This chapter mainly revolves around the Sino-Soviet split that happened in the 1960s. Now, there's no "one" date that it happened on, so it's not all in September like it's mentioned in the chapter. The split happened throughout the years (border disputes, criticism to client states, withdrawal of soviet troops in China) but I thought it gave a "sadder" feeling to be in September hhaha because you know, September is the end of summer where all the warmth goes away and the winter coldness starts creeping in…I don't know, that's just what I thought (lol), so September it is!

Stepping outside, he looked up at the sky. It was grey and cloudy, there was a streak of gloomy, pale crack of the sky on the horizon.

He took a few steps forward until he heard—

"Mr. Yao Wang."

There was a voice, but no one to be seen.

Strips of torn paper came fluttering to the ground.

Then, the following thousands of numerous torn pieces of paper came swirling down. Yao raised his head in the mass white rain, and he saw Ivan sitting on a second-story balcony, holding a stack of papers. He tore them apart roughly and brutally. Then with a tilt of his hands, the papers were taken by the wind and landed everywhere messily below, where Yao was standing. Ivan turned his head ever so slightly to smile at Yao with those violet eyes. His beige-colored cashmere scarf flowed against the cold wind. Ivan's smile was so distant and far away, it was untouchable and out of reach, as if it was separated by a thick, forbidding fog.

Yao narrowed his eyes and frowned at the European man.

"What are you doing, why haven't you headed back?" he asked.

Ivan didn't answer. Instead, he pulled out another stack of papers from his folder, then read loudly, "'Sino-Soviet Treaty of Friendship, Alliance, and Mutual Assistance'; 'Sino-Soviet friendship and mutual assistance contract research'…."

A jarring force of the hands.

The piercing sound of contracts being ripped.

Papers were all over the place, they flitted to the paths filled with blossoms in the garden, to the black and white stones that were once basked in warmth; printed with smooth, curling Russian letters and refined, honed Chinese characters, inked with golden duties, inked with old dreams planned to be reached together.

Imprinted with two sole loves towards each other, proving that they were the one and only for one another.

The caustic wind mocked them of their foolish and self-righteous feelings they thought to be love. But oh-so-wrong had they been. Something as beautiful as love was simply not meant to be for nation-beings like them. The small strips of paper had settled like snow on Yao's shoulders and between strands of his hair. They scraped against his face and body. He quickly closed his eyes as he felt an irritating streak of grit on the corners of his eyes. He shut his eyes from the sight of the menacing smile from above.

A sad wrinkle extended from the corners of his eyes to his temples.

It seemed like everything had fallen apart.

Maybe many years later, Yao Wang would be grateful when he thought back to the grey skies, the rapidly changing sceneries, and what seemed like would be endless emptiness. Wandering about in the coursing currents, his vision blurred as a single tear secretly and silently crept from the corner of his eye and rolled down his cheek. It turned out that they had signed so many treaties and contracts over a decade, but all those agreements could be destroyed in such a fleeting moment.

He didn't dare to try to wipe at his eyes—in fear that Ivan would see from the balcony and see the softness and fragility in him. But what he didn't know was that from the balcony that the eastern European man was leaning on, Ivan was struggling to keep his smile, his facade was broken as he cast his gaze down and had teared up in his eyes as well.

The broken contracts continued to fly.

It was like carving up a guilty crown out of his lover's bones. Something that he would carry for life, a wrongdoing he would shrivel from until he died.

Yao, if you refuse to become mine, then let me destroy you with my own hands.

The sharp blade piercing through our hands, blood mixing together, crumbling, dying, decaying. We would be one.

Isn't it better this way?

Many many years later, Ivan would bring about this topic up again just unintentionally, and Yao would candidly point out: "Braginski, if there is really nothing but profits that we find in each other, then why even bother foolishly trying to seek love?"

—But, that would not be until Ivan's country name had become "Russian Federation".

September, 1960.

The path that they had pursued on together came to an end. No more walking shoulder-to-shoulder. The path had spilt, and they walked in different ways.

Though the blossom bloomed brilliantly, the glamour never lasts. It was like the fireworks in the sky the day they had signed their friendship pact. Exploding in the empty and silent night sky, the millions of tiny twinkles vanished in mere seconds. Then it was silence and coldness again. The warmth and kindness that lovers brought about were marvelously pleasant but so, so short-lived. It was difficult to maintain a stable relationship for the beings like them. Things like that were much too ephemeral. Yao smiled bitterly at the thought.

I will never be young again.

History left him sighing with his worries.

They stood before the brilliant golden patch of sunflowers, the proud flowers bloomed surprisingly beautifully under diligent and meticulous care. Ivan and Yao quietly wandered along the trails between the garden until Ivan suddenly came to a halt.

"Pretty, aren't they?"

"…Very."

"Do you like them?"

"I do."

Ivan offered a hand towards Yao, his purple eyes shining unpredictably.

"Come with me, Yao, to my home. I can give you all the sunflowers you want…"

Yao shook his head and gently put his hand in Ivan's palm. Ivan felt something cold drop onto his palm, and when Yao removed his own hand, Ivan looked down at the object.

The sunshine reflected off of the Bolshevik's badge, mirroring an almost blinding light. His vision turned dark for a moment from the intense sunlight. Ivan remained silent for a moment before softly asking, "What is the meaning of this?"

