The eve of the storm (II)

"I'd rather repair a cannon than sit around talking philosophy," Xia Lun said, shaking his head.

Carrying his toolbox, he walked slowly beneath the awning covered in dirt, dead branches, and leaves.

Fat raindrops battered the awning and dripped from its edges, their incessant patter like silver beads spilling onto the ground.

"Repairing a cannon isn't easy." Brigadier General followed him inside. "We can talk while we work."

He studied the barrel for a while, rubbing the gray stubble on his chin with his right hand.

"The barrel shouldn't have any major problems. The rifling is all intact. So we only need to fix the trunnions, and the cannon should be more or less usable." He glanced at Xia Lun. "The trunnions connect the barrel to the carriage. Hand me the wrench. Let's reinstall the recuperator spring first."

"You know how to repair cannons, too?" Xia Lun raised an eyebrow, picked up the wrench, and handed it to Brigadier General.

Brigadier General took the wrench, crouched down, and began loosening the long bolts on the breech. "If a soldier doesn't even understand his weapons, how can he defeat his enemy?"

As he spoke, he deftly unfastened the breech, then reached into the barrel with the wrench and loosened several components Xia Lun couldn't name. He sorted the removed parts into neat groups at his feet.

"A cannon can be repaired, but regrets can't be undone. Regrets pierce your memories like nails, slowly turning your past into a festering wound. Eventually, they become remorse that torments you endlessly." Brigadier General sounded almost as though he were talking to himself. "So, Mr. Xia Lun, do you have any regrets?"

"Why are you so fixated on discussing regrets?" Xia Lun watched Brigadier General work, quietly learning how to dismantle and repair the cannon.