★A transformative work by Liang Xiaosheng, winner of the 10th Mao Dun Literature Prize, following "A Lifelong Journey" — crafted with dedicated focus.
★Over 90,000 reviews on Dangdang (a major online book retailer in China), with near-perfect ratings!
★After his "educated youth" literature, Liang Xiaosheng strikes again with this epic novel, depicting the compassion and righteousness of an ordinary person, revealing a life philosophy of restrained resilience.
★The story follows the legendary fate of a "coward", showcasing the wisdom of overcoming strength with gentleness and conquering rigidity with flexibility. A journey of seeking redemption amidst adversity and rising anew from destruction.

The novel portrays the controversial and doubted figure of a "coward", narrating a bizarre yet deeply moving anti-war story.

The refined and scholarly protagonist, exposes his hidden identity in a moment of desperation to save a reckless villager during a Japanese raid. From then on, he is forced into a painful predicament — feigning cooperation with the Japanese while enduring the hatred of his fellow villagers...

He resists brutality with gentleness, demonstrates strength through apparent weakness — a "coward" struggling between enemy cruelty and national indignation, yet never losing his integrity and kindness.

The novel not only reflects reverence for life, compassion for humanity, and a longing for peace but also interprets the wisdom of overcoming strength with gentleness and conquering rigidity with flexibility.

Liang Xiaosheng

He was born in 1949 in Harbin with ancestral roots in Rongcheng, Shandong. He is a renowned contemporary Chinese writer and scholar. Currently, he serves as a senior professor at the School of Humanities of Beijing Language and Culture University, a member of the National Committee of the Chinese People's Political Consultative Conference (CPPCC), and a researcher at the Central Research Institute of Culture and History. To date, he has authored over ten million words of literary works, including essays, novels, commentaries, and documentary literature. His representative works include "Tonight There’s a Snowstorm", "The Rings of Time", and "Educated Youth". In 2019, he won the 10th Mao Dun Literature Prize for his novel "A Lifelong Journey".

Chapter One

On an autumn afternoon in 1944, the sky stretched high and clear, the clouds sparse. The sun hung heavy, like a sack filled with blood, reluctant to sink westward. The nation lay in ruins, its people wailing in misery across the land. On this stretch of the North China Plain — specifically, the fields between Beiping and Tianjin — the sorghum burned crimson. Along both sides of the highway, there was nothing but sorghum, redder than fire, so red it nearly matched the hue of blood. Field after field of it stretched endlessly, a vast expanse dyed scarlet. This land had absorbed the blood of countless Chinese — ordinary civilians slaughtered in the chaos of war, soldiers who had fallen in battle. First, the wars between warlords claimed countless lives; later, even more died defending this land.
Amid the sorghum stood Japanese watchtowers, rising like termite mounds in the wilds of Africa. At this moment, the dying light of the sunset spilled over the sorghum heads, staining the fields an even deeper blood-red. Inside one of the watchtowers, a young Japanese soldier gripped his bayoneted rifle as he scanned the horizon. The endless crimson sorghum below churned his stomach into knots.
The Japanese did not like sorghum — they preferred rice. This was not mere pickiness; people the world over felt the same. Back in Japan, whether rich or poor, everyone ate rice. The only difference was that the wealthy ate high-quality rice, while the poor made do with inferior grains, never eating their fill.
Since becoming occupiers of this land and garrisoning these watchtowers, the rice-loving Japanese soldiers had not tasted a single grain of it. Only the officers stationed in the county seat could eat rice — shipped in from Manchuria, or even Korea. In Manchuria and Korea, the rice seized by Japanese forces through forced requisition had to feed the Kwantung Army, and even then, there was never enough.
So the soldiers in the watchtowers had ruined their stomachs from long months of eating sorghum.
They hated these endless fields of sorghum.
But no matter how much they hated it, they still had to seize it — otherwise, they wouldn’t even have sorghum to eat.
And this was the season when they would leave their towers to raid nearby villages for grain. They watched as Chinese farmers harvested the sorghum, gathered it in threshing yards, and—under the occupiers’ watchful eyes—winnowed, hulled, bagged, and loaded it onto carts to be hauled to the watchtowers before nightfall. If they didn’t, even sorghum would be beyond their reach.