Side Story: Hell on Earth
Chapter 100
Reminisce
Dang Khong upward, raising his head to look at the scene ahead, on both sides of the road stretched two rows of ancient houses. Compared with the ghostly cemetery, this place was as fresh and tranquil as a quiet village. If there was anything lacking, they strove with all their might to make up for it.
After many years of absorbing the souls of the wandering souls and the vital energy of restless ghosts, they have become the source of "nourishment" that has sustained a "body" as hungry and broken as starving refugees. Although it has not yet grown fertile and full like the human world, this place has ceased to be barren and dry.
It has now submitted to those humans who overcame countless hardships. They who have endured toil and suffering, who have faced death innumerable times, yet have still struck down the god of death. Those people have accepted living with demons, entering the deathly realm of the netherworld, in order to seek a path for the future... resolutely... confronting adversity.
Dang Khong and those in the same plight have already established homesteads, built villages, excavated river channels, drawn water from a waterfall on a towering northern Heavenly Summit, and created ponds and lakes to nourish aquatic species. Those creatures struggled, thrashed, and competed to leap into the air, wishing to become dragons, to escape this stifling, dark place without sunlight.
He and the villagers have hacked through mountains and have dug channels to divert the waterfall southward, irrigating the land so that in all four seasons fruits have been borne, multiplying life across the whole village. Spreading sweet fragrance, reminding people to change their own fate, never forgetting the years of thirst and countless sufferings they had endured.
The saturnine fellow is in the East. This place has grown exotic flowers and rare herbs, whose branches and foliage have spread to cover the paths in green; they have weathered storms and rain alongside the ancient houses lining both sides of the road. Each house stands closely side by side, embodying a strong sense of solidarity in the face of the oppression of moss, stormy winds, and relentless rains that cannibalize bodies no longer whole.
They have already, year after year, exerted their utmost effort to endure the torture and beatings of harsh climate. They have also patiently borne the terrible erosion of time, just like innocent people in the cold winter nights of the past who suffered genocide, hungry and thirsty, without enough warm clothing.
Today is also a cold winter night. The biting wind blows, like those ghostly souls of the past who never spared the victims. Most terrifying of all, whenever the weather turns cold, thousands of shattered images surge back, cutting into everyone's heart, wounds that can never heal in a lifetime.
That pain disturbs the mind, tears the heart, leaving victims unable to sleep. Each person lightly touches the cruel whip marks still deeply carved into their skin and flesh.
Victims leap up from their beds. One clutches his head in agony, screaming curses. Another weeps for the family slaughtered, leaving him alone to chew on pain day and night. Some drown their sorrows in wine, yet cannot swallow the choking anger; their mournful cries are pressed into their throats.
Villagers, unable to bear the pressure, quietly gather on the porches of houses along the road, sharing pain, opening their hearts to recount the nightmare days when they endured countless calamities more terrible than hell. Even if they exhausted a whole lifetime, it would not suffice to tell all they had gone through in those dark years.
- Where did I stop last time? Damn it, this head has been beaten so much, sometimes I remember, sometimes I forget...
A middle-aged man with a worn face sighed, drank a cup of wine:
- If you don't remember, I—your companion back then—will tell it, for everyone to hear. At that time, you and I were crammed into a vehicle full of people and livestock. Damn it, before the vehicle reached the second village, we had to endure the stench of animals, the smell of urine, the suffocating odor of excrement... for twelve whole hours...
That friend still did not remember, so he and the villagers listened:
- That village divided families into many groups, altogether five groups. The rebels put you, me, and Sutan's family into Group 1. Tanya's family was in Group 2, Maria's family and Le family were in Group 3. The weak Yu's family was afraid and his wife was in Group 4. The prostitute Slin's family and the villain Moji's family were in Group 5. The group leader was the elder of Tetua Desa village.
When Dang Khong heard about Maria, he stopped. He stood motionless, not responding to the villagers' greetings. The crowd frowned, feeling that Dang Khong did not acknowledge their greetings. He was completely lost in the past.
The old villagers once called the evacuees "new people." Each old household at that time had to receive one or two new families according to the size of the house. The rude man did not remember which managing household Maria's family belonged to. Aunt Favor Grace sat on the left, drinking hot tea to warm her body shivering from the cold weather:
- The owner who received Maria's family had once been a young woman.
