Chapter 88: The Thoughts of Kazuo Isa

"But..." The woman hesitated upon hearing this and said, "If the little devils steal our grain, how are we supposed to survive afterward?"

Growing anxious, the farmer exclaimed, "How can you be so short-sighted, woman? If we lose our grain, we might still find a way to get by. But if we lose our lives, then everything is truly over!"

He glanced at the main road and saw the Japanese soldiers nearly upon them. In a panic, he urged, "Enough, hurry and hide inside! If the little devils spot our girl, her life will be ruined forever!"

Though their daughter was only eleven or twelve, they knew all too well the brutality of the Japanese invaders. News of the Nanjing Massacre had spread across the nation like wildfire. With the nature of those devils, if they saw a girl—even one as young as seven or eight—she might not escape their hands, let alone someone her daughter's age.

Precisely because he understood this, the farmer shoved his wife and daughter into the cellar, sealed the entrance tightly, and barred the courtyard gate. Only then did he look around the yard, take up a steel pitchfork, and clutch it in his calloused hands, feeling a small measure of reassurance.

Still, he did not relax his vigilance. Gripping the pitchfork, he stood guard in the courtyard, eyes fixed intently on the gate.

Elsewhere, the other villagers had all fled into their homes to hide. Though they knew their houses were not truly safe, terror gripped every heart. This dread drove them to seek refuge in the only place that felt familiar and secure—their own homes.

Meanwhile, in the dim, musty cellar, the middle-aged woman stared tensely at the entrance. Her face was ashen and bloodless, trembling at the thought of the little devils’ savagery. She was haunted by what might happen to her husband outside—if the Japanese were to catch him... The very notion made her clutch her daughter even tighter.

The little girl, seeing her mother so afraid, didn’t understand the reason. Yet, being a dutiful child, she whispered, “Mama, don’t be scared. If bad people come, I’ll protect you.”

“Hush now, darling, Mama isn’t afraid. Don’t say a word! We’re playing hide-and-seek with Papa—let’s not let him find us,” the woman replied, forcing a smile and patting her daughter’s shoulder softly.

She lied to keep her daughter quiet, fearing any noise might betray them if the Japanese broke in.

“Oh, hide-and-seek! That’s my favorite game!” The little girl’s face lit up with a smile, then she quickly covered her mouth with her small hand, her clear eyes fixed on the cellar entrance, innocent and untroubled.

By this time, the town was deserted. Every soul had retreated into their homes, doors barred, hearts pounding with anxiety, eyes glued to the courtyard gates. Some villagers were so frightened that they trembled from head to toe.

The Japanese troops’ brutality was infamous throughout the country. Ever since the Nanjing Massacre, everyone believed that falling into their hands meant almost certain death. Thus, the villagers awaited the enemy as if facing a deadly catastrophe.

Though they were terrified, bitterness also gnawed at their hearts. Natural disasters were unending, war raged year after year, food was scarce, and crushing taxes had long since reduced ordinary families to poverty. The little grain that remained was already not enough; now, with the Japanese sweeping through again, losing their food would be the least of it—many might even lose their lives.

What would become of them then?

As the impending calamity loomed, every villager was steeped in despair. Yet, to their surprise, after waiting anxiously in their homes, there was no sound of Japanese soldiers smashing down doors, nor were there any cries or wails from neighboring houses. This left everyone puzzled.

A few braver farmers, armed with iron forks, cautiously cracked their gates and peeked outside. To their astonishment, the Japanese column passed straight through the town in perfect formation, not even pausing.

“What’s going on?” wondered the villagers, mystified.

Major Ichizo Ichio sat in the sidecar of his motorcycle, sword in hand, directing his troops forward. Seeing the villagers panic and hide before the arrival of the Imperial Army filled him with a fierce sense of accomplishment.

He gazed at the tightly closed gates lining the road, listening to the faint sobs and choking cries from within. In the past, he would have kicked down those doors, laughing as he unleashed cruelty on these wretched Chinese—looting their food, taking their women.

But now, his mind was elsewhere.

The headquarters of the Thirteenth Division had ordered them to proceed swiftly to Dingyuan and reconnoiter enemy positions—a direct order from the division commander himself. Ichizo Ichio dared not delay, treating this as his highest priority and urging his men forward at full speed.

Were it not for the urgency of the commander’s orders, he would never have let this town go so easily. He would have plundered to his heart’s content, grinding those lowly Chinese beneath his boots, and perhaps even violating their wives and daughters before their very eyes.

The thought sent a shudder of excitement through Ichizo Ichio. He resolved that once the Chinese forces in Dingyuan were annihilated, he would return and scour this town, perhaps finding some comely young women among the spoils.

The very idea of women from the Republic of China made Ichizo Ichio salivate. In his mind, though the Chinese were base and ignorant, their women were lively and spirited—far more so than the docile women of his own empire. Japanese women, though beautiful, were too submissive, knowing only obedience and lacking the thrill of conquest.

As his thoughts wandered, his mouth grew dry. Suddenly, a commotion of barking broke his reverie. Annoyed, he turned to see several mongrel dogs barking furiously at him. Enraged, Ichizo Ichio drew his pistol, intending to shoot them, but reconsidered and holstered the weapon. The mission was urgent—no need to cause trouble and risk alerting the Chinese forces.

With a hateful glare at the dogs, he waved his men onward, urging the column to quicken its pace and leave the town behind.

Still, he nursed a grudge against those stray dogs, vowing that on his return, he would slaughter them and treat himself to a feast of dog-meat hotpot.

Soon, the Seventh Regiment under Ichizo Ichio marched out of the town. The villagers, seeing the Japanese depart without committing any atrocities, stepped cautiously from their homes, watching the fading column with bewilderment.