I am not Ximen Qing.

The first major population migration in Chinese history began with the Empress Dowager's decree. The black soil was fertile enough; if all else failed, one could gather wild vegetables from the forest, which were considered delicacies. Even so, those who could come to this land needed the right timing, location, and people. Like a thousand troops crossing a single-plank bridge, those who made it here were the lucky ones blessed by heaven.

The waters of the Yalu River are a clear, emerald green. People on both sides of the river, separated by the border, gaze at each other, both subjugated people.

Several bloodied human heads hung from the city wall, like the corpses of pirates in "The Man Who Laughs," swaying in the wind and baking in the sun. They weren't coated with asphalt, because that material was too extravagant for the time; even the roads were paved with stones, how could asphalt be used to coat human heads? The heads swayed in the wind, a warning to the honest people pouring in: resistance was futile; resistance would only result in beheading. Resistance had long since vanished; now, eating some vegetable leaves and drinking some bitter vegetable soup, survival was more important than anything else. Enslaved for two or three hundred years, they had long lost the will to resist; their heads were empty, their stomachs rumbling with hunger, and the sight of sunlight was like seeing the fires of hell. There was no need to speak of the torments of life and death in hell; this suffering was worse than hell itself.

The bandits weren't afraid of warlords or the Kuomintang. But when the Japanese came, their good days were over—it was ironic; some were incorporated, others were wiped out. Korea and the black soil region became a vast rear area for the invasion of China. People were concentrated in towns, villages, and settlements, with a system of mutual responsibility and village leadership, each linked to the next. Those who disobeyed, those who dared to live a secluded life in the primeval forests, faced a desolate and chaotic future; simply surviving became their sole purpose.

The nightmare of the severed head remained eternally in the memories of the uncle and nephew.

Ji'an County, known as the "Little Jiangnan of Northeast China," boasts gentle breezes, clear waters, and a pleasant climate. After the hardships of autumn and winter, they can now catch a few fresh pollacks in the river during the summer, cook a fish soup, and add some wild shepherd's purse. While the leaves and stems aren't as tender as in spring, it's a heavenly delicacy for the uncle and nephew who need nutrition. Several cows graze on wild grass in the village, their tails constantly swishing to scare away horseflies. The cows love this comfort; they no longer have to endure the icy cold of the iron rings in their noses during winter, where moisture condenses into thin icicles in the cold wind.

The Japanese flag has fallen. Life is better for Koreans on both sides of the Yalu River.

The saying goes, "What goes around comes around." Like a stray dog, the arrogant and wealthy life of the past is over. The immigration plan to the mainland, built on the suffering and misery of other nations, has vanished like a dream. Some committed suicide, some rebelled, and some were dejected. The Japanese lost their former haughty and arrogant will. The kind and compassionate Chinese, who had suffered under their oppression, did not retaliate. The vast majority of ordinary people were unaware of the heinous crimes committed by the Bushido in Nanjing. The Japanese wanted to destroy the spirit and soul of five thousand years of Chinese civilization. The Nazis' initial intention was simple: like the extermination of the Jews, they wanted to wipe out the essence of Chinese culture in Nanjing.

The spirited women of the Japanese settlers, who had dedicated themselves to the Emperor with their Shinto spirit, were now refugees fleeing in the darkness. They feared that the blood debts of the past would be repaid by themselves and their vulnerable children. They displayed an instinctive forbearance and a servile, Machiavellian spirit in the face of crisis, but deep down they were unwilling to accept defeat. Their risky gamble had failed. They hadn't fully enjoyed the nourishment of the black soil, their dreams of the American West's gold rush hadn't ended, and they hadn't fully experienced the superiority of being high and mighty. Then came the devastating blow. They still longed for the railroads they had built, the small villas they had constructed, the factories, banks, and coal mines built to fuel the holy war—all left to these uncivilized, sick men of East Asia. This was their mindset: resentment, regret for this humiliating defeat, their sincere thoughts hidden without a trace. Their persistent, opportunistic, and manipulative mentality was once again brought to its extreme. The heinous criminals have now transformed into pitiful beggars. When you fail, you must have a shameless spirit. This is the essence of the Yamato people's education. To live is to win. No other nation is as good at stealing the essence of the Han Chinese culture as this nation. They are humble and bow and scrape. They swallow all the good things, bones and broth, and make them a part of their body and soul.