The Extravagant and Luxurious Lifestyle of Nanjing and the loneliness of snowfall

Here is the English translation of your passage:

I looked at him—his body covered in scars, his eyes filled with despair toward this world. It seemed as if his very being was trying to break free from some invisible chains, yearning for freedom, yet such a thing appeared utterly impossible. Just as I was about to ask more, a policeman suddenly shouted at him to leave. He stumbled away, as if fleeing from a demon.

The officer glanced at me, then told me that this was Jiangsu. Since I had no idea how to get to Louisiana, I asked him about it. He lowered his head and remained silent for a long time. Suddenly, his tears fell onto the murky ground beneath us.

"I came from Louisiana… Mother… I miss you…"

Seeing him like this, I didn't know what to do. I could only take out my handkerchief and hand it to him. He took it and slowly wiped away his tears before saying:

"Louisiana is no longer the Louisiana it used to be… France… is no longer the France it once was… That man just now… he was my friend… If it weren't for the struggle to survive… I… I would never have done this…"

He cried even harder, and I could only sit beside him, offering what little comfort I could. Perhaps this was the helplessness of an orphan from Asia standing before Europe—or maybe it was simply the nature of his duty.

"Are you really going there?"

"I must."

"I suggest you go to the British Embassy in Nanjing first. That would be in your best interest."

With no other choice, I decided to head for Nanjing. Checking my map, I saw that the distance was immense. Looking at the little money I had left, I realized all I could afford was a single steamed bun to stave off my hunger. Just as I was drowning in my troubles…

"Miss, you seem to need some help."

I turned around to see a man standing before me. He was about 1.9 meters tall, dressed in a suit exuding a noble air. A pair of round glasses sat on his face, his neatly parted hair adding to his refined demeanor. His presence carried an undeniable elegance and literary charm. A radiant smile graced his face, making him appear particularly kind.

"Oh, I forgot to introduce myself. I am a friend of Lei, and also a general in the Japanese army stationed in China. My name is Yamamoto Shinjirou. I just received a telegram from Lei, instructing me to take care of you in his absence."

"Do you know how to get to the British Embassy in Nanjing?"

"I am on my way back to the admiralty, and I happened to see you here. I can take you with me—the admiralty is only a street away from the British Embassy."

"Really? Thank you so much!"

A wave of excitement washed over me. I felt as though the path to reuniting with him was not far away now. I stepped into Yamamoto Shinjirou's car, and it slowly pulled away from this place of turmoil. I glanced around the vehicle—there was a suspended telephone hanging nearby, the seats were covered in brown leather, and the ceiling was white. He must be a wealthy general. The car continued down the road, yet the worries in my heart refused to stay behind with the passing scenery.

"You seem exhausted. Rest for now."

I could no longer resist my drowsiness and quickly fell into a deep sleep.

When I opened my eyes again, night had fallen. I turned to look at my benefactor—he, too, was fast asleep. Peering out the window, I saw a dazzling world of lights. The bright, shimmering buildings drowned out the faint glow of the stars above. The streets were lined with a mixture of Western and Chinese architecture, each carrying its own distinct charm. Now and then, a rickshaw passed by, weaving through the bustling traffic.

"It looks like we've arrived in Nanjing."

Yamamoto Shinjirou awoke just as the car pulled to a stop in front of a building. I stepped out and looked up. The sign read "Paramount". Without hesitation, he strode to the entrance and pushed open the doors. Inside, the place exuded opulence and extravagance. People swayed to the music, enchanted by the alluring songs of the performers. Perhaps this was the temptation of dance halls for the wealthy.

Suddenly, I felt a hand on my shoulder. I turned around warily, only to see Yamamoto Shinjirou, now dressed in a military uniform, a peaked cap atop his head. I relaxed slightly as he spoke:

"Unfortunately, I don't enjoy such noisy places. If it weren't for Japan, I wouldn't have come here at all."

After his complaint, he led me toward a private room. Not being familiar with such places, I remained on guard. But when I looked into his eyes, I saw only solemnity—not the kind of man who harbored ill intentions. Still, one could never judge a book by its cover. My wariness remained until he opened the door.

Inside, several drunken soldiers were loudly demanding more wine while clinging to the women beside them. They, too, were Japanese soldiers, but in stark contrast to Yamamoto Shinjirou, they appeared utterly undisciplined. After dismissing the hostesses, he patted my shoulder and sighed:

"They have no other choice. They do this just to survive."

Then, he struck one of the soldiers across the face. At first, they looked enraged, but their expressions quickly changed as they realized Yamamoto Shinjirou outranked them. After exchanging a few words with him, they reluctantly left the room.

Outside, the revelry continued. We, however, slipped away unnoticed, as if we had never been there.

"Miss, this is the British Concession. If you keep walking straight and turn right at the crossroads, you will reach the British Embassy at the very end."

"Thank you so much."

Yamamoto Shinjirou gave a slight bow before hurrying back to his car and driving away. I, too, left that place, eager to escape its suffocating atmosphere.

At that moment, the sound of a harmonica drifted through the air. It came from a small alley nearby. Following the melody, I discovered a group of soldiers dressed in blue uniforms, rifles slung across their backs—Berthier rifles, perhaps.

I stood silently, watching the soldier playing the harmonica. Lei's image filled my mind. The melody captivated me until the soldier noticed my presence and waved me over. His comrades also turned to look at me. After studying me briefly, they gestured for me to join them.

They looked young, their uniforms pristine and unmarked. Clearly, they were new recruits. Perhaps they had joined out of necessity, or maybe out of patriotism. But in times of war, how many could resist the lure of money?

As we talked, the conversation drifted to their families. One soldier pulled out a photograph of a beautiful woman.

"Brothers, this is my wife! Haha! Miss, isn't she beautiful?"

"Yes, she's very beautiful."

"Thank you, miss. When this war is over, I will marry her."

His comrades laughed and snatched the photo from him, joking as they tossed more wood onto the fire, making it burn brighter. They began to sing and dance, filling the lonely night with warmth. Who wouldn't want to be with their loved ones in times like these?

"Tomorrow, we leave for France. We must send those Germans back home!"

"Do you know someone named Ray?"

"I don't, but there's a deputy commander named Bronnix Stetson Ray Garfunkel in the battlefield. I remember his name so well because he once saved my life."

That name wasn't Lei's—Lei had an Asian face. Yet, deep down, I hoped it was him. I asked where they were headed next. This was my last hope.

"We're going to Paris before heading to Louisiana. But who knows if we'll even make it out alive…"

My heart surged with hope. I wanted to go with them, but they refused, insisting I go to the British Embassy first.

As the sun rose, I stretched and set off for the embassy.

Upon arrival, I asked the officer at the counter, "Sir, I want to go to Louisiana via Paris. What should I do?"

"The easiest way is with a travel permit, but France is at war. The only way now is to join a mercenary unit."

"I'll do it!"