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Sometimes, after witnessing the gut-wrenching grief of the martyrs' families, this old man would stand in the cemetery leaning on his cane all day, silently smoking.
At times, he would rather die in place of those exceptional young people.
But he couldn't do that.
He was the commander, responsible for the lives of many more soldiers.
"Perhaps we are truly old and can't protect the men under our command anymore..." Yuan Lie's flame atop his head extinguished, and this ferocious old man, akin to a raging bear, unexpectedly revealed a sorrowful side, admitting his helplessness.
In the backseat of a military jeep, Yuan Qing rested her hands behind her head, silently leaning against the car door, her long legs wrapped in military pants propped up on the window outside.
The sunlight shone on her slightly haggard side profile.
Without bringing any warmth.