Solitary Fire Shines Upon the Cold Billows
That night, Longzhi led the twelve of us to steal into the harbour.
Five ironclad warships lay like slumbering giants under the moonlight. We set them ablaze one after another, turning them into towering pillars of fire reaching for the sky.
The wild joy of victory had not yet faded, when on our retreat, the volley of the musket troop split apart the darkness.
I watched Longzhi charging at the very front. Like a young bird whose wings had been snapped by a violent gale, he crashed heavily to the ground.
In the look he cast toward us for the last time, there was no fear—only unfinished regret and a silent urging:
Run.
The sea wind carried the sharp tang of brine and sulfur, sweeping over the jagged reefs of Guyun Pavilion. Beneath the night, the island was like a half-dead giant beast bound in chains. Only in the direction of the harbour garrisoned by the Toyotomi troops dotted faint lamplights, glinting like the ill-intentioned eyes of wild beasts.
Longzhi lay crouched in a cold rocky crevice. His rough linen gown was soaked by dew, clinging tightly to the lean yet taut back of the young youth. He stared fixed at those lamplights, his gaze sharp as quenched dagger. At sixteen years of age, the childish innocence that should have lingered on his face had long been ground away by the agony of a ruined family and endless hatred. What remained were stern, rugged lines, almost blending into the dark rocks of the island.
Behind him squatted or lay twelve silent figures—the last blood and spirit of the island folk. There was Yanji, the old fisherman, his face carved with the furrows wrought by wind and waves, his fingers thick-jointed from a lifetime of hauling nets. His son Alan, still a half-grown boy, pressed his lips tight in nervousness, gripping a fishing fork firmly in his hand. Wen Silang, once a young attendant of the town magistrate’s office, still retained a trace of refinement even in destitution, unconsciously stroking a chipped jade pendant. There was also an apprentice blacksmith, woodcutters who had fled into the mountains, Achun, the widow whose home had been reduced to ruins…
In their hands were sharpened firewood blades, rusted short blades, wooden spears bound with sharp stones, and the most vital supplies for this mission: kindling carefully made from all the gunpowder and fish oil they could gather, held in crude earthen jars and cherished tightly in their arms.
“Remember every detail clearly,” Longzhi spoke in a low voice, scattered by the wind yet weighing heavily on every heart. “Uncle Yanji, take three men to take charge of the easternmost ship. Wen Silang, you and your men take the two middle vessels. Alan, Achun and I will deal with the largest flagship. Once the fires are lit, retreat immediately to the rocky shallows in the northwest—fishing boats will wait for us there.”
No one spoke. Only heavy breathing and pounding heartbeats drummed in the silence. All of them knew those ironclad warships anchored in the harbour were the iron claws with which the Toyotomi troops clamped the throat of Guyun Pavilion. Only by destroying them could they sever the enemy’s endless supply lines, and let those arrogant invaders know: the people of Guyun Pavilion were not yet wiped out.
Past midnight, most lamplights in the camp were put out, with only patrol soldiers’ silhouettes wandering occasionally on the watchtowers. Sea mist spread silently, veiling the moonlight with a pale white shroud.
“Move.”
At Longzhi’s gesture, thirteen dark shadows shot forth like arrows loosed from the bow, sliding down the rocks soundlessly and sinking into waist-deep seawater. The bitter cold pricked the skin like countless needles. Alan shuddered, gritted his teeth and followed closely. Leaning on the shadow of the hulls, they swam stealthily closer. The huge outline of the ironclads looked increasingly ferocious through the mist, their hulls reflecting faint moonlight with a cold metallic lustre.
Climbing was arduous. The ship’s outer planks were slick with almost no foothold. Longzhi drove his short blade into the gaps of the wood, braced his feet against protruding rivets, and crept upward like an agile gecko. His nails split and bled, mixing with seawater to bring piercing pain. He paid it no heed, his mind fixed only on the deck above.
At last, he hooked the ship’s rail with his hand, held his breath and listened carefully. Confirming all was quiet, he hauled himself aboard in one swift motion. The deck was empty, with only faint snores drifting from the distant tower cabin. He quickly lowered a rope and pulled his companions up one by one.
