Antonio put the two chestnut cakes in his pocket, straightened his uniform, put on his cap, and strode out of the mess hall.

  As he walked back to the bottom of the office building, the bell rang.

  After a series of "Dismissed!" orders from the nearby square formations, the crowd dispersed. The recruits were exhausted, either hanging their heads or slouching as they walked.

  "Deputy Commander! Over here." A round head popped out of the driver's seat. Tom, 24, had a deadpan face, but there was a flicker of a smile in his eyes.

  This was a military-green jeep with brand-new tires that still had the factory fuzz on them. It was picked up only two days ago. Bernardo had insisted on personally signing the purchase approval just so the car could be assigned to Antonio. Actually, Antonio didn't like new cars; he thought the Ford he had as a brigade commander was perfectly fine.

  He understood why Bernardo insisted on authorizing the purchase. No purchase, no kickback. But shouldn't that kickback have gone to him, the Deputy Commander? He smiled bitterly to himself.

  Antonio climbed into the car, expressionless, and handed Tom a piece of chestnut cake. "Here."

  He didn't smoke and wasn't much of a drinker. The chestnut cake was the only thing he stuck with—a small daily gift for his driver.

  The deadpan Tom turned around, took the cake, turned back, and started eating it in silence.

  The air conditioning was an aftermarket add-on; it rattled and didn't cool very well.

  However, inside the car, Antonio felt bold enough to unbutton his shirt, revealing his white undershirt to let his chest breathe.

  As the car started, Antonio leaned back in the rear seat, his eyes half-closed.

  Tom mentioned it was very sweet. Antonio felt a sudden pang in his heart; he had a son who loved sweets.

  Once they left the camp, the streets became more crowded. Endless lines of gaunt, malnourished adults carried banners that read "We want food" or "Give us a way to live."

  The students' banners said: "Against hunger, against martial law!"

  Some students tried to catch up with the jeep and banged on the windows.

  "Deputy Commander, let's take the long way. Too many marchers today." As Tom spoke, he found a spot with fewer people to back the car up.

  Usually, Antonio would just say "okay."

  But today, he added one more thing: "Take me back to the barracks. It’s safer to sleep inside the camp."

  Tom didn't even bother saying "okay."

  This was exactly why Antonio kept Tom around; he preferred silence and few words in private.

  Life was exhausting. If even his driver flattered him and he had to keep up appearances as a leader in front of the driver, he would feel like he was trapped in a sealed jar, eventually suffocating himself to death.

  Leaning against the back seat, Antonio unknowingly slumped over. He was too tall, so he had to awkwardly bend his long legs and rest his large feet, clad in gray socks, against the inside of the window.

  Maybe when the people banging on the window saw a pair of smelly feet, they’d leave him alone.

  What’s the point of banging on the window anyway?

  The man in this car is an officer. He can only fight wars, not run a country. Don't you people understand that?

  The sun was setting by the time Antonio made it back to the barracks.

  He had a small private room here with just a five-foot bed and an individual bathroom.

  His first move upon entering the room was to strip. Pants, cap, shirt—he took it all off until he was in just his white undershirt and boxers, then lay on the bed to sleep.

  The driver would close the door. With a soft thump, the world finally went quiet.

  If he could, Antonio would stay lying there for ten days and nights without speaking to anyone.

  It was because of this double personality—one for the outside world, and another for his family—that Isabel had insisted on a divorce.

  Her reason: cold violence.

  ...

  Elena and Lucy also returned to the village at sunset. The village was about three or four kilometers from the Solana barracks.

  At this hour, the road was nearly empty. Smoke rose from the chimneys of the small village of about a dozen households.

  Elena didn't go home; she went straight to Granny Agnes’s house.

  Lucy thought she was buying eggs and went back to their shack to cook dinner.

  "Granny!"

  Elena saw Agnes scooping water for the chickens in the yard. She decided to act first and stuffed half a piece of chestnut cake into Agnes’s mouth.

  "So sweet! Oh, it’s chestnut cake."

