FIELDS 2

Amidst the turmoil of a blood-soaked battlefield, where the clash of swords and the cries of men echoed, he stood as the valiant general, commanding his troops with skill. But the road that led him to this position of power was paved with hardships and oppression.

Long before he was a revered general, he was but a lowly peasant, a face among the countless nameless souls who endured a life of servitude and suffering. Born into the shackles of slavery, his fate seemed irrevocably intertwined with that of his forefathers—a never-ending cycle of subjugation and despair.

The words of the oppressive rulers echoed in his ears, taunting him with the cruel certainty of a grim future. "Once a slave, always a slave," they said, denying him and his kin the possibility of freedom, prosperity, and hope.

But fate had other plans for him. The iron fist of the government forced him into becoming a foot soldier, a mere pawn in the battles that raged on the frontier. Yet, even in the face of adversity, he embraced the challenge with will power.

It was on that fateful day when he vanquished a seasoned general, his triumph marking the beginning of a new chapter in his life. Recognized for his exceptional valor, he ascended the ranks, becoming a 100-man commander, and his achievements continued to soar with each victory.

But amidst the glory of triumph and accolades, he could never forget the memories that lingered from his past. The haunting hue of crimson in the sky remained etched in his mind—an indelible reminder of the sacrifice and loss that had led him to this point.

As he stood amidst the chaos of the battlefield, the weight of his actions and the futility of war crashed upon him like an unforgiving tide. In the midst of the clashing swords and cries of agony, he began to see the cruelty of the conflict he once led. The once-bright spark of purpose that had fueled his every move now dimmed to a mere glimmer.

In that heavy moment, regret and sorrow nestled in his heart. From the battle's haze emerged an unexpected figure—a mere child, no older than a tender bud on a spring morning. The child's innocence stood in stark contrast to the malevolence of war that engulfed them.

The child, wielding a spear with untamed determination, approached the weary general with an intent to harm. His heart ached at the sight—the young one had been swept into the merciless currents of conflict, his innocence stolen by the harsh realities of the world.

In a fleeting instant, an afterimage materialized—the vision of his child self charging at the weary general with two daggers in each hand, an incongruity of lethal intent unfitting for his small size.

Aware of the young soldier's intent, he foresaw what awaited him. He understood that death loomed on the horizon, yet he deliberately lowered his guard.

As the spear pierced his heart, he felt a mix of pain and compassion. Yet, in a moment that transcended the chaos, he saw the glimmer of an arrow behind the child. With a surge of courage, he made a selfless decision, wrapping his arms around the young warrior and turning his back to the arrow's path.

The arrow struck true, finding its mark in his weakened body, but his heart swelled with a sense of relief and fulfillment. In that fleeting moment before his final breath, he found solace in the knowledge that he had saved a life—shielding innocence from the ravages of war, even as his own life slipped away.

As he closed his eyes for the last time, he carried with him the memory of his journey—from a once-oppressed slave to a battle-hardened general.

The life he once cherished ebbed away like a fleeting dream, leaving behind a lifeless form sprawled on the crimson-stained ground. His face, now serene in eternal rest, gazed upwards toward the heavens.

Beside him, his faithful sword lay, its once-shimmering blade now adorned with the colors of countless lives it had taken, reflecting the scarlet sky.

But what awaited him after that moment was a realm of darkness. As if emerging from the depths of an unending dream, he awoke to a place cloaked in an eerie absence of light and movement. Unlike the numbing limbo he had once known, his senses now stirred with vivid intensity. He could smell the rich, earthly scent of damp soil, feel the cool touch of wood hugging his body, and hear the symphony of the rain's gentle patter blending harmoniously with what seemed to be his own cries, echoing like the fragile wails of an infant, entwined with the distant rumble of thunder.

How ironic it was that his senses had returned, yet they only served to reveal the horrifying truth—he was trapped in an enclosed space, a suffocating prison that denied him the very air his desperate lungs craved. His cries, nearly involuntary, spoke of an instinctual plea for life, a primal struggle to break free from the oppressive embrace of the soil that threatened to smother him.

As his consciousness wavered, he felt himself slipping into the arms of oblivion for what seemed like the last time. But just as darkness threatened to claim him entirely, a faint glimmer of light pierced through. It beckoned like a distant beacon of hope, and a soft touch, warm and reassuring, enveloped his tiny, fragile form.

In that fleeting moment, he felt a gentle liberation as the hand tenderly cradled him, lifting him from the confines of the crate's grip. He opened his eyes, and there before him was a young woman with striking blue eyes, her ebony hair cascading like a veil of night.

"An angel?" he thought to himself. The woman seemed to be speaking about something he couldn't quite understand, and his hearing became hazy, akin to that of a newborn's. "Where am I?" he pondered, catching a glimpse of his surroundings, and a familiar memory flickered in his mind. "The fields?" he recalled, a distant recollection of his childhood when he toiled as a slave in the fields. Then, a loud bang of thunder struck, and his hearing cleared. He could see a shadow behind the beautiful lady. "I've been looking everywhere for you, Li Si," the man said eerily.

The woman cradling him appeared scared, and confusion overwhelmed Jian Shen. "What is happening?" he wondered aloud, his exact words struggling to be put into words, only to be formed with the sounds and babbling of an infant. He couldn't understand the language of the two people talking. The words sounded strangely familiar, yet they were somehow different at the same time. Then, he caught sight of a crate within the messy dug hole in the ground. "It seems that filthy crate is where I came from. The earth must've swallowed my corpse there, but why am I in the body of an infant? And why am I still alive?"

"By the grace of the ancestors, why am I still here? I should have been a spirit in the netherworld! This must be some cosmic jest!"

"Does this signify a return to the yoke of serfdom? I have no fondness for tilling the earth! Nor do I relish having soil mar my hands!"

In the depths of his torment and confusion, Jian Shen finds himself pleading to the Gods, desperate to be returned to the realm of death once more, which if I am being honest, am having trouble narrating. Jian Shen, once a formidable general, now presents a shockingly peculiar demeanor, displaying eccentricities and idiosyncrasies that hint at a troubled mind.

Jian Shen's inner musings continued until he caught sight of the man, wielding a shovel in a menacing swinging motion. In that moment, a surge of instincts from his former self urged him to protect the woman, but he was trapped in the fragile body of an infant, unable to act on his desires. Instead, he found himself being shielded by the woman's selfless actions, as she cradled him close to her heart, taking the brunt of the fall to ensure his safety.

"Why is she risking so much for me? Is there something significant about this body that I'm unaware of?" he pondered within himself as they plummeted to the ground, the lady absorbing the impact to spare him any harm. Witnessing her sacrifice, Jian Shen's emotions churned, perplexed by the depth of care she showed for him.

As they landed, the harsh reality of violence revealed itself, as blood flowed from the woman's head to the ground. A surge of rage coursed through him—an anger fueled not by vengeance, but by the injustice of meaningless violence. Unable to express his fury in words, he felt trapped within the confines of his infant form, yearning to act against the abuser.

"I shall kill him like a silkworm nibbling through mulberry leaves—slowly and with great deliberation!" he seethed in his thoughts, his baby eyes glaring menacingly at the abusive man. Although trapped in a defenseless body, the fire of his former self burned fiercely within, a relentless spirit that refused to accept what's unfolding before him.