Passing on the torch

The mischievous children skipped and hopped up the stairs at their mothers' calls to come home for dinner. The poor wooden stairs creaked in dissatisfaction, their laughter adding to the lively atmosphere of the alleyway.

As usual, Qingcheng lifted the covers and rubbed her sleepy eyes. Her throat was dry and itchy, which made her cough. She couldn't remember what time she got home yesterday, but it was very late.

Outside the window, the sky was half-lit, gloomy as if a harbinger of rain. Opening the window, a cool breeze blew, lifting a few strands of hair. The woman reflected in the glass had chapped lips and bloodshot eyes, looking utterly listless.

She figured she'd probably caught a cold; she'd worn too little yesterday and been standing in the cold wind at the station for so long. Qingcheng's head started throbbing again. She hadn't finished the tasks Lao Wang had assigned, and her serialized novel wasn't finished. Taking a day off would just pile up more manuscripts on her desk. No, today was her day off… a day off…

Ah! Gao Junxiao is coming! She can't get sick; there's still so much to do. First, she needs to tidy up the house, then go grocery shopping. Cough cough. Qingcheng coughed several times in a row, her lungs aching slightly. Maybe she should call him and cancel the visit; it wouldn't be good if she caught a cold and gave it to him.

Suddenly, there was a knock on the door, and Gao Junxiao's voice called out, telling her to open it. "What time is it?" Qingcheng glanced at the clock and realized it was almost midnight. She couldn't blame him for arriving early; she had simply overslept.

"Wait a minute, let me change my clothes," Kiyosumi replied in a hoarse voice.

After a hurried wash and change, she quickly applied light makeup before opening the door: "Sorry, I overslept. Let me treat you to dinner."

Qingcheng looked at Gao Junxiao with shame. He was wearing a long overcoat and holding a wrapped painting, probably Old Wang's prized possession. Unexpectedly, Gao Junxiao immediately touched her forehead: "It's a little hot. I'll go to the hospital with you."

"It's nothing, just a minor cold. Everyone gets sick sometimes." Qingcheng said apologetically, tugging at her clothes. "You should go home after you finish eating. I might not be able to treat you properly today, but I'll make it up to you double next time."

"Are we just ordinary friends?" Gao Junxiao asked abruptly.

Qingcheng quickly shook her head, wondering what those words meant and how many layers of meaning they had. Her head started spinning again as she tried to think about it.

"Didn't you ask me to hold your hand tightly in the emergency room last time?" Knowing she wasn't feeling well, Gao Junxiao cut to the chase, "Why didn't you ask me to come with you to the doctor?"

She tried to answer but choked on her own saliva and coughed violently. Gao Junxiao quickly placed the painting in the entryway to help her catch her breath. Then, ignoring Qingcheng's objections, he helped her put on her coat and hat, making Qingcheng feel like a doll that could be dressed up however she wanted.

Ugh, what a hassle! Looking at the bubbling saline bottle, Qingcheng couldn't do anything but idly count the nurses and patients coming and going. Her eyelids drooped involuntarily. She barely managed to prop her head up with her hand, telling herself not to sleep, but finally, unable to resist the exhaustion, she slumped softly into the chair…

When I opened my eyes again, I was in a familiar courtyard. In the courtyard stood a large osmanthus tree, its branches laden with countless tiny yellow blossoms, their fragrance filling the air with every breath. A burst of laughter broke the silence, and looking towards the sound, I saw children playing under the tree.

There was also a man dressed as a scholar from the late Qing Dynasty, who was sitting and chatting with another man in Western clothes, fanning himself with a folding fan. He was blurry and not very clear, but he seemed somewhat familiar.

Suddenly, the man from the previous dynasty beckoned to her. Gradually, the man's image became clearer and clearer, so clear that she wanted to cry. She clenched her fists, trying her best to stop the tears from overflowing. It was the deepest wound in her heart.

Seeing that she was standing still, the man closed his folding fan, walked over and picked her up, gently patting her back and saying something that was hard to hear. In that instant, she tightened her arms and hugged the man tightly.

