‘Who would have thought this Lieutenant Colonel was so multi-talented?
In a room she had not entered during her previous visit, the Lieutenant Colonel sat at the piano, pressing the final sustained note, and Lin Yu’s voice faded with his.
With a soft click from the gramophone, the entire trench ballad, complete with accompaniment, was perfectly recorded, prompting the others to applaud once more, congratulating them on their success.
“This version should be quite good; shall we finalize it?”
Lin Yu deferred the decision to the Lieutenant Colonel, merely offering a nod.
A translucent disc, resembling a record, was carefully removed from the machine by the senior medic, who then placed it into another box; only then, following her movements, did Lin Yu notice that the cabinets behind the room were filled with countless rectangular boxes of the same design.
Beyond his skill at the piano, he was, it seemed, a collector of an astonishingly vast array of records…
Speaking of which, was it not incredibly dangerous to bring such precious collectibles to a place like this? Should the front lines be breached by the Lanfossians, or the battlefront partially retreat, this very spot would be directly exposed to enemy gunfire, or even artillery.
It would be such a pity if all the valuable items in this small building were to be smashed or plundered by Lanfossian soldiers.
She found herself unable to comprehend the Lieutenant Colonel’s reasoning, just as she struggled to understand why a plan meant to be completed in four days still required two days of deliberation before its implementation was permitted.
‘Perhaps a commander harbored concerns befitting a commander—Lin Yu could only rationalize it this way to herself.’
“Your voice truly sounds like a girl’s, so much so that it’s quite rare… Ah, don’t worry, I have no peculiar inclinations in that regard, so there’s no need to be afraid. I must, however, warn you to never let the Major General discover this; he’s famously fond of such things.”
Whether intentionally or not, the Lieutenant Colonel made this remark as he instructed Lin Yu to return to copying the leaflets.
His words instantly elicited suppressed chuckles from everyone present, and even Lin Yu felt a ripple of amusement, struggling to keep the corners of her mouth from twitching upwards.
‘What sort of matryoshka doll game was this? When meeting the Lieutenant Colonel, she had to masquerade as a cute boy; when meeting the Lieutenant Colonel’s superior, she would have to masquerade as a cute boy masquerading as a girl. If she were ever to meet the Army’s supreme commander, would she then have to masquerade as a masquerade of a masquerade…?’
‘Still, a humble medic like herself would likely never have the opportunity to meet the supreme commander, so there was no need to fret over such an impossible scenario.’
After a few silent reflections, Lin Yu settled back at her desk, gripping her fountain pen to resume inscribing lines of Lanfossian characters.
The Hengshui script (TL Note: A calligraphic style known for its neatness and legibility, often used in Chinese education for formal writing.) she had painstakingly practiced in her previous life now proved invaluable; every line of Lanfossian she wrote was as clear and legible as print, meticulously neat and easy to read. No one would appreciate struggling to decipher messy, florid handwriting on a leaflet, especially considering that Lanfossian soldiers were generally not highly educated.
“Here, hot tea. Where should I put it for you?”
“Thank you, Sister Liang Yu, just put it beside me; I’m quite busy right now.”
The senior medic placed the teacup within Lin Yu’s reach, then lightly flicked her forehead. “Look closely, I’m Zhao Yanyan!”
“Ah… my apologies, Sister Yanyan, your voices sound so similar.”
Lin Yu had successfully confused the two senior medics, earning herself a flick on the head. Though it didn’t hurt much, she felt a profound sense of injustice.
‘It must have been Sister Nangong who led them astray.’
“Heh heh, just thinking about how we’re leading the Lieutenant Colonel on a merry chase makes me so excited I can’t sit still. Tell me when you’ve finished your tea, and I’ll come refill it for you then.”
The senior medic hummed the little tune Lin Yu had composed as she walked away, leaving Lin Yu to grumble silently at her desk.
‘Sister, you really shouldn’t be humming that tune…’
After writing a few more leaflets and feeling a slight dryness in her throat, she reached for the teacup with her left hand, bringing it to her lips.
‘Hm? Had the hot tea cooled so quickly?’
Feeling the icy coldness, Lin Yu spared a glance at the cup in her hand, only to discover it was filled with inky black liquid.
Shifting her gaze to the untouched teacup on her desk, she instantly understood what had transpired.
Setting down the ink bottle, she glanced around to ensure her predicament hadn’t been noticed by the seniors, then wiped her mouth to confirm no residue lingered, before swiftly picking up the correct cup and taking a small sip of hot tea.
‘She had almost become a scholar dipping her bun in ink.’
‘Tsk, tsk, this tea was truly fragrant. She had forgotten last time before leaving, but this time she absolutely couldn’t forget to ask for half a catty to brew herself back in the tent.’