  The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  The cake was soft, and Agnes chewed it easily. She rubbed her hands happily. "Where did you get this? It’s very authentic."

  "Can you make it, Granny?"

  "Of course. If you want to learn, I can teach you anytime! I can make it even better than this. I started learning when I was fifteen."

  With those words from the old woman, Elena felt relieved. In her past life, she remembered several wild chestnut trees on the back mountain that would start dropping fruit in late August.

  Heh, she’d deal with that on her next day off.

  Elena went home happily.

  ...

  The sky had turned dark at some point. Antonio had a hazy dream. In the dream, Leo was wearing an enemy uniform, and they were pointing guns at each other.

  "Kill me, as long as you can guarantee the safety of my mother, wife, and child." Leo eventually lowered his gun and closed his eyes, waiting for death.

  "I'm sorry, you can't go back like this," he reminded Leo, then pulled the trigger.

  No, this was a dream.

  Antonio tried desperately to shake himself awake, but even though he knew it was a dream, he couldn't wake up.

  In reality, the shot wasn't like that. He had actually shot Leo in the foot.

  Not in the forehead.

  Am I living in Leo’s dream? Antonio wondered why he had such a thought. When he finally corrected his aim to Leo’s foot...

  "Bang!" Leo woke up with a start.

  He sat up in the darkness, instinctively reaching for his foot. Thank God, there was only a scar—no blood, no wound.

  Even on a summer night, the moonlight in the mental hospital was as cold as water.

  He wanted to open the door and go out, but he was afraid that wandering in the dark courtyard would scare the nurses, and then the director or superiors would come for another "heart-to-heart" talk.

  Always wasting effort.

  "I’m not even sick, heh."

  Antonio was also staring out the window, but his lights were on. He was wiping sweat with a towel and had an ice cube in his mouth.

  He decided to take a shower.

  But from the street outside the window, the sounds of chasing, fighting, screaming, and crying suddenly erupted.

  Someone had started a fire with gasoline; the flames shot up at least three stories high.

  Far across the river, the other half of the country under a dictatorship was completely peaceful.

  Standing on the eighth-floor balcony, Antonio could see the faint, distant lights of the "dictatorial world."

  The way home, for him, was long and desperate.

  After his shower, Antonio suddenly remembered someone: the mining merchant, Sebastian. Bernardo had mentioned earlier today that finding this man would solve the mine issue.

  Back in his office, he locked the doors and windows.

  "Hello."

  "Hello, Commander Antonio. I’ve been waiting half the day for your call."

  "You know me?" Antonio was a bit surprised at first, then realized Bernardo must have arranged it in advance.

  "Of course not. But this afternoon, General Bernardo told me you would be looking for me. This is a very private phone line, so I guessed it was you."

  Hearing that middle-aged, magnetic voice, Antonio suddenly didn't know how to ask the next question. What could he ask? Ask for guidance on who to bribe to secure the mine for $60,000?

  "About... the mine..."

  Antonio hesitated on purpose; he had to let Sebastian take over the conversation.

  "Don't worry, Commander. Even if I lose $500,000, I will take over that mine and sell it to you for $60,000."

  "..." Antonio was speechless and stunned.

  Should he thank him? For what? The mine wasn't even his.

  If he didn't thank him? At least the man had helped him guard his "chastity"—if a man could even have such a thing, heh.

  At the thought of that word, Antonio laughed painfully in front of the phone.

  Hearing no response from Antonio for a long while, Sebastian finally spoke again: "Commander, you don't need to feel any psychological burden. If I say I can do it, I will. You don't have to do anything."

  "If you want to thank me, you can join me for a few drinks."

  "Wait!" At the mention of drinking, Antonio suddenly grew agitated.

  "That’s not what I meant, Commander. When I say drinking, I just mean drinking—just getting to know each other as friends."

  "Oh... okay then."

  Antonio let out a huge sigh of relief. The man actually understood.

  "Let's say Saturday night. You pick the place."

  "Sure, at my house. It's not safe outside right now. Don't worry, I have a wife and children at home. Nothing strange will happen."

  Sebastian had actually repeated that hint once more.