Pain sliced through his eyes as he squinted in the sunlight. It couldn’t have been more than a week, his brain tried to recall how far back he last saw the outside world, but the images came back to him in disjointed bits and pieces. The only thing his mind is registering now is the pain.

In the hazy mid-morning sun, he looked down at his bound wrists, blood collecting at the old, thick, rough ropes. There was pain all over and nowhere. He dragged his bare feet on the cold ground, his body following with the push and shoves of the bayonet-clad soldiers walking almightily along them.

Jung Yong Hwa. Jung Yong Hwa. 

He heard his name in his mind’s eye, if he supposed that it was his name at all. The voice was soft and mellow, like a peacefully flowing river. He imagined that it could’ve been his mother, calling him. However, his mother was not with him, that much he was aware of. He doesn’t even know where he was- there was just pain.

And thirst.

Somehow, he knew that he was sleepwalking. He was dreaming of water- cool, sparkling, clean water running down his throat, dripping out from his mouth, giving salvation to his dry, cracked lips. His eyes opened and closed slowly as if in a trance, barely registering the cool blade the slit open the skin on his shoulder as a soldier pushed him with the end of a bayonet to get back in line. In a split second, he found himself staring at the icy dust swirling in front of his face as his knees knocked with each other and he fell to the ground.  

There was so much pain.

In a flash of memory- or if he was still dreaming, Jung Yong Hwa wasn’t sure- he remembered the last time he had fallen to the ground. It was because of jovial, drunken night in Shanghai with people he barely knew, but everyone was heady with the sounds of Irving Mills and Benny Goodman still lingering at the back of their heads. It was a balmy spring night, he was high on his youth and adventure, and he didn’t mind that he found himself the next morning sleeping in a dingy side street with a massive hangover. A smile ghosted his lips for a short while as he recalled the captivating woman he encountered at the drinking house. Her hair was inky as the peaceful night sky and her eyes were the stars. He could not, for the life of him, grab her name from his dream-memory. All he knew was that she was Korean, like him, and she reminded him of pearls.

The dream-memory burned in his mind.

It was because of her that he found himself wandering the streets of Nanking, searching for that night sky with stars that shined like pearls. He did not pay heed to the whispers of an imminent Japanese attack, all he wanted was to find her and take her away in a whirl of jazz strains and laughter. He’s still high with the rush of adventure, but he wouldn’t mind to settle down anywhere, as long as it was with her.

His mind was still grasping at its innermost recesses for her name when he felt someone grabbed him roughly on his injured shoulder. Oh, the pain was most unbearable that he barely felt it at all.

The next thing he knew was he was standing up, his feet grazing the cold, dusty ground again. A slew of shouting voices registering at his ear- broken, strained pleas in Chinese, authoritative barks in Japanese- everything was so foreign, he began to believe that he was indeed dreaming.

But, as the dust was shaken from his eyes, he felt that he was waking up. His ears picked out one voice from the crowd, speaking words that he could recognize as his mother tongue, beckoning him to pay attention.

제발요, 제발요.

He raised his head the best he could, the blood from his shoulder creating a cool line down his arm, making him shiver. There, he saw a vision. That pearl woman, running towards him, her hair matted with dirt, her face lined with dried tears, her clothing in tatters, and he could make out a map of crusted blood on her skirt. He saw a flash of recognition when their eyes locked and he felt the world wind down into slow motion.

A rush of energy flowed through his body and he staggered his way to her, ignoring the blazing screams from the soldiers that surrounded them. He might’ve had screamed when he saw a man pull her arm, he wasn’t sure anymore of what was happening. His mind just urged him to go forward no matter what.

White hot pain flowed from his leg as his brain registered the bang of a rifle, but he was beyond caring as he lurched forward, trying with every bit of left of his being to reach her.

As if finally sensing what he was trying to do, he watched as a soldier pierce his bayonet through her stomach, the blood slowly blooming in the middle of her body as she fell down on the ground. It must surely be just a dream, he thought, just a dream. Chaos was erupting around them, but by some miracle, he managed to reach her body. Their blood mixing on the dirt and he was slightly thankful for the temporary warmth it brought.

She was still as beautiful as the night sky and he allowed himself to raise his bound hands to be able to touch her lips. He kept his eyes wide as he witnessed her shudder her last breath.

Goodnight, goodnight, my sweet angel. 

He felt that he could not do anymore, but with one last surge of strength, he hauled himself on top of her in a weak semblance of an embrace before he felt it again, the cool blade and the white hot pain.

Then, there was nothing left, but darkness.


---

As inspired by the events in 1937 in the of Nanking.
* 제발요 - (je bal yo) please
And yes, before anyone asks, it's Seo Joo Hyun who's the girl that figures in the story. From my research, her name means 'worthy pearl', so there's that giveaway.