The operation was far from smooth. When subduing the Toyotomi foot soldier on watch of the second ship in the west, a righteous man named Song Zao hesitated half a beat too late. The foot soldier let out a short, muffled whimper before dying. The sound was faint, yet it sent a chill through everyone on the nearby ships. All dropped low, their hearts almost leaping out of their chests. Fortunately, the sea wind moaned and waves crashed against the shore, swallowing the slight noise without triggering greater alarm. Longzhi shot a sharp glare toward Song Zao’s direction. Though faces could not be seen clearly in the dark, the invisible pressure left Song Zao almost collapsing.
Longzhi hesitated no longer and made a gesture. The crowd split into pairs as planned, creeping along the rail toward the lower holds and cargo holds. Swift and nimble, they carefully placed the earthen jars beneath masts, beside piled cables, and at spots suspected to store weapons and gunpowder. Longzhi personally tucked the two largest oil fire jars deep into the flagship’s lower hold, stacked full with canvas and wooden barrels.
Time seemed stretched endless; every breath was like dancing on the tip of a blade.
At last, all retreated to the seaward rail, ready to leap into the sea at any moment. Longzhi took a deep breath, pulled out a fire lighter from his bosom and struck it alight. A wisp of orange flame flickered in the darkness, illuminating his resolute profile and the flame of determination in his eyes.
He lowered the flame to the fuse.
Hiss——
The fuse caught fire, spitting tiny sparks and darting like a venomous serpent into the dark depths of the cabin.
“Jump!”
More than a dozen figures plunged into the icy seawater one after another. Almost the moment they entered the water—
Boom!!
The first explosion roared from the bottom of the flagship, deep and thunderous. The entire hull lurched upward violently, blazing flames burst through the deck in an instant, carrying wood splinters and debris straight toward the sky. Immediately after came a chain reaction: the second ship, the third ship… explosions broke out one after another, each louder and more furious than the last.
In an instant, the five ironclad warships turned into five enormous torches. The firelight lit up the entire harbour as bright as day. Thick black smoke rolled upward, as if about to devour the waning moon in the sky. Burning masts snapped and fell with a shrill howl, like the scorched wings of a fire bird. The seawater was dyed a flowing crimson red. Waves of heat rolled over, and one could even smell the burnt scent of singed hair and eyebrows.
Longzhi broke out of the water, wiped the seawater from his face and looked back. The towering firelight burned in his eyes. We made it. We really made it! A surge of mixed vengeance, joy and the urge of destruction surged wildly in his chest, almost making him cry out to the sky. He saw Alan beside him, the boy’s face covered in water, indistinguishable between seawater and tears, mouth agape, staring dumbly at the spectacle of ruin. Not far away, Yanji struggled to swim forward, his bronze face illuminated by the fire. There was no wild joy on his features, only a deep, solemn relief.
“Go! Hurry and leave!” Longzhi shouted in a hoarse voice, forcing down the surging emotion in his heart, calling his companions to swim toward the preset northwest direction.
Dizzy with the joy of victory, they were driven forward by the instinct to survive. Supporting each other, they stumbled ashore and rushed into the narrow slope behind the harbour leading to the mountain forest. Once they crossed into the dense woods, hope of survival lay ahead.
Their steps were unsteady from exhaustion and excitement, their heavy gasps like blowing bellows. None dared look back, the firelight behind exposing their figures completely.
Yet just as they reached the open gravel ground halfway up the slope, a neat, cold friction of metal suddenly rang out from the silent darkness ahead.
“Ready—”
A stiff command with a thick foreign accent rang out briefly in Japanese.
Longzhi halted abruptly, his heart seemingly stopping beating in that instant.
The darkness was sliced open by an invisible blade. Three rows of Toyotomi musketeers clad in red armour emerged like ghosts out of nowhere, lined up rigidly at the end of the slope. Their matchlock guns were already levelled, the dark muzzles glinting with the red light of death under the fire of the harbour behind them.
That firelight illuminated not only the enemy’s cold face armour, but also the frozen expressions on Longzhi and his companions—the lingering joy still on their faces, instantly replaced by overwhelming terror.
“Fire!”
No warning, no interrogation. Only a cold, ruthless order.
