Guo Weixiang nodded, let out a long sigh, and slumped into the seat: “I’m thinking about my grandfather.” Si Nan remained quiet and said nothing. “My grandfather… hey, I wonder how he’s doing. My parents passed away early, and my grandfather raised me since I was little. He’s getting old. How did this apocalypse suddenly arrive?”
Guo Weixiang’s tone was very serious, and it sounded like in this lifetime, he respected only his grandfather and Zhou Rong. “Brother Rong says that we special forces soldiers can’t be depressed, that the people’s hope rests on us. With just one glance from us, their hearts start to waver. If we constantly talk about crises and the apocalypse, the people won’t be able to bear it and might commit suicide.” Guo Weixiang still couldn’t help but lower his voice and let out a long sigh: “But I can’t help wondering why it had to be our generation? Why are we so unlucky?” Comrade Guo Weixiang’s eyes were vacant, his limbs spread out, neck stretched. Si Nan seemed lost in thought. After a moment, he leaned forward, picked up his backpack, pulled out a can of Red Bull, and silently handed it to him. “Ah?” Guo Weixiang was surprised, then a bit touched: “No no, thank you, I’m not thirsty. Thank you, you keep it for yourself.” He didn’t look like his low mood was due to physical exhaustion. Si Nan thought for a moment and asked: “Do you need Zhou Rong?” Guo Weixiang made a bitter face: “Well, how do I put it. Although Brother Rong’s nagging habit makes me want to punch him, sometimes his chatter is quite missed, especially now…” Si Nan slowly sat back in his seat, seemingly pondering something, and after a while, softly muttered from between his lips: “I miss him too.”
