Defeated by the challenge of writing traditional characters, Lin Yu rose from the table, handing all the paperwork back to Lieutenant Xia.
“Reading them is fine,” she admitted, “but writing them is another matter entirely.”
“Ah, so it truly is a matter of low literacy, isn’t it?” Lieutenant Xia sighed. “In that case, perhaps you could assist me with some other tasks—sorting these files, boiling water for the kettle, simple chores like that. After you’re done, I’d appreciate it if you’d stay here a little while longer.”
A suspicious request, to remain in the command post even after her chores were completed, had been tacked onto the end of Lieutenant Xia’s sentence.
This immediately put Lin Yu on guard. “Why would you want me to stay…?” she queried.
A lone man and woman sharing a room inevitably invited unsavory speculation from others, particularly when one’s military rank surpassed the other’s. Should he leverage this situation to make an inappropriate demand, would she even have a chance to escape?
Lieutenant Xia clarified his request directly. “You don’t need to do anything at all; just sit. And, if you don’t mind, perhaps talk to me a little while I work.”
It was a somewhat perplexing request.
Yet, carrying it out proved simple enough. First, she activated the small magic stove, which glowed faintly with arcane energy, and placed a kettle of unboiled water upon it. Then, she settled before a table laden with documents, diligently sorting each sheet according to the prominent red title emblazoned at its top.
This was several times simpler than tending to the wounded in a tent, and infinitely simpler than hunkering in a trench, firing a rifle, and enduring bombardments.
As an afterthought, she even brushed away the thin layer of dust from the desktop, then rolled up a defensive layout map, which likely contained classified information, and tucked it back into the wooden desk’s drawer.
Then, in accordance with Lieutenant Xia’s demand—no, his request—she remained, seated precisely where she was, her gaze idly sweeping over her surroundings, utterly bored.
Trapped in such a place from dawn till dusk, never seeing the light of day, and utterly alone, anyone would surely develop psychological issues over the years. It was perfectly rational to crave conversation.
However… Lin Yu was hardly adept at casual conversation.
She could compel herself to introduce topics that might pique his interest, yet such an exchange wouldn’t truly qualify as a ‘chat.’ In Lin Yu’s estimation, if she couldn’t articulate the entirety of her thoughts and feelings, it wasn’t genuine conversation; it was merely pandering.
Having carried a mild social anxiety through both her current and past lives, she found it exceptionally difficult to open her heart to anyone who hadn’t yet become a confidante. In the month or so since she had become a medic, Nangong was the sole person to reach that level of intimacy with her.
In time, she hoped to include the four senior medics, and perhaps even Commander Yang herself.
As for Lieutenant Xia, however… given their limited interactions, it seemed unlikely they would ever forge a true friendship. At best, their relationship would hover at the level of ‘acquaintances.’
Even if genuine conversation were to begin, merely sitting there, she wouldn’t know where to even start.
Her gaze drifted, seeking any object that might serve as a conversational prompt, until it finally settled on the magic gramophone resting on the table—a model identical to Commander Yang’s own.
“Has Commander Yang ever mentioned a particular operational plan to you?”
Lieutenant Xia appeared mildly intrigued. “Oh? Do tell,” he prompted.
Seizing the opportunity for conversation, Lin Yu recounted the entire plan she had laid out to Nangong just a few days prior, explaining it from the very beginning.
“First, we could…”
“…Ultimately, we would launch an offensive, pushing the front lines all the way to Tuocheng.”
Growing animated as she spoke, she even designated the envisioned advance routes for the Diacla Army, gesticulating emphatically before a national map of the country beyond the mountains.
Tuocheng, where multiple railway lines converged, stretching inland from the major seaports along the coast beyond the mountains. Even before the conflict had erupted, it had already established itself as the second-largest city and the foremost transportation hub in the land beyond the mountains.
When this protracted conflict, after years of simmering, officially escalated into a full-scale war just days ago, Tuocheng had solidified its position as the Lanforthian Army’s most critical logistical hub.
All provisions essential for sustaining the Lanforthian forces flowed in via maritime transport, unloaded from cargo ships at the seaports, then continuously ferried inland along the railway lines that connected directly to those harbors.
If the city were brought within artillery range, the Lanforthian Army’s supplies would dwindle. If the city were captured outright, the Lanforthian Army would be left with only two stark choices—
They could either exhaust their ammunition and starve to death in their current positions, or initiate a full-scale retreat to the next urban cluster to establish new defenses.
