Chapter 41

41

Father John, the “fake foreign devil,” could not figure out for the life of him how he had ended up “dragged onto this pirate ship.”

Half an hour after the two had met, he was clutching his camera with one hand while Shen Po dragged him by the arm, the pair sprinting at full speed.

“Slow down, slow down! Careful with my camera!”

A stumble underfoot scared John into hugging the camera tightly to his chest.

In these times, a camera was a rare treasure that even flashing gold bars might not buy; it was practically priceless.

“I’m in a hurry, it’s urgent!” Shen Po looked back, and seeing him still staring down at the camera, anger flared in him. He snatched the camera right out of John’s arms. “I’ll carry it, you can take your sweet time behind me!”

John truly could not keep up with him. He could only stare helplessly, bending over with hands on his knees, watching him sprint farther and farther away.

If Shen Po’s reason for borrowing the camera had not been so bizarre, John would have almost taken him for a swindler.

After all, no swindler would risk their life at a time like this just to steal a camera.

The sound of explosions drifted from the distance, muffled yet enough to keep one’s heart in one’s throat.

The massive fire not far away showed no sign of dying down, still raging. Though separated by a street, there was no telling when it might spread across. Worse still, airplanes swept overhead from time to time; flying slowly, they looked all the more terrifying.

The battle on the front line was likely still raging, but Shen Po could neither go there nor help. Right now, all he wanted was to preserve the library as best he could. If it could not be saved, he had to find another way to let it exist forever.

Yet in such a massive library packed with countless books spanning ancient and modern times, Chinese and foreign, the camera, combined with the rolls of film he had “snatched” from John, could only take several dozen photos at most, and there was no guarantee they would all develop properly.

A vast sea of books could never be captured in a mere few dozen photographs.

He was not taking these photos for his contemporaries to see.

Almost everyone in Shanghai had visited this library. They knew what it looked like, what books it held, and how precious it was. But future generations would not know.

Even Zhang Yuanji had not expected the war to erupt without warning. No one had thought to back up these books beforehand, not even by taking photos for the archives. If the library went up in flames, even if the fifty crates of books at the dock were ultimately saved, they would merely be scattered pearls salvaged from the vast sea, leaving an unavoidable, deep regret.

Since he was going to take photos, he had to consider what future generations would want.

What future generations hoped to see from this library was what mattered most.

Anyone else might not know the answer, but Shen Po knew there was one person he could ask.

【Wen Yan, what do you want to see? If a hundred years from now the library still doesn’t exist, what would you most want to see in the photos?】

【The exterior, how it once looked,】 Wen Yan answered him. 【But those photos already exist; I’ve seen them among the old photos in museums. I want to see how many books were inside the library, what those rare volumes looked like, and what was written in them.】

Shen Po: 【Everything you mentioned can’t be captured in a few dozen photos. There isn’t enough film.】

Even if there was enough film, how could he photograph page after page all by himself?

Wen Yan was silent for a moment. 【Just pick a few to shoot.】

Time gave Shen Po no room for further hesitation. He rushed straight into the library and snapped photo after photo.

At first, Old Chen did not understand what he was doing and came over to watch. After watching for a moment, he seemed to understand. He sighed, turned around, and went back outside to keep moving books.

The film was used up quickly. In the blink of an eye, only the last two shots remained.

Shen Po looked left and right.

He had shot everything he could. There was no end to the books, and he could only pick a few to capture snippets of their contents. The remaining two shots could never fit everything else in anyway, and he truly could not bear to waste them.

Shen Po looked up, his gaze sweeping from the ceiling and finally settling on the doorway.

Outside, Old Chen and several neighbors were still moving books.

Their small flatbed cart was packed full, but compared to the books in the library, it was merely a drop in the ocean.

Old Yang and his daughter had also come over to help. Most of his small shop had already burned down, but fortunately, he had taken all the important things before leaving. As for what could not be carried, guarding them at home would have made no difference anyway. It was fortunate they had left; otherwise, if it had caught fire in the middle of the night, their lives might not even have been spared.