Dad~ are you mad at me for not coming back to see you this Qingming Festival? Something wobbled and fell into my eyes, blurring my vision.

"How come this usually clever little girl has become a little mute?" This was the first sentence she heard clearly, and that deep voice belonged to my uncle.

"The child caught a cold the day before yesterday, and her fever just broke this morning. She's probably still feeling unwell." Her father's chest rose and fell as he spoke. She buried her little face in the man's arms, listening to his clear heartbeat, feeling very content.

"Oh dear, what a disaster! Go see a Western doctor." Her uncle said, patting her head. She struggled in vain and could only bury her head even deeper.

"Can a foreign doctor do it?" The father's tone was full of disdain and doubt as he tidied the girl's bangs.

"For injections and prescriptions, the foreign doctor's medicine is really effective. It's definitely faster than traditional Chinese medicine. Traditional Chinese medicine is bitter and astringent, and we have to coax and trick our children into taking it. But when giving injections, adults have to hold the children down and not let them move around," my uncle said earnestly.

"No, no, that's torture! Besides, my daughter isn't afraid of hardship; she drinks all the medicine herself without being fed by an adult." Father decisively rejected the suggestion.

"Hahaha, Xiujie, no one brags about their child like that. There's no such thing as a baby like that in the world." The uncle seemed unconvinced.

Father simply hugged her and smiled without arguing. Just then, a gentle, anxious female voice reached her ears. She numbly poked her head out, and her forehead was instantly covered by a soft hand.

"Flower, come to your mother. How come you disappeared in the time it takes to get medicine? Don't catch a cold." She felt herself being moved into another, softer embrace. She struggled to reach out her little hands to grab the man, but watched him get further and further away. She tried to speak, but the words got stuck in her throat, and she couldn't utter a single word.

After a dizzying moment, she felt herself lying back in her father's arms. She closed her eyes to the familiar sound of his heartbeat, wanting to immerse herself in this hazy dream. Suddenly, a cluster of osmanthus blossoms fell, their fragrance brushing against her cheek, causing her to open her eyes abruptly.

Before her lay a sheet of pure white Xuan paper, spotless and without a trace of impurity, flat on the table, completely still. Suddenly, a bamboo ruler slammed onto the table, the loud noise startling her so much that she jumped up from her chair.

Only then did she see the person in front of her clearly. He was dressed in an elegant white robe, with a book in his left hand and a ruler in his right. It was her most beloved father. She quickly and sweetly called out, "Father."

“Being coquettish won’t work. Recite the broken formation I taught you yesterday.” The man made a demand of his daughter with a stern face, tapping the table with the ruler in his hand. Her father was truly fierce when he got angry.

"Drunk, I pick up my sword by lamplight; in my dreams, I hear bugles echoing through the camps. Eight hundred miles of roasted meat are distributed among my troops; fifty strings resonate with the sounds of the frontier. Autumn brings the mustering of troops on the battlefield. My horse, like Lu Bu's Red Hare, flies swiftly; my bow, like thunder, startles the string. I have accomplished the affairs of the king and the world, winning fame before and after my death. Alas, my hair has turned white!" The poem seemed to spring from his mind, and Qingcheng recited it effortlessly.

"Good, well memorized." The man in the Western-style dress smiled as he stepped into the study.

"Uncle-in-law," the girl greeted the familiar elder warmly, "Why isn't Sister Yan Yan here?"

“Yan Yan has gone to private school. I’ll bring her over to play with you when she’s on vacation.” Her uncle-in-law found a chair and sat down, saying to her father, “Xiu Jie, the child has just started learning, and you’re already reciting Xin Qiji’s poems to her? How can she understand them?”

"Hua'er, explain this poem to your great-uncle." Her father sat down with a ruler in hand, looking at her with expectant eyes.

She didn't disappoint her father's expectations, and, imitating him, explained in a childish voice with her hands behind her back:

"This poem was written by Xin Qiji when he was living in seclusion in Xinzhou, feeling frustrated. It lacks the hardships of battlefield battles of his predecessors, but it has the passion of battlefield battles. Through creating a magnificent artistic conception, the poem expresses the lofty ambition of killing the enemy to serve the country, restoring the motherland's mountains and rivers, and establishing fame. The concluding lines express the grief and indignation of unfulfilled ambitions."

