As the morning mist completely dissipated, the sunlight finally broke free from the clouds, bathing the mud-brick houses of the Hongqi Production Brigade in a golden glow. The wild chrysanthemums in the Shen family courtyard, after being exposed to the sun and with all the dew evaporated, displayed their vibrant yellow petals, swaying gently in the wind like scattered gold dust beneath the gray courtyard wall. The last wisp of smoke rising from the kitchen chimney was also swept away by the wind and dissipated into the sky, leaving only the faint scent of firewood mixed with the sweet aroma of corn porridge, swirling around the courtyard.
Lin Wanqiu sat on the edge of the kang (a heated brick bed), gazing at Nian'an's sleeping face. The child's eyelashes were long, like two small fans, covering her eyes, and her breathing was as even as a spring stream. She reached out, her fingertips gently brushing across the child's slightly reddened cheeks, her heart softening completely. The sharp pain from last night's cold war still lingered in her heart, but seeing Nian'an's smiling face even in her dreams, those surging grievances seemed to melt away like sugar cubes soaked in warm water.
Shen Tingzhou stood in the corner of the room, clutching the slingshot he had just retrieved from the yard. The locust wood bow gleamed warmly in the sunlight. He dared not approach the kang (heated brick bed), afraid of disturbing the mother and child, and could only watch Lin Wanqiu's profile from afar—she was wearing a blue cotton-padded jacket today, with a small plum blossom embroidered on the collar, cloth bought last winter with the compensation he received after his "sacrifice." At that time, he was still on a mission, separated by thousands of miles, and had no idea how she had painstakingly embroidered that flower, stitch by stitch, under the torment of the Shen family. His Adam's apple bobbed violently; guilt surged up like a tidal wave, almost overwhelming him.
"The water's boiled, let me pour you a cup of hot water." Shen Tingzhou's voice was very soft, as if afraid of breaking the silence in the room. He turned and walked towards the kitchen, his steps extremely slow, the soles of his shoes barely making a sound as they rubbed against the blue brick floor. Lin Wanqiu didn't turn around, but her gaze shifted from Nian'an's face to the patch on the kang mat—it was patched up by her overnight after Nian'an wet the bed a few days ago, the stitches as fine as a spider's web.
In the kitchen, the iron pot was still warm, wisps of steam rising from the cracks in the lid. Shen Tingzhou picked up a rough porcelain bowl from the table, poured a cup of hot water, and then, remembering Lin Wanqiu's stomach problems, he secretly placed a piece of brown sugar at the bottom of the bowl—he had seen it by chance when Lin Wanqiu traded her spatial resources for food last time, knowing she always saved it for Nian'an as a snack, reluctant to eat it herself. The brown sugar slowly dissolved in the hot water, turning a light amber color, and a sweet aroma wafted into his nostrils, but Shen Tingzhou felt a tightness in his heart: he didn't know if this little thought would make her forgive him even a little more.
"Have some water to warm your stomach." Shen Tingzhou walked back with the bowl and gently placed it on the small table by the kang. His fingertips touched the rim of the bowl, and it was so hot that he quietly pulled his hand away, but he still tried to remain calm. "You were playing in the yard just now, and it was windy. You stood at the door for so long, don't get cold."
Lin Wanqiu looked up, her gaze falling on the cup of brown sugar water. The rough porcelain bowl had a small chip on the rim, a result of Old Mrs. Shen deliberately breaking it last time; she hadn't been able to bear throwing it away. The brown sugar inside hadn't completely dissolved, settling at the bottom like a small lump of solidified honey. Something seemed to gently bump into her heart. She remembered last winter, when Nian'an had a high fever, and she had run through the snow carrying the child, her lips turning purple from the cold. How she had longed for a cup of hot water like this then, but the Shen family wouldn't even give her a decent piece of brown sugar.
"I can do it myself." Lin Wanqiu picked up the bowl, her fingertips touching the warm rim, the warmth spreading from her fingertips to her heart. She didn't drink it, but gently stirred the brown sugar in the bowl with a spoon, watching the sugar granules melt little by little, her voice very calm, "Last night, I didn't mean to argue with you."
Shen Tingzhou's heart skipped a beat. He quickly walked to the edge of the kang (a heated brick bed), half-squatted down, and looked up at her. "I know it's my fault. I shouldn't have kept it from you for so long, and I shouldn't have let you and Nian'an suffer so much." His voice trembled almost imperceptibly, and his fingers gripped the hem of his clothes tightly. "Wanqiu, you can hit me or scold me all you want, just don't shut me out, okay? Without you and Nian'an, I am nothing in this family."
Lin Wanqiu paused, the spoon in her hand still, and looked up at Shen Tingzhou. He wasn't wearing his military uniform today, only a faded blue cotton jacket, the collar worn and pilling, his hair unkempt, stray hairs falling down his forehead, partially obscuring his eyes. But the guilt and urgency in his eyes burned like a fire, so bright she dared not look directly at him. She remembered the harsh treatment she received from the Shen family when she first transmigrated: Old Mrs. Shen stealing her dowry, Zhang Lan stealing her grain, Lin Moli gossiping behind her back, and Zhao Jianjun's bullying attitude. Back then, she was isolated and helpless, barely surviving on the supplies in her spatial dimension, even having to sneak around to cook a thicker bowl of porridge for Nian'an.
"Do you know?" Lin Wanqiu's voice lowered, a little hoarse, "Last winter, Nian'an had a high fever for three days, so high he was delirious. No one from the Shen family cared for him, so I carried him to the commune clinic. The snow was knee-deep, and the wind felt like knives on my face. At that time, I thought, if only you were here, even if you could just shield me from the wind and snow." She sniffed and put the bowl on the table. "But at that time, everyone told me you had sacrificed yourself, and I didn't even have a thought for you."
Shen Tingzhou's eyes instantly reddened. He reached out, wanting to hold Lin Wanqiu's hand, but fearing she would push him away, he could only leave it hanging in mid-air, his voice choked with emotion: "I'm sorry, Wanqiu, I'm so sorry... The mission was so highly classified back then, I didn't even have a chance to let you know I was safe. Every time I looked at your and Nian'an's photos during breaks in the mission, I wished I could come back immediately, but I couldn't—if I were exposed, not only would I not survive, but you and your child would also be in danger."
He pulled a small cloth bag from his pocket, carefully opened it, and inside was a yellowed photograph: Lin Wanqiu in the photo was still very young, holding the newborn Nian'an in her arms, her eyes crinkling with laughter; he stood beside her, wearing a military uniform, medals pinned to his chest, his eyes bright as the sun. "I've always carried this photograph with me, looking at it every day." Shen Tingzhou's fingertips gently brushed over the figures in the photograph, "I'm afraid I'll forget what you all look like, afraid that when I come back, Nian'an won't recognize me, afraid that you... no longer want me as your husband."
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