The late autumn twilight seeped into the room with a chill. There were dark red blood stains on the shoulders of Mu Siwen's dacron shirt, and there were mud spots on his knees from the entrance of the Lin family's house.
He was completely unaware of this and was rubbing the ointment given by Lin Zhiyue on his palm.
The dusk dyed the bluestone road dark blue. Mu Siwen's dacron shirt was still stained with mud, and the blood that seeped from his shoulder spread out into dark brown patterns on the fabric.
But he was completely unaware of it. He held the ointment Lin Zhiyue gave him, the corners of his mouth couldn't help but rise, and even his eyebrows were soaked in the sweetness of honey.
The wind caused by pushing the door startled the wind chimes in the corridor. Amid the tinkling sound, he vaguely saw Lin Zhiyue leaning against the door, with a handkerchief embroidered with lotus flowers covering half of her blushing face.
"Look at you, what have you become!"
Zhang Yao hurried out of the inner room, and the scent of sandalwood mixed with medicine hit her face.
She looked at her son with a scratch on his forehead and ragged clothes, her eyes filled with heartache and helplessness.
She also didn't expect that Mu Siwen would go to such lengths in front of so many people just to get Lin Lang to agree to him and Lin Zhiyue being together.
Mu Siwen seemed to have not heard anything, and laughed cheerfully: "Mother, Uncle Lin agreed! She is so happy..."
"Love is deep, but life is short."
Zhang Yao raised her hand and touched her son's scabbed wound, her voice trembling.
Now, seeing his son in such a foolish state, he felt an indescribable bitterness in his heart, "You are so sincere, if one day..."
Before he could finish his words, he was interrupted by Mu Siwen's fiery eyes.
"No!"
He eagerly held his mother's hand, the warmth of her palm coming through the brocade, "Zhiyue and I will grow old together."
The light dancing in the young man's eyes made Zhang Yao reluctant to say anything to spoil his mood.
She was just a little worried about her son, who was always cold to everyone and looked heartless.
She also didn't expect that he would point at Zhiyue like this.
I don’t know whether it was better as it was before.
It’s better to look like this now.
I hope Zhiyue can stay with him forever.
Otherwise, she really couldn't imagine what her son would become.
"Okay, Sven."
She turned away her eyes, suppressed the tears in her eyes, and said, "Hurry back to your room, wash up, and take a good look at the wound."
Mu Siwen stood in the middle of the living room. He gave his parents a reassuring smile, his voice still filled with excitement: "Okay, Mom. I'll go back to my room first."
As he turned around, the corner of his clothes brushed against the glass display case against the wall. The military medals and shooting trophies displayed inside swayed gently, reflecting tiny pieces of light.
Zhang Yao watched her son's tall but slightly tired figure disappear around the corner of the spiral staircase, her nails unconsciously digging into the cashmere shawl in her palms.
From the second floor came the creaking sound of wooden floors, mixed with the soft sounds of drawers opening and closing.
She walked to the stairs, looked up at the warm light coming from her son's room, and her memory suddenly flashed back to twenty years ago: the little boy who pinned his military medals on his schoolbag in the military kindergarten to show off has now reached the age of being persistent in love.
"Don't look at it."
Mu Zhixin's voice came from behind.
He walked to his wife and looked in the same direction. The spurs on his military boots cast a tough shadow on the ground. "The children in the compound have bones harder than the city walls."
When Zhang Yao turned around, the cashmere shawl slipped off her shoulders.
Looking at her husband pretending to be calm at this moment, she suddenly discovered that he had white hair on his temples.
"You said..." Her voice trembled, "If in the future..."
"There is no future."
Mu Zhixin interrupted her with a decisive tone.
He bent down to pick up the shawl on the ground, his rough palms brushing the cashmere fabric. He put the shawl back on his wife's shoulders and put his arm around her shoulders. "The child has his own way."
"Let's go."
Mu Zhixin said softly and took her to the master bedroom.
When passing by the family photo wall, Zhang Yao caught a glimpse of the family portrait in the most conspicuous position: Mu Siwen, wearing a small military uniform, stood between his parents, holding a toy gun in his hand and smiling brightly.
At this moment, the little boy in the photo is upstairs, carefully folding the promise of love into his diary. Outside the window, the searchlights of the military compound sweep across the night sky, illuminating the flickering flames in his eyes.
Mu Siwen turned on the brass faucet, and the warm water washed away the mud and grass debris on his body. The wound on his back was reflected in the mirror.
But in the steaming water vapor, there was always a smile on his lips.
Whenever she thought of Lin Zhiyue's father giving in, the pain became like a blank bullet at a shooting range, which was intimidating but weak in reality.
He walked barefoot on the wool carpet and opened the drawer of the bedside table. In the wooden box lay the tin ointment box that Lin Zhiyue had secretly given him. The peony pattern printed on the surface of the box was already a little worn.
He dipped his fingertips into the light brown ointment and gently applied it to the scabby wound. The cool feeling of mint mixed with herbs spread. In a trance, he seemed to hear Lin Zhiyue scolding him again: "Don't work so hard next time."
As I lay down on the bed, the old-fashioned clock struck eleven.
In the unique tranquility of the military compound, the sound of soldiers changing shifts can occasionally be heard in the distance.
Mu Siwen buried his face in the pillowcase that smelled of sunshine, and let the sleepiness wash over him like a tide.
In the dream, he held Lin Zhiyue's hand and walked through the military district auditorium. On both sides were comrades-in-arms lined up to salute. The big red flower on her chest and the white veil on Lin Zhiyue's head fluttered in the wind.
The moonlight shines through the gaps in the army green curtains, gently falling on the boy's sleeping face.
He curled up unconsciously, clutching the corner of the quilt tightly like he was holding a toy gun when he was a child, with the smile on his lips never fading.
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