A Girl Traveling Through Troubled Times

Chapter 1153 Hong Kong Enters State of Emergency

“Mr. Chen, what’s going on…” Gui’er frowned, “At a time like this, you’re still associating with the Japanese?”

Gui'er frowned. The rich people had different ways of escaping. Some took their wealth and fled far away, some sold off their assets at low prices in order to get away, and some, like Boss Chen, climbed up the high branches of the Japanese army early on, waiting to get a share of the spoils in the chaotic world.

As dusk fell, the lights in the neighborhood were less than usual. Some houses were already deserted, leaving only closed gates and withered flowers and plants in the yard; others had lights on, but there was a deathly silence, presumably because the owners had stayed up all night, worrying about the boxes full of valuables.

Gui'er withdrew her gaze and sighed softly. This once affluent neighborhood, a symbol of respectability and tranquility, ultimately could not escape the sweeping storm. Some chose to flee, some chose to compromise, and some chose to persevere. Behind each person's choice lies the truest microcosm of this chaotic world—in the face of the torrent of fate, no one can remain unscathed.

Dingxiang asked worriedly, "Should we go to Macau ahead of time? I heard that ferry tickets are hard to buy now, and I'm worried that we won't be able to get them later."

Wu Mingqiang asked Gui'er, "Miss, do you also want to go to Macau soon? Then I can arrange for someone to buy tickets. I know someone at the shipping company. I'm still dealing with the pawnshop matter here, so it won't be that quick."

Gui'er didn't want to miss her studies, so she said, "If we're going to leave, let's go together. I want to attend classes for a few more days. I'm worried about leaving you here alone, Brother Wu."

Wu Mingqiang smiled and nodded, though he didn't say anything, his ears turned red.

By mid-November, the military exercises had practically become a "pre-war rehearsal." The artillery fire from the north shore grew increasingly intense, and sometimes shells could be seen landing on the sea near Hong Kong, sending plumes of water soaring into the sky. Japanese reconnaissance planes flew even lower, making it possible to clearly see even the tents of military camps and the cargo ships at the docks. The Hong Kong British government finally declared a "state of emergency," boarding up shop windows, covering streetlights with black cloth, and piling sandbags into low walls in the streets. But all of this seemed like a futile attempt to cover up the Japanese military's swagger.

The hearts of Hong Kong people are like shattered glass from the sound of gunfire, unable to be pieced back together with complete peace. Some pray at night, some pack their bags under the lamplight, and some clutch their hidden weapons tightly—they all know that the boulder hanging over their heads is about to fall.

The air seemed to solidify into lead, even the sea breeze carried the smell of gunpowder. The movements of the Japanese troops on the north bank were no longer a pretense of "exercises"—reconnaissance planes skimmed almost the surface of Victoria Harbour, the Rising Sun flags on their wings glaringly bright in the hazy sky, their engines tearing through the clouds, drowning out even the church bells. Fishermen said that at night, in the reed beds across the Shenzhen River, they could always see swarms of flashlight beams flickering—the Japanese were surveying their wading routes. Dockworkers whispered that the artillery on the opposite bank had removed their camouflage nets, their cannons darkly pointed at Hong Kong Island, like a pack of lurking beasts.

The changes in the market were so rapid that they caught everyone off guard. The once bustling Queen's Road now had half its shops boarded up, and the few remaining only dared to open a crack. On the counters were not silks and fabrics, but bags of compressed biscuits and rolls of coarse hemp rope—the former were being sold at exorbitant prices, and the latter were said to be used to reinforce doors and windows against artillery shells. Queues outside rice shops stretched from dawn till dusk, housewives clutching cloth bags, their eyes heavier with anxiety than the coins in their hands. Some argued heatedly over half a bag of moldy rice, their faces flushed, until a policeman's baton struck a nearby stone pillar, causing them to disperse reluctantly. Meanwhile, the black market flourished in the back alleys. In "exchanges" converted from opium dens, transactions of gold bars for ship tickets and medicine for handguns took place covertly, with gangsters in black shirts guarding the entrances, their coughs carrying the scent of gunfire.

The Hong Kong British government's response finally dropped its pretense of perfunctory measures, revealing only greater panic. The lights of the Governor's House remained on all night, cars came and went, but no one seemed to be discussing anything. Suddenly, Indian soldiers in helmets appeared on the streets, pacing behind piles of sandbags with rifles on their backs, but their eyes were even more bewildered than those of the citizens.

The tone of the broadcast grew more urgent each day. First, it said, "Reinforcements are on their way," then it changed to "Everyone is a soldier, let's defend our homeland together," and finally, only the air raid siren was played repeatedly. Its shrill sound was like a dull knife, cutting into people's hearts and making them panic.

Long lines formed in front of the volunteer army's recruitment station. Students, workers, and even some elderly people with white hair all wanted to get a gun, but the officer registering them spread his hands – there were only some rusty rifles left in the warehouse, and bullets had to be used sparingly.

The lives of the wealthy were a tug-of-war between escape and scheming. The mansions atop the mountain were brightly lit every night, the roar of car engines echoing through the air. Chests of gold bars and antiques were loaded onto private yachts, the owners smoking cigars and saying, "We're going to Manila for three months, we'll come back when things calm down." Some couldn't leave, not because they couldn't buy tickets, but because they couldn't bear to part with their assets—the owners of trading companies held secret talks in clubs. Some had already handed business cards to the Japanese consul in Hong Kong, saying they were "willing to serve the Greater East Asia Co-Prosperity Sphere," receiving a promise of "guaranteed asset safety." Champagne and steak still graced their tables, but they couldn't help glancing out the window during their conversations, fearing the gunfire on the north shore might suddenly turn into a real attack.

The lives of the poor were like wrecked ships torn apart by storms. In the shantytowns, refugees huddled in makeshift thatched huts, children clutching hard, dry sweet potatoes with their hands purple from the cold, while adults squatted by the roadside, staring blankly at the airplanes overhead. The dockworkers couldn't find work; the cargo ships of yesteryear had either been requisitioned for military use or had long since fled to Southeast Asia. They could only gather at street corners, using their last few copper coins to buy a bowl of thin porridge, hearing the saying, "If fighting breaks out, run to the mountains; wild vegetables will always fill your stomach." An old man pulling a rickshaw, his bedding rolled up on the seat, said he was taking his sick wife back to the countryside near Dongguan, "so they could die near their ancestral graves." The wheels creaked and groaned as they rolled over the stone pavement, as if counting down the days.

On December 7th, the sky was eerily overcast. At 12 a.m., the shelling on the north bank suddenly stopped, and even reconnaissance planes disappeared. Hong Kong seemed to have been put on pause. The lines in front of the rice shops eased a little, and some said, "Maybe the fighting has stopped." At this point, everyone wanted to hear good news and breathed a sigh of relief. But in the afternoon, the Hong Kong British government's broadcasts suddenly stopped, replaced by a piercing static. Then, the first real artillery blast came from the direction of Kowloon—not a test from a drill, but a deafening roar that tore through the air, making the church steeples tremble.

At that moment, everyone understood that the boulder hanging overhead had finally fallen.