"Jiaxuan devoted his life to the Northern Expedition. Unfortunately, it was not until he was over sixty years old that the new emperor sent someone to ask him if he could lead troops to the Northern Expedition. Unfortunately, Jiaxuan was willing but unable. Time waits for no man. He was no longer the young man who could take the enemy's head in the midst of ten thousand troops. He was just an old man who was seriously ill. Only in his dreams could he express his patriotic enthusiasm for restoring the unity of the country."

"Did you teach them all?" Father nodded proudly in response to his uncle's question.

My uncle picked out a few collections of poems by Li Qingzhao and Li Houzhu from the bookshelf and handed them to my father: "Hey! Don't always look so bitter and resentful. She's a young lady, you should teach her some poems from the Huajian School and the graceful school first."

“Uncle, Xin Qiji also wrote a graceful poem: ‘I searched for him a thousand times in the crowd. Suddenly I turned around, and there he was, in the dim light.’ That’s a love poem.” Hua’er replied earnestly.

"Hahaha, Xiujie, this is because you didn't teach her well. This poem is actually Jiaxuan's metaphor for himself, unwilling to conform to the world." When Uncle said this, he looked at Father with a meaningful look, but Father turned his body away as if he didn't see it.

“Uncle, I think you’re overthinking it. What kind of person is Jiaxuan? He can criticize whenever he wants. Why would he need to hide anything? This is really just about his Lantern Festival outing. Why do you think Jiaxuan can only write about war and can’t simply write about romance?” Hua’er retorted, unconvinced.

"Did you teach this too?" Her uncle smiled and patted her head.

This time, Father simply shook his head slightly. Uncle, however, looked at the flower with great interest and excitedly said to Father, "Brother, please nurture this child well; perhaps she will be the next Heroine of Jianhu!"

Upon hearing the name of the Heroine of Jianhu, Father's face darkened, and he slammed the ruler on the tea table: "Hua'er is Hua'er, not some Heroine of Jianhu. I just want her to stay by my side in peace."

Those words were like a thunderclap from a clear sky, leaving the two people present looking at each other in bewilderment. It was the uncle who came to his senses first, taking a tin box out of his briefcase and handing it to Hua'er: "Hua'er, take this candy first, and share the rest with the sisters. Go ahead."

When she came to her senses, the person was already outside the study. The shadows of two people were reflected in the windowpane, and the sound of a heated argument could be heard from inside. She tiptoed, stepped on the patterned tiles, climbed onto the windowsill, and secretly opened a crack in the window to get a better look.

"Xiujie, you should come with me," the uncle said, pressing on the father's shoulder. The father didn't reply, but simply looked at the calligraphy and paintings on the wall with his hands behind his back.

Seeing that his father did not react, his uncle walked around to stand in front of him, looked into his father's eyes, and said seriously, word by word: "The young emperor is a puppet, treacherous officials are in power, we are beset by internal and external troubles, and the nation is at the brink of extinction. We can no longer live in peace in one corner."

"Is something new necessarily better than something old? The prime minister of Hefei is as poor as the rest of the country. Whether it's the imperial court or the revolutionaries, it's just another cycle!" The father clenched his fists, becoming increasingly agitated, his chest heaving violently. "The blood on Huanghuagang hasn't been washed away yet, and you're already rushing off to your death. Revolution, revolution—whose lives are you trying to overthrow?"

"Revolution is not about taking anyone's life. We want all the children in the world to be treated gently by the world, to awaken the people to rise up and no longer be slaves to one family or clan. We want to ensure that the Qing dogs will no longer have the right to say such absurd things as 'all the land under heaven belongs to the king.' We want to control our own destiny!" Veins bulged on my uncle's face, and his body trembled slightly as he spoke, but his eyes shone like a torch.

“But everyone has their own selfish motives. The people outside will not thank you for what you have done; they will blame you for meddling and causing chaos in the world,” the father retorted, squinting his eyes.

