Until Hope Completely Transforms into a Miracle

The next day, just as sunlight began to illuminate Shangjing City, Shu, clutching the black notebook, stepped over the threshold without looking back, leaving the plaza behind.

"Shu... Don't be too sad..." Early in the morning, Mei's comforting voice sounded beside Shu's ear.

But her low tone made it difficult for anyone to feel reassured.

In truth, communication on the channel had ceased the moment they saw the old man. Everyone focused on Wang Jinzhong, the surviving elder.

They listened together to the old man's aggrieved cries, and together they toured the entire museum with him.

Last night, the five of them, in four different locations across Shangjing City, even watched the stars together all night.

"I'm not sad," Shu's voice had no inflection, betraying no emotional fluctuation.

It sounded like the most normal statement.

"This was his own choice. Since he made his decision, I will respect it," Shu said.

"But... but..." Kiana's voice, still laced with tears, followed.

"That old man... he's so pitiful... He suffered so much when he was young, and just when he could finally live a good life, the Honkai happened..."

Shu didn't answer, nor did he offer comfort.

He understood that everyone, like him, respected the old man's final choice and didn't question whether it was right or wrong.

They simply felt the unfairness of fate towards one person, simply moved by the life choices of an individual.

"When Bronya was still a mercenary, I heard many stories about Shenzhou soldiers," Bronya, who had been silent, spoke softly.

"They said... the soldiers of Shenzhou are a bunch of lunatics. No other country or region's soldiers, besides Shenzhou's, would sacrifice their lives en masse for a goal that's almost impossible to achieve.

"They possess a chivalry greater than the knights of medieval Europe; they have a golden code surpassing that of knights.

"Even facing unstoppable disasters, they would never choose to flee, to circumvent the problem. They wouldn't choose to build an ark, but would rather become the dike themselves, blocking the flood.

"Until the faint hope completely transforms into a miracle. And coincidentally, every one of these soldiers has the ability to burn themselves, becoming a spark of hope."

Bronya's voice was also somewhat subdued. Clearly, Kiana wasn't the only one feeling down last night.

"Alright, report your respective situations," Shu closed his eyes, stopped walking, and calmly interrupted the topic.

His hand remained pressed against his chest, holding the black notebook tucked inside his clothes.

At this distance, Shu could just barely hear some loud noises coming from the museum.

Like—gunshots.

"I... I didn't find anything on my end," Kiana was still sniffling slightly, but had clearly regained her composure.

"Bronya found nothing," Bronya also replied.

"Mei found nothing," Mei reported the same answer.

In the vast expanse of Shangjing City, it seemed only the old man remained.

Shu sighed softly, standing rooted to the spot. "Nine o'clock, meet me on the Hyperion."

"Roger," the three responded.

Yesterday, they had all covered a significant distance. Returning to the train would take at least an hour.

Even for Shu, walking back from here would take half an hour.

Shu closed his eyes. He was currently just around the corner from the plaza. A few steps forward would bring the flagpole back into view.

He waited quietly here, waiting for the sound of a gunshot...

---||---

In the museum, the old man's eyes were stung open by the sunlight.

Beside his hand was no longer the familiar black notebook, but a heavy, dark pistol.

The old man panicked for a moment, then remembered he had given the notebook to the young man who came to rescue him.

Relaxing, the old man leaned on the wall, used his cane, and supported himself to stand up.

With the museum doors open, the old man felt the place was unprecedentedly empty.

The old man silently folded his bedding, placing a neat square tofu-block shape in the corner. He then turned and began tidying up the trash he had left behind over the past 90 days, putting it into trash bags and placing them in the corner.

He started erasing all traces he had left here over the past 90 days.

Then, the old man pulled open a cabinet with trembling hands, taking out two old badges and a wooden box covered in a thin layer of dust.

With trembling hands, the old man pinned the two old badges onto his chest, then proudly tossed aside the cane towards the sunlight, puffing out his chest.

His old body took stiff steps, his swaying figure imbued with an indomitable spirit.

He adjusted his hat firmly, tucked the gun into his waistband, meticulously wiped all the dust off the box, then carried it and walked out the door.

Stepping over the rotten, withered corpses on the plaza, the old man's somewhat unfamiliar steps gradually regained their rhythm, becoming increasingly steady.

Until the old man stood beneath the flagpole. Under the rising sun, Wang Jinzhong opened the box in his hands.

Inside lay a neatly folded crimson flag, intact, vibrant as blood.

...

Shu, standing still, slowly opened his eyes.

He should leave now. He had set the time himself; he shouldn't be late.

He hadn't heard the sound he wanted to hear... No, no one would want to hear that sound...

Feeling the notebook still against his chest, Shu sighed, lowered his gaze, and prepared to take the first step back towards the Hyperion.

---||---

"Arise—Ye—who—refuse—to—be—slaves—"

However, just as that first step was taken, a resonant song, trembling, aged, yet filled with unparalleled vigor, suddenly rang out.

Shu's body froze instantly.

He hadn't waited for the gunshot signifying the end, but instead, he waited for the proof of a great nation proclaiming its continued existence.

This wasn't the end...

Even if it was just one person singing, even without any rousing accompaniment, he still sang with the momentum of mountains and seas, sang with the unwavering pride of bones.

I am still here... I remain here.

Shu suddenly let out a sigh of relief, releasing all the pent-up frustration in his heart.

So that's how it is...

What feeling like a burden... that never existed.

It was just an old man who dedicated his life to his country, not changing his stance even at the very end.

The withered leaf, nurturing the spark, finally welcomed the firewood that would inherit the flame.

And after that, the best place for the withered leaf wasn't to follow the new flame, but to return to the roots of the withered tree, rotting in the soil.

Whether the withered tree could bloom again in spring or not, the withered leaf would become silent fertilizer, offering that tiny bit of hope.

Until hope completely transforms into a miracle.

Turning the last corner, Shu glanced back one last time.

Amidst the faint, indistinct gunshot at the end of the song, Shu saw the wind.

Look...

Isn't the flag still fluttering?