She lowered her eyes, not seeing the flicker in his gaze, but the word “freedom” finally stirred something in her vacant eyes, and her brain began to think again. Was he really giving her a chance, or was he deliberately offering her a false hope, igniting the ashes of her heart, watching her hover on the edge of life and death, struggling in pain?
He raised the gun, aiming at her forehead. When he lifted the gun, there was no warmth in his ice-blue pupils. “Now, you can go…”
With his precise marksmanship, a single bullet was enough to end her life. Yet he still showed some mercy; he gave her a bullet, a straightforward end to her life. Khanyi turned her head, taking the first step, the second step, the third step, walking deeper into the woods…
Four, five, six, seven, eight, nine… She counted her steps, just like when she couldn’t sleep at night due to pain and fear, counting numbers in lonely helplessness. Her shoes crunched in the snow as she walked deeper into the dark woods, heading towards the darkness where a scythe-wielding Grim Reaper awaited her.
She walked for a long time, losing count of her steps; perhaps it was over a hundred steps, or maybe two hundred, three hundred—she couldn’t remember. Suddenly, a question surged in her mind: why hadn’t the gunshot sounded?
Yes, the gunshot had not sounded! The surroundings were silent. She stopped in her tracks, only able to hear her own breath in the dry, cold air, and the heavy snow on the tree branches breaking off with a sound as it fell to the ground, merging with the pristine white below.
Turning back suddenly, he was no longer there; even the distant silhouette had vanished, leaving only a trail of gradually fading boot prints in the snow.
Khanyi stood frozen in place, first caught in a state of rigidity, from her brain to her limbs, all stiff. She could hardly believe this was real. Could he really have let her go? No, how could that be? He could not possibly let her off like this; he was a butcher, the grim reaper in black, and what he called an end should mean the end of a life.
Her consciousness slowly began to return, and she started to feel the cold. The temperature around her must have been several degrees below zero; her feet were numb from the cold, her hands stiff, even her chest felt like it was freezing. But a wave of heat suddenly surged in her heart, causing her heart to contract and leap. No, it couldn’t be like that, it absolutely couldn’t be… Did he deliberately let her go because the little bit of conscience and humanity he had left hadn’t completely vanished? Or was it as she had heard while unconscious in the hospital, that he had a deep, complex, and subtle feeling for her?
She dared not conclude that feeling was love. To her, love should be a complete devotion, a selfless giving for the happiness of the beloved. From beginning to end, his actions had nothing to do with love; he used a whip to make her submit when seduction failed, forced her to comply with a dagger, and repeatedly subjected her to violence.
In his ice-blue eyes, there was only strong possession and mad jealousy; he was as bloodthirsty and cruel as a wolf pack leader, as tyrannical and ruthless as the god of lightning. On the hospital bed, facing her unconscious form, he spoke of his absurd logic and unique insights on love.
Even with the rigorously armed minds of these Nazis, equipped with Hegelian philosophy, everything sounded so ridiculous, so absurd—a wolf had fallen in love with its prey, tearing it apart with its fangs, using its claws to draw blood, to validate its love.
But this was both absurd and strangely logical—because of love, he approached her, and also because of love, he chose to let her go, to distance himself from her…
Khanyi was unwilling to continue along this line of thought; if she did, she would be driven mad. The pain he had inflicted on her was already enough; she would not allow him to impose sorrow upon her soul again. She closed her eyes, tears streaming down her face. As she cried out loud, she ran deeper into the forest, slipping and falling several times. The branches of the bushes scratched her face, her arms, and her calves, but she paid no attention, continuing to run through the snow…
Anyone with a little knowledge of guns would know that he hadn’t pulled the safety catch; an unloaded gun was merely a decoration, with no real offensive power. He raised the gun at her only to declare that she should leave. He didn’t look back at her; the moment she turned back, woodenly taking her first step into the depths of the forest, he had already turned and left.