Aside from the few fingers gripping the pen in her right hand and her constantly rotating wrist, which voiced their discontent, Lin Yu found the work of a clerk to be rather excellent. It was peaceful, far from cannon fire and bloodshed, requiring no thought, only endless, repetitive copying.
‘Perhaps she should strive towards this path…’
Two hours later, having finished copying the last few words of what felt like her hundredth leaflet, Lin Yu released her fountain pen and collapsed onto the desk, on the verge of tears.
‘She would absolutely not be a clerk; her hand was exhausted to death, her fingers and wrist feeling as though they were about to snap.’
Her lowered gaze fixed on the display shelf at the other end of the room, and the little tune she had composed resonated in Lin Yu’s ears once more. Since Sister Liang Yu didn’t know Lanfossian, she could only hum the melody, not sing the lyrics.
“Or perhaps…” With her chin resting on the desk, she stretched backward, and a bold new idea for her future blossomed in Lin Yu’s mind. “I could just become an entertainment soldier.”
After all, she had heard so many military songs and folk ballads in her previous life that she wouldn’t run out of material to plagiarize anytime soon.
As a non-combatant providing comfort to the front lines, she wouldn’t have to toil all day copying like a clerk, risking being treated as a personal secretary, nor would she have to remain in the medical tent, confronting gushing blood like a true warrior and enduring the pain of lives slipping through her fingers.
Simply singing and dancing—surely her body in this life would be quite adept at such things.
“Tired from writing?” The Lieutenant Colonel emerged from another room, and seeing Lin Yu sprawled on the desk in a daze, he inquired.
“Hmm… could you perhaps grant me a two-day extension? At my current speed, even writing non-stop from dawn till dusk, I wouldn’t produce many more sheets. If they were to reach the Lanfossian positions, the wind would likely scatter them to who knows where.”
As Lin Yu spoke, she massaged her fingers; the sensation of the fountain pen, untouched for over a decade, vividly brought back memories of afternoons spent copying as punishment years ago—a truly painful and unbearable recollection.
The Lieutenant Colonel gestured for Lin Yu to follow him out, and, puzzled, she trailed him to the doorway of the room where he had previously watered flowers.
“Look at those laborers,” he said, pushing up the glasses on his nose, his other hand pointing towards the civilians lined up to transport supplies. “This morning, they brought in a thousand sets of white uniforms, just like your medic’s attire—white shirts and white trousers.”
She had noticed this phenomenon even before entering the Lieutenant Colonel’s room, but she hadn’t known the reason until now, finally receiving the answer from the Lieutenant Colonel himself.
“Because two days from now marks an important occasion: the forty-ninth day since the Crown Prince’s death. At that time, our entire army along the front line will change into white uniforms, firing rifles and cannons to stand vigil for His Royal Highness.”
Any plans had to be executed before then, for no one would contemplate reconciliation while under successive bombardments and charges on their positions—thus did the Lieutenant Colonel explain the reason for the two-day deadline.
“By then, anyone capable of lifting a rifle must join the ranks for the farewell gun salute, medics included. If you don’t have a rifle, remember to obtain one from the quartermaster.”
Even in this alternate world, they observe the ‘Head Seven’ (TL Note: A traditional Chinese mourning custom, referring to the seventh day after death, when the deceased’s soul is believed to revisit their home.)… It seems the gods responsible for creation were incredibly lazy, unwilling to even devise unique folk customs.
Lin Yu gazed into the distance at the laborers, then imagined the scene two days hence: hundreds of soldiers across the entire front line, along with over a hundred people from the logistics area, collectively firing their rifles into the sky.
‘It would be quite a spectacle.’
‘It certainly was good to be the emperor’s son, to have so many mourn one’s death.’
She recalled the old man who had lost his right leg; when he died, only she had offered a brief lament, followed by a simple prayer.
The Emperor of Diacla was truly selfish; he sent other people’s sons to the battlefield without a moment’s hesitation, yet when his own son died, he made such an extravagant display, not only ordering that all women nationwide be allowed to enlist, but also entangling Lin Yu in the convoluted fate of becoming a medic.
‘What an irresponsible villain.’
‘Such thoughts she dared only whisper in her heart, for if others were to hear them, her entire clan might face peril.’
“Lin… Doctor… Doctor Lin…”
Just as she was secretly grumbling about the Emperor, she faintly heard someone calling her from afar, using an incorrect address.
Turning to look down the main thoroughfare of the logistics area, she indeed saw someone waving to her from a distance.
“Doctor Lin… thank you so much…”
The Lieutenant Colonel also heard the man’s shouts, turning his head to ask, “Who is that? Are they calling for you?”
“An injured soldier I treated earlier, now officially discharged due to amputation, preparing to board the train,” Lin Yu replied, waving back to him from afar, simultaneously relieved that he hadn’t used a term like “Miss Lin.”
There had indeed been injured soldiers who called her that, and if the Lieutenant Colonel were to hear it, her disguise would likely be exposed immediately.’