"Revolutionaries are those who, with selfless hearts, protect those with selfish hearts," my uncle said righteously, pointing to my father's chest.

She saw that her father's hands were trembling slightly. Finally, he sighed and said slowly, "It's the same as before. Whatever amount of money you need, I will make it up to you. Don't mention anything else."

“Xiujie, the revolution has reached its most critical moment. Why are you still thinking about your own little family? Family and country, family and country, without country, where is the family?” Uncle-in-law excitedly pressed on Father’s shoulder.

"Brother-in-law, I...I'm sorry, brother-in-law, I can't do it." Her father lowered his head, just like when she made a mistake.

"Xiujie, you've disappointed me so much. You've lost your former ambition." Uncle's lips drooped, and he had lost all his previous spirit.

“People have to face reality. Brother-in-law, do whatever you want!” the father suggested, his eyes red. “But before you sacrifice your ambitions, bring my sister and the children here first. I will take care of them from now on.”

"We'll see. Don't go to Wuchang District recently. Don't be afraid if you hear gunshots. Just stock up on food at home and lock the doors when necessary." After saying this, my uncle slammed the door and left, leaving my father alone sitting in the chair, gently touching the book of Xin Qiji's poems. He sighed and shed two lines of tears.

She wondered if her father was in pain somewhere and was about to rub it for him. Suddenly, a flash of light appeared before her eyes, and her father produced a brazier from somewhere. The flames seemed to be spitting out tongues of fire as if in a show of defiance, gathering and dispersing amidst the billowing smoke.

The father calmly watched the blazing fire. "Snap!" His shoulder-length hair came scattering everywhere. He casually tossed his thick, black braid into the fire. A foul, acrid smell filled her nostrils, and she quickly covered her mouth and nose. The father, however, watched with a relaxed expression as his braid twisted and broke in the fire until it turned to ashes.

Then, Mother rushed into the study with a servant carrying a bucket of water. Upon seeing Father's appearance, her eyes rolled back, her body went limp, and she fell heavily backward. Fortunately, Auntie caught Mother in time and pinched her philtrum, which slowly brought her back to consciousness.

"Master, what's wrong with you? Our bodies and hair are gifts from our parents! How can you go out like this in the future?" The mother leaned against her aunt, crying and complaining about her father's unconventional behavior.

"Madam, I'm not crazy. I've never been so lucid before." At this moment, her father picked up the bewildered flowers on the windowsill, put them on the ground, took her little hand, and, fanning himself, walked resolutely into the mist.

Her hands grew cold, and finally, she was left alone wandering in the thick fog. She covered her eyes with trembling hands to stop the tears from falling, calling out "Father" in her heart, "Don't leave me alone!" But no one would answer her anymore, never again...

Qingcheng slowly opened her heavy eyelids. It had been a long time since she had dreamed of her father. The events of the Xinhai Revolution were still vivid in her mind. She hadn't gone back for Qingming Festival, but on the anniversary of his death, she had to make time to go home and pay her respects. She yawned in a very unladylike manner, and as she turned over, she met a pair of deep, cold eyes.

"Oh my god, that scared me to death! This man is sitting right next to me and he doesn't even seem to be breathing." But when Qingcheng saw the surrounding decorations, she couldn't help but gasp. Wasn't this her own bedroom? The scariest thing than a man appearing in her own bedroom was that man was sitting on her bed and she was even holding onto his arm.

"What are you afraid of? Did you see a monster?" Gao Junxiao muttered. "You can really sleep. Loosen your grip, I'm about to suffocate."

Qingcheng hurriedly let go of his hand and stared blankly as Gao Junxiao left her bedroom. She immediately looked down to check that her clothes were intact before shyly covering herself with the blanket. It was as if a fog had been lifted over her head. What was he doing here? What was she doing here? When did she come back from the hospital? How did she get back?

A series of questions gnawed at Qingcheng's still-wake-up brain. She hastily wiped the cold sweat from her forehead, and the thought that someone had seen her sleeping made her roll around in bed in shame. Ugh~ She'll never be able to face anyone again.