She glanced at Dang Khong. He stood motionless under the windy sky, listening intently as the man continued:
- Damn their ancestors. That desolate place had no electricity, no clean water. The turbid lakes and filthy ponds near the houses were the source of water for people and animals. Behind each residential area there was a large empty field that had been turned into a huge toilet. Each time the evacuees defecated they had to dig a hole and then cover it, like cats hiding their feces. Damn it, I still remember at that time we had to use everything, including dry leaves, to clean instead of paper. The public toilets had no cover at all. Regardless of old or young, male or female, everyone went there, which led to many absurd situations, like me and the neighbor woman many times being "washed in the eyes" for free. At first we were embarrassed, but as time passed, both sides grew thick-skinned, damn it, we didn't even know shame anymore. After defecating or urinating, wiping, both pulled up their pants and calmly walked home, as if we had never seen each other.
Some laughed bitterly, some sighed, some smiled wryly. The old man raised his hand to his nose and sniffed, frowning and cursing, making the listeners laugh:
- Damn it, the stench still lingers. Before we arrived, every house was a warehouse of old, broken furniture scattered everywhere. Dust accumulated in heaps, impossible to clean. Spider webs everywhere. Rats, cockroaches, ants, and centipedes nested in the wall holes. Damn their ancestors, I spent three days and three nights working as a coolie for the rebels while also cleaning until that filthy mess was finally cleared.
That friend patted his own head, remembering:
- Oh, I remember. At that time, the village elder distributed rice and salt. The next day, the evacuees were summoned to attend brainwashing meetings, where the rulers read out the rules, stipulating what could be done and what was forbidden. At night the evacuees did not dare to talk to each other, fearing that at any time, in any place, they would be monitored by the Hive's spies. They also grew irritated and sarcastic toward those who wore glasses, as if glasses were dangerous weapons.
Everyone remembered, once, a soldier with a childish face arrogantly walked up to the nearsighted man, haughtily lifting his chin and asked:
"I heard that intellectuals boast of seeing through everything, then why are you still wearing glasses, letting them tangle your eyes and nose?"
Without waiting for that man to react, he waved his hand, snatched the glasses, threw them on the ground, then crushed them into pieces, curling his lips in contempt and sneering:
"Let this pair of glasses be a warning."
The soldier and his companions proudly "gloated over" those evacuees who trembled all over, terrified, not daring to say a word. From that day on, the evacuees had to work harder than dogs and buffaloes to earn food. A group of soldiers distributed food while making excuses:
"This area is still poor, so saving is needed. Only two meals a day, not rice, but thin porridge."
The crowd cursed silently, bowed their heads, and accepted some food reeking of pungent salt. There were no fruits or vegetables at all. Aunt Favor Grace, burning with anger, gripped her teacup and drank a sip of hot water:
- The Hive once forbade parents to punish and educate their own children. From morning till night they labored, their joints and muscles aching, weak and powerless. At the slightest mistake, they suffered cruel beatings.
Dang Khong knitted his brows and clenched his fists; the sound of his dry joints cracking in the silent night echoed the past lashing of whips against Maria's skin.
The reason was that she had dragged her exhausted body back "home," breathless, only to hear the children pestering and crying from hunger. Irritation and anger caused Maria to lose control; she reached out and slapped her daughter, a blow that made the infant cry louder.
The female homeowner secretly reported it to the superiors, and the village elder, in front of all the "new" and "old" citizens, punished Maria severely and directly. Le family and the children did not dare to intervene.
Seeing her mother's face swollen from the beating, Ange screamed and cried. The little girl and Liberte wanted to run over to beg for mercy, but Maria covertly shook her head to stop them.
She feared that if the children did so, it would provoke the soldiers and make the outcome even worse. Everyone lowered their heads in anger, weeping silently. The village elder roared a threat:
"Anyone who disobeys the orders of the Hive will face the same consequences as her."
The rulers were delighted at the opportunity to trample and humiliate a rule-breaker. A crowd of "old" citizens immediately gloated, mocking Maria as a stupid old prostitute. The "new" citizens cowered in terror, while others shook their heads and sighed—sympathizing with the mother, yet blaming her for hitting the child. The rest felt resentful, secretly cursing the damn foolish woman for getting them scolded and threatened, making their future lives even harder.
