When mortars exploded into the night, Pei Zhaoye held her in his arms with a bulletproof shield. Jiang Tinglan tore off the blood-stained bandage and wrapped it around his bleeding shoulder, and rubbed the hot skin behind his ears with her fingertips: "When it gets daylight, let's go pick up the wild roses on the hillside."
They divided half a bar of chocolate in a musty tent and wrote clumsy love notes on found postcards. His tactical gloves always stained her goggles, so she used medical tape to tape their IDs together - the gleaming police badge next to the faded red cross, forming a circle in the smoke.
On the day the biochemical virus swept through the camp, Jiang Tinglan was debugging the last ventilator in the isolation cabin. Pei Zhaoye stood guard outside the cabin door with a gun. His laughing gasp came from the intercom: "Don't be afraid, I will be your protective suit this time." She continued to inject the serum with tears in her eyes. The gunfire outside the window shook the group photo of them posted on the wall.
Years later, a war reporter found two burnt letters among the ruins. One letter was filled with the hope for peace, while the handwriting on the other letter was stained with blood and always stopped at the word "I...".
Intention: When the hooting and chalk dust in the senior high school classroom dissipated together, the childish oaths written by young people on colored paper were finally tempered into steel in the flames of war in adulthood. The collision between the stethoscope and the police badge is the echo of the youthful promise to travel through time - those longings that were once treated as a joke, turned out to have quietly planted the fire to protect the world with life in the ignorant years.