In the winter of 1938, the snow was falling heavily in Dongcheng District, Peking. I stood at the counter of the "Shenji Cotton Store" with my fingers digging into the torn edge of the account book. On the counter was the Japanese army's "ultimatum," which was clearly written in black and white:
The cotton purchase agreement must be signed within three days to help the imperial army manage the cotton business in North China. The cotton shop still wants to keep it; if not signed, not only will the shop be closed, but the six-year-old daughter Nian An will have to be sent to a "children's reformatory" in Japan.
The door was pushed open with a creak, and the cold wind filled the snow foam. Matsui Ichiro and Kawashima Keiko walked in, and their military boots squeaked harshly on the snow. Matsui took a photo on the counter. In the photo, Nian An was wearing a kindergarten red jacket and smiling at the camera. However, at the edge of the photo, the Japanese bayonet could be vaguely seen.
"Chen Sang," Kawashima Keiko bent over, her tone as soft as cotton, but she was playing with a silver-handled dagger, "Nian An is very cute. If you go to Japan, you can study in the best school."
I didn't answer, staring at my daughter's smiling face in the photo, and suddenly I remembered that last night, Nian An lay in my arms and asked, "Dad, why does my neighbor Grandma Zhang say you are a bad person?" At that time, I could still lie to her, saying that Grandma Zhang was wrong, but now, Matsui's hand has been pressed on my shoulder, so hard that it feels like crushing my bones.
There was a slight noise under the counter, and from the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of a figure in blue clothes - it was the girl who came to apply for the accountant job in the morning. She had just secretly slipped me a piece of paper with a cotton flower drawn on it, which said, "Help us deliver supplies and keep your daughter safe."