That night, Ange and Liberte massaged their mother's body, but even the slightest touch caused a wave of sharp, agonizing pain. With a face full of misery, the mother shed tears of pity for Ange, who was too afraid to cry out loud. The little girl pursed her lips and apologized through sobs:
"Mom, from now on I won't cry, I won't pester you anymore. I will listen to you and listen to the Hive. I'm sorry, Mom!"
Ange cried until she hiccuped, huddling in her mother's arms; the little girl trembled as she pleaded with her mother not to die. Hunger and thirst tore through Maria's intestines and ripped her parched lips, while dense whip marks covered her frail, gaunt body.
Maria forced herself to endure every calamity. But as a mother, she could not bear to hear her daughter sobbing and admitting fault when the child had done nothing wrong. In the peaceful times of the past, Ange would sulk whenever she was unfairly scolded, but now the girl felt no self-pity—she only feared her mother would die.
Maria could not cry. She did not dare to. She had to remain strong to withstand this disaster. Then she realized that the image of herself clenching her teeth, suppressing every sob to swallow the pain, was reappearing in Liberte's small but resilient frame. The boy did his best to suppress the rage and pain that were about to overflow from his bloodshot eyes.
The iron spirit Maria had built with her will was meant for surviving and overcoming catastrophe. She had thought that spirit would remain firm and never fall, but now it melted before her son, who only wanted to put her mind at ease. Whether in times of peace or chaos, the boy was always so understanding.
Maria clenched her hands to stop the heart-wrenching wails. While comforting her daughter and apologizing to her, she pulled her son into her arms and said softly:
"If you want to cry, just cry, my child. Don't hold it back anymore!"
Liberte would always listen to his mother in any situation. This time, however, the boy resolutely stopped his tears. He could not cry. He needed to be strong to protect his mother and family. Liberte swore to the deities that even at the cost of his life, he was determined to do everything to protect his most beloved ones.
Dang Khong unconsciously touches the scars on his body. Aunt Favor Grace and the villagers silently look at him. The miserable people of today are just like Liberte was back then. Neither wants to cry and become weak.
In the past, little Liberte was resilient in order to protect his family. Now, the messenger of hell must be indomitable to change the cursed fate of the villagers and his own.
But... whether it was the little Liberte of the past... or the powerful messenger of hell of the present...
The boiling blood of resentment still burns his bloodshot eyes. Whenever an emotion touches his heart, the saturnine fellow is no longer numb. Two people survived two doomsday eras of human emotion... and became... someone else...
Or more accurately...
They return to their true selves.
Every time agony tortures and threatens to crush the firm spirit, that self rises from the grave... like... ghosts of the past squeezing Dang Khong's heart.
A non-human monster, one who is numb to all things... now... feels the agony of those broken fragments of life... it is... ripping and carving deep, crisscrossing scars all over his body.
His companions have been the villagers who have shared his pain. A heap of dead souls immediately made everyone gasp for breath, screaming frantically, insulting them, and cursing Dang Khong.
Many people have not been able to withstand the invisible pressure, and have either gone mad or committed suicide to find release. The ending has been tragic, yet no one has alienated or abandoned Dang Khong.
From the youth to the elderly, they have united as one, have walked side by side with him, have trampled upon fate, and have survived amidst adversity.
Dang Khong closes his eyes, sorrowfully attempting to calm his mind, but his head is still filled with images of the past...
The Hive promised once again:
"Diligence and hard work, labor is glorious. Comrades are contributing their strength to the national reconstruction; everything is merely a challenge. The Hive never disappoints those who help usher in a new era. Comrades will enjoy deserving results through their own efforts. Keep going; it won't be long before everyone lives a warm, full, and happy life."
Some people still clung to blind hope. Maria's family no longer held any faith or purpose other than struggling to survive.
The village elders came to the house, forcing everyone to write reports and state the entire truth. They were still conducting screenings at the very roots. Maria had just been beaten; her mind was still dazed. She feared that if she did not speak the truth and they found out, she would face even harsher punishment, involving her children, her relatives, and even her husband, whose life or death remained unknown. Then she wrote:
"Before the army came to take over, I worked at the Hexagon Embassy in the capital."
The old group leader immediately replied with a mocking voice:
"Comrade, remember, from now on, the Hive needs a mass of people with developed limbs, letting manual labor define the workers and peasants. We no longer need paper-gnawing bookworms."