Bang!!!
Flames burst forth from the first rank, the deafening roar tearing apart the silence of the night, drowning out the crackle of burning ships behind. White gunsmoke billowed out, its pungent stench piercing into the nostrils.
Longzhi felt an enormous, irresistible force slamming hard into his chest. His right breast was as if pierced through in an instant by a red-hot branding iron. The blow lifted his feet off the ground, sending him flying backward. The world spun and blurred before his eyes: the sky, the burning harbour, the horrified faces of his companions, merging into a hazy swirl of light and shadow.
He crashed heavily onto the cold damp gravel, splashing muddy water around him. Only then did overwhelming agony surge like a tidal wave, swallowing all his senses. Warm liquid welled up uncontrollably from his throat, blocking his breath with a strong rusty taste of blood.
His vision dimmed rapidly, dark shadows creeping in at the edges. He strained his eyes open, gazing toward the smoke-shrouded front, toward those who had set out with him yet would never return together. He watched Achun collapse clutching her abdomen; watched Wen Silang try to grasp his jade pendant, only for a bullet from the second volley to shatter his arm; watched the elderly Yanji stand before his son Alan, jolt violently, then sink slowly to his knees like a withered log…
He could not move, not even lift a single finger.
At last, with the last fading strength he had, he turned his gaze to the survivors who still stood stunned or cowered in terror. His vision blurred, the towering firelight in his dilated pupils also dimming away.
There was no fear of death, no curse for the enemy. Only endless regret deep as an abyss, pressing down heavy like the eternal sea mist lingering around Guyun Pavilion.
And there was also a silent, urgent urging:
Run…
This gaze burned into the retinas of the despairing survivors, stinging far more sharply than the roar of muskets.
The blast of the third volley rang out once more, striking a final cold closing note for this brief, hopeless resistance of an egg striking a rock.
孤火照寒涛
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那一夜，龙芝带着我们十二个人潜入港湾。
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五艘铁甲战船在月光下如同沉睡的巨兽，被我们接连点燃，化作冲天的火炬。
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胜利的狂喜尚未褪去，撤退的路上，火枪队的排射火光便撕裂了黑暗。
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我看着冲在最前面的龙芝，像一只被狂风折断翅膀的幼鸟，猛地栽倒在地。
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他最后望向我们的眼神里，没有恐惧，只有未竟的遗憾和无声的催促——
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快走。
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---
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海风裹挟着咸腥和硫磺的味道，吹过孤云阁嶙峋的礁石。夜色下的岛屿，像一头被锁链捆缚的、奄奄一息的巨兽，唯有丰臣军驻扎的港湾方向，还亮着星星点点的灯火，如同野兽不怀好意的眼睛。