Instead of rushing to seek refuge with Zheng Sheng, Old Yang had come over to check on Old Chen first. Seeing everyone discussing where to pull the flatbed cart, he suggested, “Why not find a place nearby to store them for now? Once the vehicles Young Master Shen arranged arrive, we can haul them all away together.”

The main issue was that the library was simply too large a target, so large that it gave everyone a sense of impending danger.

John came hurrying over, panting with hands on his knees. Hearing that last sentence, he chimed in, “Why not put them at my place for now? The Japanese probably wouldn’t dare bomb a church for the time being!”

When Shen Po walked out, everyone was standing around in scattered groups.

Some were wiping sweat with towels draped around their necks, hands on their hips; some perched on the edge of the cart, barely resting their weight so as not to press against the books behind them; others were clearing space on the cart, hoping to squeeze in a few more volumes.

With a click, Shen Po captured this scene in the camera.

A whistling scream approached from the distance. Everyone looked up instinctively, their faces draining of color!

“Run, the planes are here!”

Old Chen still tried to pull the cart, but Shen Po was quick with his eyes and hands, yanking him away and ducking under nearby eaves, pressing tight against the wall with heads covered.

In that flash of lightning, Shen Po’s fastest reaction was only enough to grab Old Chen. The untrained commoners were left with blank minds, barely able to react in time to take cover themselves, let alone rescue people or books.

It was in these few seconds that a bomb fell from above, crashing straight down not far from the library entrance!

With a deafening boom, the shell crashed down with immense force, sending up thick plumes of smoke and dust. The adjacent buildings shook violently under the impact. Even Shen Po felt the wall against his back trembling as if it were about to shatter. Grit and gravel rained down on their heads, whether debris blasted up from the ground or masonry falling from the roof.

“The books!”

Shen Po’s ears buzzed loudly, nearly deafened in an instant. Ordinary sounds became distant and faint. In a daze, he seemed to hear someone utter that single word, and he instinctively looked up.

The spot where the small handcarts had been parked was now reduced to rubble, and even the library’s main entrance had sustained damage.

In other words, all the books they had painstakingly hauled out were destroyed by that bomb just now.

Shen Po stared blankly. If they hadn’t gone through all that trouble, wouldn’t those books still be resting safely on the shelves inside?

Had he made a mistake?

If history was bound to return to its predetermined course in the end, perhaps he shouldn’t have interfered from the start.

【It’s not your fault, Shen Po.】 As if knowing what he was thinking, Wen Yan’s voice rang out right on cue.

In fact, Shen Po had gradually been hearing less of Wen Yan lately. When he didn’t speak to him, he could barely sense Wen Yan’s presence at all. Wen Yan’s explanation was that he had often been feeling drowsy, easily slipping into a strange, half-asleep, half-awake state like dozing off.

Shen Po had panicked for a time, unable to stop his thoughts from straying toward concepts like “soul dispersion.” He had even wondered whether he should consult a Buddhist monk or a Daoist priest, though in the end, the idea had naturally been dismissed.

【If history is bound to have an inevitable outcome, you still put in the effort toward it, and your conscience is clear,】 Wen Yan told him. 【Besides, history has already changed.】

Yes, history had already changed.

Without Wen Yan, Shen Po certainly never would have tried to save the books.

Old Chen and the others might still have saved the books, but Shen Po wouldn’t have been among them.

Shen Po’s very presence was proof of that effort.

No matter how minuscule the change, it was still a change.

Shen Po wanted to say something more, but a deafening roar erupted from behind him.

“Watch out!”

The building collapsed in an instant.

He saw Old Chen and the others turn their heads toward him, and he knew he should get up and scramble out, even if by rolling. But just as Shen Po tried to stand, his numb knees gave out. His body pitched forward, hands instinctively bracing against the ground, his reaction half a beat too slow.

Something heavy seemed to crush down on his shoulders, then his head. A single second fragmented into countless slices; even as countless thoughts raced through his mind, his body couldn’t respond.

Was he going to die?

Was he going to die right here?

Shen Po didn’t know what expression was on his face, whether twisted in panic or frozen in a blank daze. He didn’t even have time to feel afraid, finding it simply unbelievable.

In the prime of his youth, full of fiery life, was it truly going to end like this?

He hadn’t even managed to properly finish a single thing.