Chapter 25 Living a More Normal Life

Geneva, a small apartment near the United Nations European Headquarters.

January sunlight streamed through the blinds, casting stripes of light and shadow on the wooden floor. The room was simple: a bed, a desk, a wardrobe, and a small kitchenette. The desk was piled high with documents, and a world map hung on the wall, marked with different colored thumbtacks indicating various conflict zones.

Song Zhiyi sat at her desk, the final mission report laid out before her. Her laptop screen was lit, displaying the interface of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs' internal system—her application to end her overseas posting had been submitted, and the status was "pending approval."

It's been two years.

To be precise, it was two years and four months. Due to a sudden crisis in the Middle East, her overseas assignment was extended by four months.

She stopped typing, picked up the tea that had long since gone cold, and took a sip. The tea was bitter, but she was used to it. Her gaze fell on the computer screen; next to the "Pending Approval" status bar was a small countdown icon: Estimated approval time, 48 hours.

In other words, she should receive the official call-back notification by the day after tomorrow at the latest, and then she can book a flight back to China.

Lake Geneva outside the window shimmered with a cold blue light under the winter sun, and the snow-capped mountains were clearly outlined in the distance. This city was beautiful and peaceful, like a completely different world from the war-torn places she had spent the past two years in.

But Song Zhiyi knew that this quiet was merely a facade. Just yesterday, in the conference room of this very building, the various parties were still arguing endlessly over a ceasefire agreement in an African country. Peace is never a given; it is something countless people have painstakingly negotiated at the negotiating table and risked their lives on the battlefield to achieve.

She looked away and continued writing the report. Her fingers flew across the keyboard, and lines of text appeared on the screen: task overview, main work, achievements and shortcomings, follow-up suggestions…

As she was engrossed in writing, her phone vibrated. It was a WeChat message from her colleague Xia Lin at the Ministry of Foreign Affairs.

"Zhiyi, I heard you're coming back soon? Have you decided on a date? Your girlfriends said they'd throw you a welcome-back party!"

Song Zhiyi stopped what she was doing and replied, "It hasn't been approved yet. I'll book the tickets once it's approved."

The reply came almost instantly: "Hurry, hurry, hurry! Everyone misses you so much! You know, a few new people recently joined the company, and after hearing about your achievements, they all idolize you!"

Song Zhiyi smiled but didn't continue the conversation. Instead, she asked, "Has the department been busy lately?"

"You've been incredibly busy! But it's good to see you back; there are so many tricky documents waiting for you."

After chatting for a few more minutes, Song Zhiyi put down her phone, her gaze falling on a photo frame in the corner of the desk. It was the last photo of her and her grandfather, taken that summer at the retirement home. In the photo, her grandfather was wearing an old military uniform, his chest covered with medals, smiling with a contented yet aged expression. She stood behind him, slightly bent over, her hands resting on the back of the chair.

My grandfather has been gone for two years and five months.

She kept her promise to him—to marry him. Although the marriage wasn't quite what she had imagined, at least her grandfather passed away peacefully.

As for Huo Yanli...

Song Zhiyi shook her head, banishing the name from her mind. Two years had passed, and aside from the monthly "living expenses" that arrived on time but which she had never touched, they had had no contact whatsoever. This was fine; it aligned with their initial agreement.

She continued writing the report.

As evening fell, the doorbell rang. It was Ian; he had come to Geneva to attend an international medical conference.

"I heard you're leaving soon?" Dr. Ian asked as he entered the room, looking at the suitcases that were already half packed.

"Yes. The paperwork is being processed." Song Zhiyi poured him a glass of water. "Sit down."

Ian didn't sit down. Instead, he walked to the desk, looked at the pile of documents and the map on the wall, and remained silent for a long time. Then he turned around, looked at Song Zhiyi, and his eyes were filled with complex emotions.

“Song, you should rest,” he said. “You’ve been working too hard these past two years.”

Song Zhiyi was organizing a stack of meeting minutes when she heard this and looked up: "It's alright. Everyone's in the same boat."

“It’s different.” Ian shook his head. “You’re different. I know a lot of diplomats, a lot of aid workers. But there aren’t many like you… who treat every mission as if it were their last.”

He paused, then lowered his voice: "Especially since you have those injuries on your body."

Song Zhiyi paused in organizing the documents, but quickly resumed her composure: "The injury has healed."

"Your physical wounds have healed, but what about your emotional ones?" Ian asked directly. "Your parents' situation, your injuries, and all the death and suffering you've witnessed in the past two years... Song, you're not made of steel. You need rest, you need... to live a normal life."