Any individual with even a rudimentary grasp of military strategy could discern the city’s paramount importance. Having served as a mercenary in her previous life, Lin Yu possessed a considerable understanding of warfare; a mere glance at the map and the existing front lines was enough for her to pinpoint Tuocheng as the primary objective of any offensive.
Should the Diacla Army successfully breach the defenses and advance all the way to this point, the Diacla Empire could effectively declare victory in half the war.
The latter half would then be for the Parliament of the Lanforthian Republic to acknowledge defeat, their expeditionary forces having been utterly annihilated.
“Nevertheless,” Lieutenant Xia countered, “on our northwestern fronts, breakthroughs were achieved even without using familiar dialects, distributing leaflets, or enticing the enemy into war-weariness-inducing assaults.”
With a single sentence, Lieutenant Xia dismissed the entire significance of Lin Yu’s grand strategy, eliciting a wave of disdain from her.
“Can you even compare the two?” Lin Yu retorted, her voice sharp. “A victory built upon mountains of lives, at such an exorbitant cost! The ideal outcome of *my* plan is peace talks, peace talks, mind you! It’s not about driving the Lanforthians into the sea, nor is it about countless deaths on their side while we suffer just as many.”
Lin Yu emphasized the words ‘peace talks’ with fierce intensity, for they represented the most pivotal component of her entire scheme.
He offered no further words, merely shaking his head. After a long moment, he murmured, too softly for Lin Yu to hear, “Your thoughts are just like his.”
“Speaking of which,” Lin Yu continued, “have all those loudspeakers Commander Yang arranged been installed properly?”
“…Yes, they’re installed,” Lieutenant Xia replied. “We even tested them a few days ago, playing a couple of songs to gauge the effect. However, there was considerable opposition, mostly protesting why we were playing music they couldn’t understand.”
As the conversation turned to music, Lieutenant Xia lifted a hand and began to tinker with the gramophone. Before long, the small machine, much like the magic stove behind him, began to glow, then serenely started to play a song.
After only a couple of lines, Lin Yu realized the voice emanating from the gramophone was unmistakably her own—the very songs Commander Yang had forcefully made her record after she’d finished her anti-war tracks.
Besides being added to Commander Yang’s personal collection, copies had also been dispatched to a certain Wang Wen, and a reply had arrived that very morning, surely confirming their widespread popularity.
She hadn’t expected to hear them playing on Lieutenant Xia’s desk.
“I played these a few times afterwards, the ones they could understand, and the soldiers unanimously said they loved them. That’s actually your voice, isn’t it?”
Praised for her singing directly, Lin Yu felt a blush creep up her neck. She admitted softly, with a slight hum, that they were indeed her own compositions.
“I never realized you sang so beautifully…” Lieutenant Xia mused aloud. “You’re also educated, skilled in medicine, and a strategist. Nangong truly has found a treasure, hasn’t she?”
Lieutenant Xia folded up the national map of the country beyond the mountains, then retrieved an even larger one from beneath the desk, spreading it flat across the surface.
“The strategic concepts you were just discussing are matters for Commander Yang, or even her superiors, to contemplate. For an officer of my rank, the maps we consult are of this tactical variety.”
The paper was covered in a labyrinth of jagged lines, each representing the trenches that snaked across the battlefronts of both armies. Interspersed among them were myriad small symbols, meticulously denoting various installations and firing positions. Its level of detail was utterly incomparable to the broad national map Lin Yu had been using to outline her grand strategy.
Indeed, a map of this granularity was, unequivocally, classified military intelligence.
“Eh? Isn’t this a deployment map? Is it truly alright to show something like this to me…?” Lin Yu stammered, having glimpsed the label at the top. She hastily averted her gaze, as if an extra second of looking would condemn her for prying into military secrets.
“You’ve long since proven you’re no spy; what harm could a quick glance do?” Lieutenant Xia chuckled. “Besides, these maps are incredibly dull. A young woman such as yourself certainly wouldn’t find them interesting.”
‘You’ve jumped to conclusions a bit too quickly, Lieutenant,’ Lin Yu mused inwardly. ‘In my previous life, I was practically obsessed with these kinds of map-coloring games.’
‘Her ‘ten out of ten’ passion in her past life, however, was reserved for games like “Call of Duty” and “Battlefield.” The profound depth of her affection for them was evident in how they indirectly fueled her impulsive decision to become a mercenary.’
‘Of course, even to this day, she still regretted ever falling down that particular rabbit hole.’