A Burning City

War is a cruel mirror of equality. When artillery fire tears apart the sky, when gunpowder smoke blocks the sun, all social labels will be wiped out in an instant. Bankers in suits and beggars in ragged clothes huddled side by side in a small shelter. The priceless gold and silver jewelry in the jewelry store was far less substantial than a piece of moldy bread. The stock curves of securities companies turned into meaningless graffiti under the ravages of artillery fire. In this realm ruled by death, all the rules of civilized society seem so ridiculous. Money cannot buy a bullet that deviates from its trajectory, and power cannot stop a roaring artillery shell. Everyone is using the most primitive way to prove their survival value. Strong legs determine the speed of escape, keen ears identify the impact point of the shells, and a calm mind chooses the location of the bunker. The false fame that was once sought after in the peaceful and prosperous times, and the wealth that took half a lifetime to accumulate, all lost their magic power in front of the cold metallic luster of the guns. When the moral cloak of peacetime is torn apart by violence, human nature reveals its truest form. Some killed their comrades for half a jug of water, while others dragged their broken legs to save strangers. But all of these choices are no longer judged by worldly standards, because the very fact of surviving is the ultimate judgement. War has used the crudest method to complete the selection of life, just as cold and efficient as natural selection shaped species in ancient times. In the end, what is left on the battlefield are the mutilated limbs, what is left in the history books are cold numbers, and what is left in the memories of the survivors is the naked self with all disguises stripped off.