Chapter 50

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 Inscribed on the first stone:

  In the winter of 2011, Kanoman fought for half a month, 792 casualties, 55 rescued, donated by nara.

  second block.

  In the summer of 2012, Yiyun fought for a week, with 135 casualties, 0 rescued and self-recovery.

  third piece.

  In the spring of 2014, Yosek earthquake caused 73 deaths and injuries, 25 rescued, donated by Dana.

  fourth block.

  In the autumn of 2017, the Blanche Bridge collapsed, 44 people were killed or injured, 14 were rescued and picked up by themselves.

  The fifth block, the sixth block...

  Until the last piece just carved in Ji Tingyu's hand.

  There were twenty-five stones in all in the jar.

  It records all the major battles he has covered, the countless lives he saved, the adventures he escaped from, and the honors and praises he received.

  It's like a bottle of merit books filled with stones.

  The moment this idea took shape in his mind, He Zhuo's heart began to convulse violently, as if an old disease had recurred, his whole body trembled from inside to outside.

  "What the hell are these things? Are you recording something with them?"

  Ji Tingyu didn't know, so, "Just some numbers."

  "Xiaoyu!" He Zhuo roared suddenly, moved his lips after the roar, and squeezed out a few words stiffly: "Xiaoyu, tell me clearly, do they mean anything to you..."

  Ji Tingyu blinked, lowered his head, and his shoulders collapsed.

  "Probably... it's the evidence of my existence."

  His tone was rare and solemn, as if solemnly declaring:

  "I thought about how I would write my epitaph a hundred years later and tell others about my lofty ideals if I failed to leave any achievements in my life, or if everything I did was wiped out by others. and modest contributions?"

  "And then there are them."

  "Even if no one remembers, my steps will help me remember that I have gone deep into the wounds of the earth countless times and revealed the scars left by war."

  He Zhuo's heart stopped suddenly, and the blood in his whole body seemed to be frozen.

  He raised his eyes stiffly, saw Ji Tingyu's face with the shyness that young people often have when they talk about lofty ideals, and smiled shyly:

  "These are my proudest seven years."

  At that moment, He Zhuo's heart seemed to be dug out by life, and the bloody wound was full of rotten maggots bred by time.

  Because Ji Tingyu's prediction was right.

  Everything he had done in his previous life was obliterated.

  After Ji Tingyu left the press department at the age of 27, all the video materials showing his appearance were replaced with another face. For the reports he wrote with the first-hand information he won with his life, his signature became a meaningless code name. The three words Ji Tingyu are not included in the list of war correspondents in the entire Allied countries.

  Even on the Newell Snowfield where he had been stationed for seven years, no one dared to mention Ji Tingyu's name again.

  His ideals, his ambitions, all the contributions he made, and the hundreds of lives he saved, all disappeared in the archives together with him.

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