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龙芝伏在冰冷的岩缝里，身上粗陋的麻布衣被露水打湿，紧紧贴着少年人单薄却紧绷的脊梁。他盯着那片灯火，目光锐利得像淬过火的匕首。十六岁的年纪，脸上本该有的稚气早已被家破人亡的惨痛和日夜不熄的恨意磨削干净，只剩下硬朗的、几乎要与这岛上黑沉岩石融为一体的线条。
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他身后，或蹲或卧，是十二道沉默的身影。他们是岛民最后的血气——老渔民岩吉，脸上刻着风浪的沟壑，手指因常年拉网而关节粗大；他的儿子阿岚，还是个半大孩子，紧张地抿着唇，手里死死攥着一柄鱼叉；前町奉行所的小姓文四郎，落魄了依旧带着点斯文气，此刻正无意识地摩挲着一枚缺了口的玉佩；还有铁匠铺的学徒、逃进山的樵夫、被毁了家的寡妇阿椿……他们手里拿着的，是磨快的柴刀、锈迹斑斑的肋差、绑着尖石的木棍，以及此行最重要的、用所有能搜刮到的火药和鱼油精心配置的引火之物，盛在粗糙的陶罐里，被视若珍宝般紧紧抱在怀中。
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“都记清楚了，”龙芝的声音压得很低，被风吹得有些散，但每个字都砸在众人心上，“岩吉大叔，你带三人，负责最东边那艘。文四郎，中间两艘归你们。我和阿岚、阿椿，对付最大的那艘旗舰。点火之后，无论成败，立刻向西北角的乱石滩撤，渔船在那里等着。”
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没有人说话，只有沉重的呼吸声和心跳在寂静里擂鼓。他们都知道，那几艘停泊在港湾里的铁甲战船，就是丰臣军扼住孤云阁咽喉的铁爪。只有毁了它们，才能斩断敌人源源不断的补给，才能让那些趾高气扬的侵略者知道，孤云阁的人，还没死绝。
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子时过半，营地方向的灯火熄灭了大半，只有哨塔上偶尔晃过巡逻兵的身影。海雾不知何时弥漫开来，给月光蒙上一层惨白的纱。
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“走。”
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龙芝一挥手，十三道黑影如同离弦的箭，悄无声息地滑下岩石，没入齐腰深的海水中。冰冷刺骨，像无数根针扎进皮肤。阿岚打了个寒颤，咬紧牙关跟上。他们借着船身的阴影，泅渡靠近。铁甲船巨大的轮廓在雾中愈发显得狰狞，船体反射着微弱的月光，泛着冷硬的金属光泽。
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攀爬是艰难的。船体外壳湿滑，几乎没有着力点。龙芝用短刀插进木板缝隙，脚蹬着突出的铆钉，像一只敏捷的壁虎向上蠕行。指甲翻了，渗出血来，混着海水，带来钻心的疼。他不管不顾，心里只有头顶那片甲板。
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终于，他探手扣住了船舷，屏息凝神听了片刻，确认没有动静，才猛地翻身上去。甲板空旷，只有远处船楼传来隐约的鼾声。他迅速放下绳索，将下面的人一个个拉上来。
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过程并非一帆风顺。在解决西边第二艘船瞭望哨的丰臣足轻时，一个名叫松造的义士动作慢了半拍，被那足轻临死前发出了半声短促的呜咽。声音不大，却让附近几艘船上的人都惊出了一身冷汗。所有人伏低身体，心脏几乎要跳出胸腔。幸而海风呜咽，浪涛拍岸，那点声响被自然的噪音吞没，并未引起更大的警觉。龙芝朝松藏的方向狠狠瞪了一眼，黑暗中虽看不清彼此表情，但那无形的压力让松藏几乎瘫软。
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龙芝不再犹豫，打了个手势。众人立刻按照先前的分工，两人一组，沿着船舷，向底舱和货舱摸去。他们动作迅捷，将带来的陶罐小心翼翼放置在桅杆下、堆放的缆绳旁、以及疑似存放兵器和火药的地方。龙芝亲手将最大的两个火油罐塞进旗舰底舱的深处，那里堆满了帆布和木桶。
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时间仿佛被拉长，每一息都像是在刀尖上跳舞。
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终于，所有人都撤回到了靠海的船舷边，做好了随时跳海的准备。龙芝深吸一口气，从怀里掏出火折子，猛地晃亮。一点橘红的光芒在黑暗中跳跃，映亮了他坚毅的侧脸和眼中决绝的火焰。
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他将火苗凑近引线。
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“嗤——”
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引线被点燃，冒着细小的火花，如同毒蛇般迅速窜向黑暗的船舱深处。
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“跳！”
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十几道身影如同下饺子般，接连跃入冰冷的海水。几乎在他们入水的同时——
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“轰！！”
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第一声爆炸从旗舰底部传来，沉闷而巨大，整个船体猛地向上拱起，炽烈的火焰瞬间冲开甲板，裹挟着木屑和碎片直冲天际。紧接着，如同连锁反应，第二艘，第三艘……爆炸声此起彼伏，一声比一声猛烈，一声比一声狂暴。