After completing the procedures, Maria's family had to endure heart-wrenching agony because Ji, Xiang, and Ru—the three daughters of sister Le—and Liberte had to pack their personal belongings. Then, the village elders took them to work in a place far from the village, because the Hive desperately needed workers to build dikes.
Teenagers were at the forefront of the labor force; the first to be mobilized were males and females aged ten and older. The village elders ensured the children ate well and were treated kindly. In reality, the Hive only provided the same rations as adults, forcing them to work sixteen hours a day.
Maria and Le choked back their tears. Tears had not yet washed the stains from their haggard faces; the two mothers panicked and swallowed their pain, feeling indignant toward the aggressive rulers who glared at them to remind them to follow the rules: crying was forbidden under any circumstances.
Maria and Le gazed worriedly at the figures of the children. They were trembling, terrified, but dared not cry, dared not say a single goodbye, could not even turn toward their mothers before trudging off alone toward the darkness waiting to swallow them.
Maria and Le had no time for sorrow. They still had to find food for every meal and clothes for the two youngest children: Ange and Yi. They had to take care of themselves, coping with hunger, mental and physical exhaustion, and day-and-night torment, not to mention the risk of illness lurking to eliminate the weak.
Thousands of tasks awaited the evacuees—weaving palm leaves for roofs every day, clearing forests... and... countless things that could not be fully remembered.
The man who sometimes remembers and sometimes forgets suddenly slaps the table:
- Fuck them, those sons of bitches! Those beasts forced the refugees to wake up at the crow of the rooster. They forced us to do all kinds of labor heavier than their fat, bastard bodies, yet they gave the refugees nothing but a bowl of plain water and a blackened lump of sugar. Hunger once twisted our hearts and lungs. In the middle of the night, we had to struggle to get up and find a single grain of sugar — a large grain, smeared with black. When it was held in the mouth, it felt like sucking on the sweetest candy in the world, and then a large bowl of water was gulped down. After being hungry for so long, that bowl of sugar water at the time gave the illusion of having eaten a real meal.
He looks at the lemonade in his hand and gives a faint, sardonic smile.
- If the sugar was not kept carefully back then, it would be stolen. Someone lost their sugar, and suspicion spread—accusations, fights—until even those uninvolved were punished along with them. From that time on, everyone remained on high alert; even family members had to be guarded against. Damn them, and their ancestors. We were all in the same situation back then, yet they fucking lived like dogs.
His friend finishes the watery porridge, smashes the bowl with a wave of his hand, and curses incessantly:
- At lunch and dinner, the evacuees were only fed a bowl of thin porridge. It was so watery that our arms ached from scooping continuously, yet we could barely find a few grains of rice. Only when those rulers felt a sudden whim did they toss a few pathetic slices of radish into the bowls for the refugees
Aunt Favor Grace smacks her lips and sighs heavily:
- Back then, what we ate wasn't even enough to line the stomach, let alone provide nutrition. Parents could only weep as they watched their weak and sickly children. The refugees were so starving they could barely stay alive, so who had room for a conscience? I once rushed into the grain-snatching brawls; I almost killed a man just to grab a piece of bread for my child. I even risked my life to steal eggs from the village head, just to cook a bowl of porridge for that sick boy!
Two men speak up one after another:
- You did that to save the boy back then, it was justifiable!
- Exactly, those bastards should have been cast into hell long ago.
A woman, soothing the crying child in her arms, asks curiously:
- Where is that boy now?
Aunt Favor Grace looks down at her teacup. On the surface of the water... slowly emerges... the silhouette of a silent, hardworking boy:
- He died!
Heartfelt Words at Year's End
Chapter 100 is the final chapter of the lunar year, and I completed it on February 16, the 29th day of the lunar calendar, just before New Year's Eve. One hundred chapters are neither too long nor too short, but they represent a journey that has not been easy. It is the result of a year of hard work—translating, revising, and striving to perfect this story.
I sincerely thank all the friends who have given me advice, feedback, and encouragement before and after my revisions. This means a great deal to me as an author, especially since Chinese is not my first language. Once again, thank you very much, and I hope to continue receiving your feedback and suggestions so that this story can become even more complete.
I wish everyone a Happy New Year, good health, and success in all things.