their foul mouths!

That was enough.

The look in Xu Feng’s eyes grew steadily firmer in the darkness. He had once been a soldier. A soldier’s destiny is to fight. Before, he fought with a rifle on the battlefield; now, he would fight on a different front, clutching this notebook. He could forgo a normal life, abandon his home, and even give up his life. But this notebook, this bloody testament of their crimes, had to be handed over! It had to be delivered to the right hands!

Xu Feng made his resolve in silence. The confusion and hesitation in his heart were replaced by a resolute conviction. He no longer dwelled on the complex political landscape or his own personal safety. He only wanted to seek justice for his fallen compatriots and comrades, even if it were only a small measure.