"Three more died."
Mao Yong'an looked at the corpses in the distance and muttered to himself, his voice as dazed as ever.
Strong Man merely smiled, lazily lying on the ground with a cheap cigarette between his lips. He took a satisfied drag. "Young Daoist, I know what you're thinking. Drop that attitude. It's useless."
"In this fucking world, death is a kind of release instead."
"And on a real battlefield, if your teammates' deaths affect your emotions, ghosts can easily lead your mind astray."
"But you're still young. You'll get used to it."
"Death isn't scary, but remember this: if there are ordinary people behind you, then even if you have to crawl on your knees, you must try your best to stay alive."
"Especially don't ever, ever show that kind of lost, sorrowful expression!"
Strong Man's expression suddenly turned serious. Looking solemnly at Mao Yong'an, he said earnestly, "If even people like us start losing hope, then the ordinary people in the city truly won't have any light left."
"So even if you're really scared, even if you really want to cry, you have to hold it back on the battlefield!"
"I won't even mention the nature of ghosts."
"Emotions are contagious. If your emotions disrupt the rhythm of the war, then you're a sinner!"
"Understand?"
Listening to Strong Man's cold words, Mao Yong'an silently nodded. He looked once more at the three corpses in the distance, but this time, no emotion showed on his face.
Strong Man took another hard drag from his cigarette before grinning. "That's right. Loosen up."
"Sooner or later, we'll be lying there too. Why the hell worry so much about others?"
"But having no expression isn't enough. You need to smile too—smile wildly, smile without restraint."
"We're already living day to day.