—No law could possibly judge a dead person.
“Officer Ke?” Li Yuyi murmured, sensing Ke Yiyi’s body go slack, slumping against his shoulder, supported by the tree trunk. He called out softly, but no response came. ‘She must have fallen asleep,’ he thought.
Though Li Yuyi disliked both touching and being touched by others, disturbing someone’s rest was inherently impolite. Faced with these two discomforts, he invariably chose to uphold the latter principle. The former merely caused him personal unease, but the latter directly impacted another’s precious sleep. The greater importance of the two was undeniably clear.
This day, despite appearing to be merely a series of walks, had unfolded with an overwhelming chain of events, leaving Ke Yiyi utterly drained, not just physically, but profoundly so, in spirit. It was a weariness of the heart, far more taxing than any bodily exertion.
She had reconnected with an ‘old friend’ after years apart, only to sever ties with them irrevocably within a few short hours. Such an experience would leave anyone with a profound sense of emptiness, particularly when that ‘old friend’ held such ‘special significance’ in her heart.
Lan Xifang, too, had her rationale. A mentally distraught Ke Yiyi was clearly in no state to calmly oversee the troop withdrawal—a task that, while seemingly simple, involving little more than walking, would be rendered ineffective if performed with a heavy heart. A temporary respite was far preferable, as the presence or absence of one individual was ultimately inconsequential. This arrangement, after all, was merely a compromise to ensure equitable numbers within each observation group.
Though Lan Xifang’s true identity remained unknown to him, Li Yuyi could discern the immense authority wielded by this new leader. Her power was so substantial that she could claim a piece of every segment of Vega’s power structure, which, to him, resembled a cake divided almost into three distinct parts.
As for his use of ‘true identity’… While he lacked concrete proof, Li Yuyi gleaned from numerous subtle details that this leader’s background was far from straightforward. The absence of information in her personal file predating her entry into Vega was unequivocally not an oversight; it was a deliberate erasure.
Yet, Li Yuyi possessed no overwhelming curiosity that compelled him to delve into the hidden histories of his superiors. On Xuanji Star, such inquisitiveness would not only derail any prospects of advancement but could also initiate a swift descent into disgrace, or even lead one directly to the gates of the underworld.
“I apologize… How long was I asleep?” Ke Yiyi’s voice drifted from behind him, her weariness palpable even in her tone.
“In truth, you’d only just drifted off…”
“My apologies…”
“There’s no need to apologize to anyone. This is, after all, designated rest time.”
“But I’ve inconvenienced you.”
“Are you referring to my shoulder? It’s no trouble at all. During campaigns and battles, soldiers often huddle in trenches, resting their weary heads against one another’s shoulders to find sleep.”
“Have you ever fought in a war?” Ke Yiyi inquired. She recalled a section of Li Yuyi’s personal file being redacted—the portion detailing his initial integration into Vega. Beyond that, his records showed no overt war-related experiences. She surmised, therefore, that the obscured details might pertain to military service, perhaps even classified missions.
“If I were to say ‘yes,’ would Officer Ke then be unable to speak with me in this manner?”
“Why would that be? I hold no prejudice against ‘war veterans.’ Regardless, you are a hero who fought to defend your home and nation, unlike me… I remained safely in the rear, never once stepping onto a battlefield.” Hearing Li Yuyi’s question, Ke Yiyi instantly knew he must have participated in a war; otherwise, he wouldn’t have posed such a query.
While many in the aftermath of the war harbored resentment towards retired veterans, believing that Vega’s initial collapse and its subsequent state were direct consequences of the army’s failure to repel the enemy at the borders, such sentiments were ultimately held by a minority. The war had claimed countless lives, robbing Vega of an entire generation. Every family had suffered a loss, and all were victims of the conflict, veterans included.
Ke Yiyi had personally witnessed the plight of demobilized soldiers, both during her tenure as a temporary police officer and her studies at the police academy. Their lives, she observed, were far from comfortable. Vega had failed to provide these veterans with a dignified post-war existence; instead, they were forced to scramble daily for survival. Physical disabilities compounded their struggles, creating myriad hardships. Moreover, the pensions afforded to the families of fallen soldiers were anything but generous. A life, vibrant before the war, was often reduced to an unrecoverable body, compensated by a pittance.
Furthermore, against the backdrop of such immense loss, no amount of wealth could ever truly compensate for a single vibrant life extinguished.
She harbored no desire to fault the Vega government for its perceived inadequacy in aiding its soldiers. Even without a comprehensive understanding of the intricacies, she could readily perceive Vega’s post-war desperation. Countless areas cried out for funding, yet the core of the problem was a profound lack of resources.
With nearly a third of its territory lost and over half its population and industrial capacity decimated, such was Vega’s grim reality. In the face of such devastation, mere verbal recrimination had become utterly meaningless.
Li Yuyi slowly raised his gaze, observing the distant streetlights across the way, and settled into a prolonged silence.
He was, undeniably, a veteran who had participated in the World War. Yet, what expression would cross Ke Yiyi’s face if she were to discover that the faction he fought for was not the one she revered, and that his battles were not waged for the defense of home and country?
Ke Yiyi was a genuinely kind soul. He harbored no desire to deceive such a person, nor did he wish to brutally expose her to the harsh truths of reality. He dreaded seeing her expression if she were to feel betrayed, and even more so, the look she would bear if she ever learned the full truth.
In truth, he knew that despite his ‘special pardon,’ in the eyes of a Ke Yiyi privy to the truth… he would be indistinguishable from Man Huai Zhi—both nothing more than murderers and war criminals of Xuanji Star.