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五艘铁甲战船，顷刻间化作了五座巨大的火炬。火光将整个港湾映照得如同白昼，黑色的浓烟翻滚着，仿佛要吞噬天空中的残月。燃烧的帆桅如同火鸟的翅膀，带着凄厉的呼啸断裂、坠落。海水被映成一片流动的血红，热浪扑面而来，甚至能感觉到眉毛头发被烤焦的糊味。
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龙芝从水里冒出头，抹了一把脸上的水，回头望去。那冲天的火光映入他的眼底，熊熊燃烧。成了！真的成了！一股混杂着复仇快意和破坏欲的热流在他胸中奔腾冲撞，几乎要让他仰天长啸。他看到身旁的阿岚，那少年脸上满是水渍，分不清是海水还是泪水，嘴巴张得老大，傻傻地看着那毁灭的奇观。岩吉在他不远处，奋力划着水，古铜色的脸庞被火光照亮，那上面没有狂喜，只有一种深沉的、近乎解脱的肃穆。
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“走！快走！”龙芝嘶哑着嗓子喊道，强行压下心中的激荡，招呼着同伴向预定的西北方向游去。
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胜利的眩晕感尚未过去，求生的本能驱使着他们。一行人互相搀扶着，跌跌撞撞地爬上岸，冲进港湾后方那片熟悉的、连接着山林的狭窄坡地。只要穿过这里，进入密林，生存的希望就在眼前。
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他们的脚步因为疲惫和兴奋而虚浮，喘息声粗重得如同风箱。没有人回头，身后的火光是将他们身影暴露无遗的背景。
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然而，就在他们冲到坡地中段，那片相对开阔的砂石地时，前方，原本寂静的黑暗里，突然响起了一片整齐划一的、冷硬的金属摩擦声。
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“预备——”
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一个生硬的、带着浓重异国口音的日语短促响起。
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龙芝猛地刹住脚步，心脏在那一刻骤然停止跳动。
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黑暗仿佛被无形的刀切开了。三排身着赤备胴具足的丰臣火枪兵，如同从地底冒出的鬼魅，整齐地排列在坡地尽头。他们手中的铁炮（火绳枪）已经架好，黑洞洞的枪口在身后港湾大火的映照下，闪烁着死亡的红光。
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那火光，不仅照亮了敌人冰冷的面甲，也照亮了龙芝他们脸上瞬间凝固的、尚未褪尽的狂喜，和骤然升起的、极致的惊恐。
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“放！”
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没有警告，没有质问。只有一声冷酷无情的命令。
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“砰！！！”
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第一排火光猛地喷发，震耳欲聋的轰鸣瞬间撕裂了夜的寂静，压过了身后港湾燃烧的噼啪声。白色的硝烟弥漫开来，刺鼻的味道钻入鼻腔。
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龙芝只觉得一股巨大的、无法抗拒的力量狠狠撞在自己的胸口，右侧胸膛像是被烧红的烙铁瞬间贯穿。那力量推得他双脚离地，向后倒飞出去。世界在他眼前旋转、颠倒，天空，燃烧的港口，同伴惊骇的脸，交织成一片模糊的光影。
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他重重地摔在冰冷潮湿的砂石地上，溅起几点泥水。剧痛这时才海啸般席卷而来，淹没了所有的知觉。温热的液体不受控制地从喉咙里涌出，堵塞了呼吸，带着浓重的铁锈味。
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视野开始迅速变暗，边缘泛起黑晕。他努力睁大眼睛，望向那片硝烟弥漫的前方，望向那些跟他一起出来，却无法一起回去的身影。他看到阿椿捂着腹部倒下，看到文四郎试图举起那枚玉佩，却被第二排射来的弹丸打碎了手臂，看到岩吉老迈的身躯挡在儿子阿岚身前，猛地一震，然后像截枯木般缓缓跪倒……
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他动不了，甚至连一根手指都无法抬起。
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最后，他用尽残存的、正在飞速流逝的力气，将目光转向还愣在原地、或因惊恐而伏倒的、尚且存活的人。他的眼神已经无法聚焦，涣散的瞳孔里，那冲天的火光也正在熄灭。
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没有对死亡的恐惧，没有对敌人的诅咒。只有如同深渊般的、无尽的遗憾，像孤云阁周围永远无法散去海雾，沉甸甸地压了下来。
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还有……无声的，急促的催促——
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快……走……
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这眼神烙印在幸存者绝望的视网膜上，比火枪的轰鸣更令人刺痛。
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第三排齐射的爆鸣再次响起，如同为这场短暂的、以卵击石的抗争，敲下最后冰冷的定音。
ns216.73.216.133da2
然後按「加至主畫面」