From Huai Lane to the Battlefield
I was just twelve years old when I left the alley where the old locust tree was. Sitting in the departing car, I clutched the peach blossom purse embroidered by my sister Rongrong, watching the alleyway gradually shrink in the rearview mirror. My heart was filled with reluctance, but I never expected that it would not only be a warm farewell to my childhood, but also the beginning of a sudden change in my life.
The first two years after moving to the new city were relatively peaceful. My father worked diligently at his new job, my mother managed the household impeccably, and I gradually adapted to life at my new school. Every weekend, I would write letters to the people in the old alley, telling them about my life—Ya Huan said she had learned a new straw weaving pattern, Aunt Su's osmanthus cake still tasted familiar, Grandma Xian always reminded me in her letters to "eat well and not get cold," and even Aunt Sun awkwardly wrote in her letter, "Come back and visit when you have time." Those letters and packages became my warmest comfort in this unfamiliar city, making me feel that as long as I held the peace jade pendant that Grandma Xian had given me, I had nothing to fear.
The tragedy happened that winter when I was fourteen. That day, I came home from school and opened the door. My mother, usually so busy, wasn't there; only my father sat on the sofa, his hair disheveled, his eyes red-rimmed. On the table was a hospital diagnosis report; the words "acute leukemia" pierced my eyes like needles. My schoolbag fell to the floor with a thud, the sound particularly jarring in the quiet room.
My mother's illness came on suddenly and severely. In just one month, she went from being able to get out of bed and walk to being confined to her hospital bed. My father borrowed money everywhere and sold all the valuables in the house, but the exorbitant medical expenses were still like a mountain, suffocating us. Every day after school, I would rush to the hospital to help my mother wash her face and feed her. At night, I would do my homework by her bedside. My mother would hold my hand and always force a smile, saying, "Zhaozhao, don't worry, Mom will get better. We'll go back to the old alley to see Grandma Xian and the others." But I could clearly see the weakness in her eyes and the way my father secretly wiped away his tears.
That Spring Festival, we spent it in the hospital. Fireworks were going off outside the window, their dazzling light reflecting on the glass of the ward, but they couldn't penetrate our depressed mood. My mother couldn't eat anything; she just looked at me and whispered, "Zhaozhao, I'm so sorry. I couldn't let you be carefree like other children." I nestled in my mother's arms, tears streaming down my face, saying over and over, "Mom, don't leave me. I promise I'll be good from now on and study hard."
But fate was merciless. In the spring, Mom passed away. When I rushed to the hospital after school that day, the ward was already crowded with people. Dad sat slumped in a chair, unable to utter a word. I went to the bedside, looking at Mom's peaceful face. The jade pendant in her hand was burning hot, but I could no longer feel its former warmth. After Mom's passing, Dad became a different person. He was silent all day, often staring blankly at Mom's photo, his once straight back slowly bending over.
Even more terrifying, the money borrowed for my mother's medical treatment became a deadly debt. The creditors came to our door every day, banging on the door and demanding repayment; some even threatened us. One night, several thugs broke into our house, smashing things to pieces. My father, trying to protect me, was pushed to the ground, his forehead bleeding. I stood in front of him, clutching a fruit knife tightly, my voice trembling with fear, but I still gritted my teeth and said, "Don't touch my father! We'll pay back the money!" At that moment, I realized for the first time that behind the warmth of this world lay such cold cruelty, and that my so-called "safety" was so fragile in the face of real danger.
To escape debt collectors, we had to move again, this time to a dilapidated old neighborhood. Dad found a manual labor job, leaving before dawn and returning late every day, his hands covered in calluses and wounds. Watching Dad's increasingly thin figure, my heart ached as if being cut by a knife. One night, I rummaged through Mom's old trunk and found the things I'd brought from the old alley—Rongrong's purse, Yahuan's grass rabbit, Aunt Su's osmanthus cake recipe, and the jade pendant Grandma Xian had given me. Touching those familiar objects, I remembered the days under the old locust tree when I was little, remembered Mom saying, "You must protect yourself and Dad well," and suddenly a thought popped into my head: I must become strong, strong enough to protect Dad, strong enough that I will never have to be afraid of those who bully us again.