Li Yuyi was a man unafraid of death or admitting guilt; these were trials he had endured. Yet, for some inexplicable reason, he harbored a profound fear of Ke Yiyi learning of his past.
Should that day come, he would no longer be able to converse with her in this easy manner. Ke Yiyi would never engage in friendly discourse with a war criminal burdened by countless atrocities.
While Li Yuyi had once believed himself distinct from Man Huai Zhi, that distinction existed solely ‘in his own mind’… and nowhere else.
“Why have you fallen silent? I truly hold no prejudice against veterans. After all, you are someone who clawed their way through bloodshed and turmoil to reach this point. I admire you.”
“No, I am not worthy of your admiration. I am merely a murderer.” Li Yuyi refuted Ke Yiyi’s words. Though she remained oblivious to the truth, he bore its full weight. He could not falsely accept the reverence Ke Yiyi bestowed upon a hero; he was neither deserving nor worthy of such an honor.
Ke Yiyi paused, momentarily stunned. She had encountered veterans like this before—individuals who, prior to the war, were ordinary citizens, but who, after bearing witness to the horrific realities of the battlefield, were left consumed by guilt. They saw themselves as murderers, acknowledging that their enemies, too, had been vibrant lives, and that in ending those lives, they had committed an unforgivable sin.
She began to turn, intending to look at Li Yuyi, but midway, a sudden recollection of his earlier words made her halt abruptly, her gaze snapping back to the front.
‘Even now, looking at him would only reveal his discomfort and helplessness,’ she mused. ‘It’s better to grant him the space to process his emotions privately.’
GazIng at the sky, she couldn’t help but feel that Li Yuyi was a truly kind person, one who would feel such remorse and sorrow over the deaths of even his enemies. ‘If it were me… would I react the same way?’
The shadow of Man Huai Zhi flickered through her mind, sending a shiver down Ke Yiyi’s spine. She quickly shook her head, desperate to banish all thoughts of him, but how could two decades of constant contemplation be eradicated in a single instant? Even with her resolve firmly set, time alone would be the solvent to wash away the indelible marks of the past.
Time, that most tender of caresses, was also the most ruthless of tortures—and no one was exempt from its dual nature.
Amidst their shared silence, it was Li Yuyi who eventually broke the stillness.
“It’s growing darker, Officer Ke. Aren’t you going to rest?”
“I… I’ll go see Saichi again in a little while.” Ke Yiyi sighed. Though she dreaded confronting Yagami Saichi, she knew she couldn’t genuinely evade her. Facts remained facts; they would not alter simply because she chose to avoid them.
“Then I shall wait for you.”
“You could actually go rest first. We are well within Vega territory now, and it’s time for the observation team to stand down. There’s no longer a need for two people to remain together.”
“It’s no bother; I have long grown accustomed to waiting.”
Li Yuyi spoke no falsehood. His work with the battlefield military court frequently entailed prolonged periods of waiting—not only for his superiors and subordinates, but also for the soldiers who had transgressed military discipline.
Transgressions of military discipline knew no specific time or place. A soldier might violate regulations under any conceivable circumstance—perhaps encountering a group of surrendering civilians amidst the chaos of battle, casually executing them, and then seamlessly rejoining the fight.
In such extreme situations, the battlefield military court could hardly storm onto the field of combat during a brief lull to apprehend an individual. All they could do was wait, to endure until the battle concluded. Should the culprit perish in the fighting, their vigil would prove entirely fruitless, for no one could ever pass judgment upon the deceased.
He was accustomed to waiting, even when the act of waiting itself merely compounded the suffering.
He knew, with chilling certainty, that a soldier who had massacred civilians during battle would likely continue to slaughter any non-combatants they encountered, yet he was powerless to intervene, forced to witness it all unfold. The battlefield military court lacked the authority of a direct superior; it could not interfere with active combat units, even if those units engaged in actions entirely unrelated to their designated mission, as they were still technically operating under official orders.
“Do you want to come with me?” Ke Yiyi asked, her heart filled with hesitation. This was, by all rights, her own private matter, and seeking accompaniment felt improper. Yet, she found the prospect of facing Yagami Saichi alone daunting. She hoped that having someone at her back, however subtly, might steel her resolve and prevent her from retreating.
“Go together? Me?” Li Yuyi initially believed he had misheard, but then, upon reflection, recognized the invitation as perfectly aligned with Ke Yiyi’s character.
“No, I’m not adept at confronting such… cruel matters.” Li Yuyi lowered his head slightly, pausing for a moment before carefully selecting a more euphemistic term.
In truth, he lied. He had frequently confronted the aftermath of such war crimes in his past. However, as a soldier of Xuanji Star, his stance had always been, and would always be, aligned with Xuanji Star’s interests. He harbored no desire to face a victim of Xuanji Star’s cruelties in his current capacity, even though he knew his presence might lend Ke Yiyi the courage to confront her own struggle. Though he had previously asserted to Ke Yiyi that he ‘had nothing to hide from a Vega police officer,’ at this moment, he was facing Ke Yiyi the person, not Ke Yiyi the Vega police officer. Her identity as an individual superseded her official role.
“Alright.” Ke Yiyi couldn’t force Li Yuyi. Her own struggles, ultimately, were hers to face; she couldn’t burden others. She tilted her head back slightly, preparing to stand, when she heard Li Yuyi’s voice.
“Forget it, let’s go together!”
‘If she has decided to face it, then I cannot shy away either.’