Chapter 335 Do you still remember me?

The ashtray was piled high with cigarette butts, densely packed together, like a small heap of unburnt ashes.

Each cigarette butt was charred and curled up, piled up in layers, as if carrying some unspeakable anxiety and repression.

The ash bin was piled up to the very edge, and it would collapse at the slightest touch.

The room was filled with a strong smell of tobacco, mixed with the damp air, making one feel suffocated.

"Dad, smoke less."

Qiao Wanyin gently advised.

She frowned slightly, gently pushed the ashtray aside, her movements careful not to upset her father.

Her voice was soft, yet carried a hint of barely perceptible worry, as if she feared that saying another word would make this silent man even more withdrawn.

Mr. Fu waved his hand, said nothing, and lit another cigarette.

His fingers trembled slightly, and it took him two strikes to light the match. The orange-red flame illuminated his wrinkled face.

He took a deep breath, smoke slowly exhaling from his nostrils, his eyes gazing blankly at the gloomy sky outside the window, as if that cigarette was his only connection to the world.

"Wanyin, you have a baby in your belly, go lie down for a while."

Mr. Fu's voice was terribly hoarse, as if it had been sanded.

Every word seemed to be squeezed out with difficulty from the depths of his throat, with a hoarse, grinding sound that made one's heart tighten.

After he finished speaking, he lowered his head and coughed a few times, his shoulders trembling slightly, as if he had almost exhausted all his strength to speak.

Qiao Wanyin didn't move, gently placing her hand on her round belly. "I'm not tired. Let's talk when Li An comes back."

Her fingertips gently caressed her belly, as if soothing the restless little life inside.

Her gaze remained fixed on the doorway, her eyes filled with anticipation, yet also concealing a hint of barely concealed anxiety.

She knew that Fu Lian'an's return today might mean that everything would be revealed.

No sooner had he finished speaking than there was a sudden "bang" outside as the wheels of a car rolled over stones.

The sound came from afar, carrying a dull, vibrating sensation, as if it were crushing the hearts of everyone.

The cobblestone path outside the courtyard creaked under the weight of the stones, and dust rose slightly, floating erratically in the dim light.

Everyone in the room jumped up as if they had exploded.

The cup Lin Shuxian was holding shattered with a "crack," spilling tea all over the floor.

Porcelain shards flew everywhere, and scalding tea splashed onto the back of her feet, but she felt nothing.

Her fingers froze in mid-air, her eyes fixed on the doorway, her lips slightly parted as if she wanted to shout something, but no sound came out.

"It's my brother!"

Fu Maihe was the first to rush to the door.

She ran outside barefoot, her hair disheveled and plastered to her cheeks, her eyes sparkling with a mixture of excitement and unease.

She grabbed the doorknob and pulled hard, the wooden door creaking loudly.

The door was suddenly pulled open, and Fu Li'an's tall figure stood there.

He stood backlit outside the threshold, his silhouette outlined by the setting sun, yet exuding an indescribable weariness.

The wind blew in from outside the door, ruffling his already messy hair.

His military uniform was wrinkled, his beard was unkempt, and his eyes were bloodshot.

The fabric on the epaulettes was worn white, the cuffs were stained with dried mud, and the trousers had a small tear at the hem.

His cheeks were sunken, his chin was covered with bluish-black stubble, and his eyes were bloodshot, as if he hadn't slept for days and nights.

The scariest thing was that there was nothing behind him.

There was no figure as expected, no familiar steps, and no gentle yet firm smile.

The only sound in the courtyard was the wind rustling through the withered leaves; the desolation was chilling.

The hope on Lin Shuxian's face froze instantly.

Her lips trembled like leaves in the wind, "Where is your uncle...?"

Her voice trembled so badly it was almost incoherent, and her hands gripped the edges of her apron tightly, her knuckles turning white.

Her pupils dilated slightly, as if she still couldn't believe what she was seeing, hoping that someone would come out from around the corner and say with a smile, "I'm back."

Fu Lian closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and gently shook his head: "Aunt, Uncle... won't be coming back for the time being."

His Adam's apple bobbed, his tone was heavy, and each word seemed to be squeezed out from his chest.

He dared not look Lin Shuxian in the eye, and could only lower his head, his voice so low it was almost blown away by the wind.

These words were like a dull knife cutting into flesh, scraping at Lin Shuxian's heart, bit by bit.

She seemed to hear the sound of something shattering—hope, support, the belief she had been waiting for all these years.

Her body trembled violently, her chest heaved, and her breathing became rapid and disordered.

Her legs went weak, and her body plummeted downwards.

Song Yazhi and Fu Maihe quickly supported her from both sides.

Song Yazhi quickly grabbed her arm, and Fu Maihe hurriedly reached out to support her other shoulder.

The two of them worked together to steady her, but Lin Shuxian was already limp and powerless, like a withered grass broken by the wind.

What do you mean by "can't come back"?

Mr. Fu stood up abruptly, not even noticing the cigarette burning his fingers. "Didn't we already hand in the evidence?"

He roared, veins bulging on his forehead, the embers of his cigarette burning his fingertips, but he felt nothing.

His eyes were fixed sharply on Fu Li'an, as if trying to see through him, and his tone was full of anger and incomprehension.

Fu Lian raised his hand to wipe his face, looking as tired as if he had just run a hundred miles. "The evidence is fine, Zheng Mingyuan has already been detained. But my uncle's identity is special, and the higher-ups... have still decided to send him to another place."

His voice was low and hoarse when he spoke, and every word was tinged with exhaustion.

He paused, as if organizing his thoughts or suppressing his emotions, "They said... this is the organization's arrangement."

"But it won't involve others. None of your relatives on your side will be touched by the Fu family."

He quickly added, his tone sincere and firm.

He looked at Fu's father, then swept his gaze across the faces of everyone in the room. "I promise, this is the bottom line."

Where to?

Lin Shuxian's voice was so soft it was almost inaudible.

She leaned against Song Yazhi's chest, her face as pale as paper, her voice as thin as a whisper, as if squeezed from the depths of her throat.

Her eyes glazed over, staring blankly at Fu Lian, waiting for an answer she had long anticipated but did not want to face.

"Northwest Farm".

Fu Li'an dared not look her in the eye.

He lowered his head, staring at his mud-covered military boots, his voice so soft it was almost a soliloquy.

He knew what those three words meant—desolation, cold, endless labor, and a journey home that seemed far away.

Lin Shuxian swayed, then suddenly let out a sharp cry: "He Ting—!"

The sound was heart-wrenching, like a mournful cry erupting from the depths of the soul.

She broke free from his support, staggered forward a few steps, and stretched her hands toward the door, as if she still wanted to grab the person who would never appear.

Tears welled up and rolled down her haggard face, hitting the ground and splashing up barely perceptible dust.

She abruptly broke free from their support, lunged forward, and gripped Fu Lian'an's collar tightly with both hands, her knuckles turning white from the force. Her voice trembled and tore through the air: "Lian! You promised me! You said you would definitely bring him home! What about what you said? Do you remember?"

"Aunt, I..."

Fu Li'an's throat bobbed violently, his lips parted slightly, but it was as if something invisible was blocking his throat, and he couldn't utter a single word.