After graduating from high school, I saw a recruitment notice in the newspaper. Under the bold headline, "Defend the Country, Temper Your Will," soldiers in camouflage stood with piercing eyes, their silhouettes against the rising sun. My fingertips traced the edges of the newspaper; the warnings of "high-intensity training" and "high-risk missions" in the recruitment conditions stung my eyes. But when I recalled my father's hunched figure returning from delivering vegetables at three in the morning, and my mother's dying words at her bedside, "Be a pillar of society," the sinister smiles of the thugs shoving my father suddenly became clear. In the instant I gripped the newspaper, sweat seeped through the folds, blurring the words "Registration Deadline"—this time, I must stand on a wider battlefield for myself and for my family.
When I told my dad my thoughts, he was silent for a long time. Finally, he just patted my head and said in a hoarse voice, "Zhaozhao, Dad knows you're suffering, but this road is too dangerous. Dad can't bear to leave you." I hugged my dad, tears streaming down my face. "Dad, I don't want you to suffer anymore. I want to protect you, I want to protect our family." Dad didn't say anything more, he just hugged me tightly, his shoulders trembling.
On the day I went to report to the training camp, my father saw me off at the gate. He carried a cloth bag containing the jade pendant I had brought from the old alley and the tea eggs he had boiled overnight. "Zhaozhao, take care of yourself," my father said, his eyes red. "If you get tired, come back. Dad will always be waiting for you." I took the bag, nodded vigorously, and turned to walk through the gate of the training camp without looking back—I was afraid that if I looked back, I would burst into tears and give up on the path I had chosen.
The training camp was even tougher than I'd imagined. Every day, I had to get up before dawn to run five kilometers, followed by physical training: push-ups, sit-ups, frog jumps, one after another, often until my arms and legs were completely exhausted. There was only a short rest at noon; in the afternoon, we had to learn combat techniques, firearms knowledge, and wilderness survival skills. Once, during combat training, I was knocked to the ground by my opponent, my knee scraped and bleeding profusely. The instructor simply said coldly, "Get up. No one will pity you on the battlefield." I gritted my teeth, got up, and continued fighting until I finally knocked my opponent down. Only then did I collapse to the ground, panting heavily, sweat and tears mingling and flowing into my mouth, salty and bitter.
Lying in bed at night, I often think back to the days in the old alley. I remember Ya Huan dragging me running wildly through the alley, Sister Rongrong teaching me embroidery, and Aunt Su making osmanthus cakes for us. I touch the jade pendant around my neck and tell myself: I can't give up, I must persevere. Gradually, I went from struggling to keep up with the training to becoming a trainee with excellent results. My combat skills became more and more proficient, and my accuracy in shooting firearms improved. In wilderness survival situations, I could find food and water on my own, protecting myself and my teammates.
After training, I was assigned to the special forces and became a real agent. My first mission was both nerve-wracking and exciting. The mission was to raid a drug trafficking gang on the border. We lay in ambush in the mountains, waiting for three days and three nights. That night, the targets finally appeared. They were armed and cautiously looking around. At the captain's command, we rushed out, gunshots echoing through the silent forest. I gripped my gun, following the training instructions, aiming and firing without hesitation—I knew that the drugs these people possessed would destroy countless families like mine, and I couldn't let them succeed.
But the cruelty of war is far more terrifying than we imagined during training. Once, during a mission, we were tasked with rescuing hostages held by terrorists. The terrorists were hiding in an abandoned building, armed with bombs, threatening to detonate them if we approached. We devised a meticulous plan to attack from different directions. My teammate, Xiao Zhang, and I were assigned to enter through the back door. We moved cautiously, when suddenly, a terrorist rushed out, pointing a gun at me. In that split second, Xiao Zhang shoved me aside, but was shot himself and fell to the ground. Watching the blood flow from Xiao Zhang's body, watching him smile and say, "Zhao Zhao, don't worry about me, go save the hostages," felt like a gaping wound was being torn in my heart, the pain unbearable. But I knew I couldn't stop; I had to complete the mission, I had to be worthy of Xiao Zhang's sacrifice. I wiped away my tears, gripped my gun, and continued charging forward. Finally, together with my teammates, we successfully rescued the hostages and eliminated the terrorists.
Another time, we were on a mission in the desert when we encountered a sandstorm. The endless yellow sand surrounded us, reducing visibility to less than a meter. We supported each other, walking for two days and two nights in the desert without water or food, surviving only by drinking our own urine. One teammate collapsed from dehydration, and we took turns carrying him, constantly talking to him, afraid he would never wake up again. At that moment, I truly felt I couldn't go on, but the thought of my father waiting for me to come home, the people in the old alley still worrying about me, and Xiao Zhang's sacrifice gave me strength again. