Wet September has come. After watching a movie about deserters, I went home with a few boiled water chestnuts in my pocket. Walking in the street lights that were covered by the French plane trees, the rain was like a shuttle, which blocked the sight even more.
After all, it is difficult for people to see their own destiny.
The 400,000 Anglo-French army at Dunkirk can't, and neither can I.
Such a large-scale retreat is familiar, um, but I'm not talking about the Long March, but the exchange of offense and defense fifteen years later. At that time, the Red Army had already turned itself over to become the master, and started the battle of crossing the river with a liberating attitude. Chairman Mao said, "One million lions cross the river."
I think the collapse of Nanjing should also be on such a dark and gloomy day.
The defeated national army hurriedly prepared to escape in the turbulent capital Jinling, packed up their belongings and took them away from their homes, begging for a little bit of gold with waste paper-like gold coins. The wooden box was closed and opened, devouring the last memory that existed in the city. Those who are in love are all chasing me and me, and only chasing me and me. Those who should be ambiguous hold hands on the side of the road, those who should hold hands kiss goodbye by the swing, and those who should kiss goodbye are lingering in the attic. Desires fell one after another, and no one was willing to tell the truth about birth and death. They gave each other gifts, such as ancestral jade bracelets, folding fans with inscriptions, or a pair of cloth shoes and a lock of hair, as if they also vaguely understood that the end of a feast was approaching.
And those who are alone can only write letters, to their little sisters, to their parents, to their best friends, to their childhood sweethearts who have not yet met... Under the smeared ink, there is a piece of Fatong leaf that has just been knocked down by the rain on Zhongshan South Road. I don't know if the imperial postal system is still functioning properly.
Later, later, they failed to replicate the fate of the Allies after Dunkirk. Later, it may be that a few letters never arrived, but that is no longer important.
Later, some of these people who had been frightened by the wind and rain in Nanjing surrendered, some died, and some returned home. And those who thought it was just a temporary expatriate and fled in the scattered raindrops, those men who once belonged to Shandong, Hebei, Henan, and Sichuan, fled in batches to a place where they would never see the snow again.
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