Suddenly, she felt someone pulling at her blanket, and at the same time, Gao Junxiao's voice came: "Why are you covering your head?"

After a huge internal struggle, Kiyosumi revealed her eyes and chuckled, "Sweating helps you recover faster."

The bedroom lights were already on. The man simply said "oh" and then placed his hand on Qingcheng's forehead. The warm touch wasn't abrupt. Qingcheng shyly looked away and gazed out the window. It was raining, the kind of drizzle that makes one look somewhat listless.

Seemingly noticing Qingcheng's doubts, Gao Junxiao explained that she had fallen asleep at the hospital and asked the nurse to look after her for a while. He then went out and hailed a rickshaw to take the two of them home. He only helped her take off her coat and shoes before going to visit her house.

"Huh? A visit?" Qingcheng wasn't sure if she had packed everything away properly, especially the things that couldn't be exposed to the light. Just then, Gao Junxiao suddenly produced a magazine from his hand and said happily, "I didn't expect you to have a rare copy of 'New Youth.' Chen Yao likes to read it too; he used to have a whole set."

Good heavens, I brought her home yesterday and put her on my desk. A cold really does affect brain function. Qingcheng asked in a daze, "Do you like 'New Youth' magazine?"

"Of course, the professors are trying to use their pens as blades and ink as sharp edges to awaken the sleeping Chinese people and save the Chinese nation from its suffering. How can one not admire them? I even visited their editorial office." Gao Junxiao flipped through the magazine as if he saw his own student days reflected in it.

"Oh, which professor's articles do you like the most?" Kiyosumi crawled out from under the covers and asked, pointing to a string of author names in the table of contents.

“How can you choose? It’s like asking a child whether they like their dad or mom more.” Gao Junxiao shook his head, refusing to choose.

Kiyosumi, suppressing a laugh, decided to test the waters: "Do you want to know which gentleman I like?"

"Could it be Mr. Yu Cai?" Gao Junxiao tilted his head and guessed.

“Mr. Yu Cai’s sharp writing style is indeed my favorite, and it’s also a guarantee of our Shenbao’s sales. But there’s another one, and you absolutely mustn’t tell anyone else.” Qingcheng winked at Gao Junxiao.

"Of course, we were just discussing the gentlemen's articles," Gao Junxiao assured Qingcheng with a knowing look.

Kiyosumi thought for a moment and began to recite the poem: "I wish that my beloved youth, born in youth and dying in youth, born in adolescence and dying in adolescence. Move forward without looking back, turn your back on darkness and face the light, for the advancement of civilization in the world, and for the creation of happiness for mankind."

"With my youthful self, I will create a youthful family, a youthful nation, a youthful people, a youthful humanity, a youthful Earth, a youthful universe, so that I may enjoy an endless life." Gao Junxiao smiled and recited along with her. After finishing, he pinched Qingcheng's little face. "So you like Mr. Shouchang."

"Although I have never met Mr. Moratsuki in person, he always gave me a warm, down-to-earth, and positive feeling." Kiyosumi described Mr. Moratsuki in his mind.

Gao Junxiao nodded: "It's usually like this, but when Mr. Shouchang gives a speech, he becomes a different person. That person is full of surging fighting spirit, using resounding words to criticize the old etiquette and old morality, and to inspire young people to be full of vigor."

"Wow, you've actually heard Mr. Shouchang's lectures?" Kiyosumi said with envy in her eyes. "Have you heard the lectures of the other gentlemen as well?"

“I’ve heard of everyone whose name is in this magazine,” Gao Junxiao said proudly.

"Hmph, you're always listening to lectures, when do you have time to study properly?" Qingcheng replied sourly, pulling the blanket over her head.

"Hehe, let's not talk about the second brother here, but I heard that during your studies abroad, besides studying, you also attended tea parties, dances, salons, club activities, rehearsed plays, worked part-time, and occasionally even went to the streets to march and shout slogans," Gao Junxiao said deliberately. "You really know how to manage your time."