"It means what you see."

"I don't understand." Ivan smiled, a dark and dangerous aura radiating from him. This wasn't the first time Yao had seen this expression. When they were fighting off the soldiers from Honda's place, Ivan would repeatedly stab them through their throats with the bayonet of his rifle, watching the blood drip down and splash into the ground. Ivan would use the same expression to whisper to the humans, "Don't cry…the pain will go away very soon." Blood ran in a thin trail down his cheeks, the 'innocent' smile chilled him to the bones.

At seeing the expression on Ivan's face, Yao unconsciously became alert and wary. He furtively sneaked his hand around his waist and gripped his hand gun. However, Ivan made no move to attack him. He didn't pull out his knife nor raise his hand to lash out at Yao. Ivan simply asked unhurriedly, "By giving it back to me, does that mean that you want to leave my faction?"

"No, I am still with you and the Bolsheviks, but just not passively following behind. I know you understand. Some paths are meant to be walked alone. When the road's too narrow, we must learn to let go of our companion's hand…Plus, you've said it yourself once at the conference too, you are very unsatisfied with the choices of my people." Yao said.

Ivan was still smiling, but it seemed stiff and forced. Yao had already quietly latched off the safety switch on his gun, his palms sweaty from nervousness. Both nations remained unspeaking for a moment before Ivan broke the silence.

"Comrade Yao, you must think this through. I am the only one you can rely on."

Yao shook his head and replied, "No, I still have myself."

Ivan stared with surprise and mockery, while he scoffed back "Do you still think that you're the 'mighty Celestial Empire', Comrade Yao?"

Yao did not reply. But his brownish-black eyes remained locked with Ivan's.

"Yao, you'll never leave me, because you can't, can you? You'll always be my Bolshevik. Without me, you won't be able to do anything."

The ridiculing expression was shifted onto Yao's face when he said, "And do you think that you're the Celestial Empire now? Comrade Ivan?"

Eyes widened and violet pupils shrunk with fury.

The valve had been opened.

Ivan's fists gripped onto Yao's shoulders so hard that his knuckles turned white and his joints bulged.

"You'll regret it, Yao Wang, you'll come crying and begging on your knees! You'll go bankrupt and you'll come to hate me, hate me so much that it scorches onto your bones!"

Yao gazed at him coldly, temperature decreasing rapidly. He said, "Braginski, do you even know of hate?"

Ivan fell into silence. Of course he did. He'd seen it all, all the tragedies General Winter could offer him. What did Yao know? His grip trembled on Yao's shoulders.

Yao continued, "Hatred is a scar that never disappears. It will hurt, it will bleed, and it will callus. But it will never completely heal."

He raised his head and gazed towards the large, seemingly endless patch of golden sunflowers. His gaze fell on somewhere unknown, a place filled with blood, darkness, and unceasing humiliation. All the once great and dominant forces withered into wan shadows reflected upon a gold, bronze mirror stained yellow. A lover who betrayed, silk sashes shredded into pieces, the stench of an unwanted substance mixed with blood. Memories Yao tried so hard to forget.

Ivan seemed to realize something with a pang of epiphany. There was a tremor in his eyes, and his throat went dry. He knew. He knew that Yao's eyes have saw through the sunflowers and rested on the Qing dynasty's palace that once stood hundreds of years ago.

"…You still hate me, don't you?" Ivan murmured, "You still hate me…and Kirkland, and what we've done in the past. You still hate me."

"…I've tried to lie to myself, that is, until you ripped apart the three-hundred contracts between us with your own hands."

"Ha!" Ivan burst out laughing as he rubbed at his pale blonde hair, "Ha, you've lied to yourself? …..Don't be ridiculous. You were trying to lie to me instead. I was the one being lied to the whole time. You…saying that you've forgiven me, and that you didn't hate me anymore ….Oh, Yao…."

His gaze was suddenly as sharp as a weapon, and his words flowed coldly out of his throat.

"You are a liar."

Liar.

Yao bit on his lip so hard that he drew blood. He lapsed into silence for a quite a while before saying, "…If I'm a liar, Braginski…then what are you?"

That gloomy day at the conference, fluttering pieces of white paper swirled in the air. Both of them had tried so hard not to show their concealed pain and remorse. The memories replayed like echoes in their hearts.

"…Ivan." he said placidly, using every muscle of his body to conceal the ache he felt in his heart and how reluctant he is of letting go. "There are only interests of benefits between us. I used you just the same as the way you have used me. As of now, our profits have been burnt down. Our game is over."

Yao paused, feeling as if he cannot go on anymore. If this continues, he fears that his facade will collapse, and that he'd grab Ivan and yank him close to yell: 'You idiot, how can you not see how much I love you? Why do you think that I haven't already threw away the old shoes that you've given me; why do you think I forgave you for what you've done in the past without a second thought; why else did I follow through the fog all these years without doubting you even once?! How can you not understand all these things, Braginski, are you blind?!'

Yet, be that as it may, Ivan just sighed deeply and pulled on that heartless smile, "It's over. Let's split up, then."

They both were too stubborn.

Liar, if that is how you see this….then so be it.

This last part with Yao and Ivan was just a flashback, for those of you who were confused by this sudden change in timeline :P

I'll try to update more frequently in the future! ((even though school is starting...but oh well, nothing will come between me and writing!))