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    • Chapter

      Medicine

      Medicine Cover
      by 鲁迅 I In the late autumn night, the moon had set, and the sun had not yet risen, leaving only a dark blue sky; everything was asleep except for nocturnal creatures. Hua Lao Shuan suddenly sat up. He struck a match and lit the greasy lamp, casting a pale light throughout the two rooms of the teahouse. "Are you off, Father Xiao Shuan?" It was the voice of an old woman. A fit of coughing also came from the small inner room. "Hmm." Old Shuan listened, responded, and fastened his clothes; he reached out…
    • Chapter

      Kong Yiji

      Kong Yiji Cover
      by 鲁迅 In the town of Lu, the taverns have a distinctive layout, unlike any other: an L-shaped counter stands at the forefront, always stocked with hot water to warm wine on the spot. It was a common sight for laborers, post-work, to spend four copper coins—a price that has since tripled—to enjoy a steaming bowl of wine, resting by the counter. For an additional coin, they could afford a plate of salted bamboo shoots or fennel seeds; a more substantial sum might secure a meat dish. However, most patrons,…
    • Chapter

      A Madman’s Diary

      A Madman’s Diary Cover
      by 鲁迅 There was a friend, a brother to someone. I'll keep his name hidden; he was a good friend of mine back in middle school. After years of separation, our communication gradually faded. Recently, I heard that one of them was seriously ill; when I returned to my hometown, I took a detour to visit, and only met one person, who said the sick one was his younger brother. He thanked me for coming from afar to see him but informed me that he had already recovered and had gone to a certain place to wait for a…
    • Chapter

      Preface

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      by 鲁迅 In my youth, I was blessed with a multitude of dreams, most of which have now faded from my memory, and I harbor no regrets over their loss. Memories, while capable of bringing joy, can also lead to a sense of desolation, as the threads of our spirit remain tethered to the silent moments of the past. What significance does this hold? Yet, I am haunted by the fragments that refuse to fade, and these remnants have become the genesis of "Call to Arms." For more than four years, I was a frequent…
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