It must have been her godmother who exposed her past, Qingcheng immediately retorted: "We're different. I'm a science student. I just do more practice problems and memorize formulas before exams. It's not a big problem. Unlike you humanities students who have to memorize so much stuff."

"How did you know I'm a humanities major? I don't think I mentioned that." Gao Junxiao glanced at her suspiciously.

"I not only know you're a liberal arts major, I also know you dropped out of Peking University, and after dropping out, you became a notorious gangster kingpin." Qingcheng smiled provocatively, but her hands under the blanket were tightly clenched. This man was too sensitive.

Gao Junxiao, standing beside him, looked extremely uncomfortable and could barely speak: "That...that's a wandering knight. Don't go around spreading rumors. Just because you know I've been up the mountain doesn't mean others do. If others find out, how am I supposed to lead the bandit-suppression team and establish my authority?"

"What are you afraid of? Just say you abandoned your studies to join the army, and you did physical training in the field to get into military school." Seeing his pitiful look, Qingcheng could only agree. "I'm very tight-lipped, don't worry, I definitely won't say you're a mountain..."

Gao Junxiao immediately gave her a warning look, and Qingcheng quickly made a gesture to seal her mouth. Suddenly, her stomach rumbled, as if she was a little hungry. She hadn't eaten breakfast, and she didn't have much of an appetite at noon, so she ate very little. She listlessly threw off the covers, thinking, "Maybe I should cook a bowl of noodles."

Gao Junxiao said leisurely, "Are you hungry? I've already cooked it. I'll heat it up later."

These words stirred up some unpleasant memories for Qingcheng, and her dry throat made her cough involuntarily. Gao Junxiao quickly poured her a cup of hot water, which she carefully took a sip of, then cautiously asked, "How can I let you work so hard? Shall I treat you to something to eat?"

There was a moment of silence between them. Qingcheng glanced at Gao Junxiao discreetly. The man was staring at her without a trace of a smile. Sigh... he seems... a little unhappy. Her heart sank as if a stone had been tied to it. She hadn't said his cooking was inedible, could he really be that petty?

It wasn't until Gao Junxiao brought the steaming white porridge and four side dishes to the table that Qingcheng realized he was telling the truth. Wow, his cooking had finally evolved to look like a stir-fry, and the porridge was white too, so it seemed edible.

"You eat first," Gao Junxiao said with a generous smile.

"Okay." Looking at her boyfriend's smiling face, Qingcheng felt a warm feeling in her heart. "Oh, by the way, the soup I made yesterday."

"It's amazing you still remember that soup. Would it still be edible if it stayed out for another day? I just heated it up," Gao Junxiao said teasingly, glancing at her.

Under the man's expectant gaze, Qingcheng picked up a shiny blade of grass. Who would have thought that the first meal she ate with him at home would be cooked by Gao Junxiao? This made her feel a little flattered, and she wanted to encourage him to swallow it no matter how bad it tasted.

With a determination to sacrifice herself, she ate it in one bite. The refreshing aroma of wine burst in her mouth, the food was tender, smooth, and had the original sweetness of the clover. Her little finger unconsciously curled up, and her index finger rhythmically tapped the chopsticks. She then tried the remaining dishes, which were all at least at the level of a chef specializing in home-style cooking.

"How about that? Not bad, right?" Gao Junxiao said smugly. "Now you know why Chen Yao wanted to stay at my place."

“Fantastic! You are a shining example of modern men,” Kiyosumi replied honestly.

"You have to get up from where you fall. I won't let a woman serve me food twice." Gao Junxiao raised his chin.

"Haha, you won't hold this against me for the rest of your life, will you?" Kiyosumi found it somewhat amusing. His pride always seemed to flare up in strange ways. He secretly worked hard to improve his cooking skills, and then tried to amaze someone he might never meet again. What was he thinking back then?

"I can't help it, I have a good memory." Gao Junxiao had just finished speaking when he heard a strange noise from the kitchen, so he quickly ran to turn off the stove. Qingcheng was already laughing so hard she couldn't stand up straight; someone's memory was so good that they forgot to turn off the stove.

Then, her gaze fell on the painting. What kind of painting was it?

It's a water lily!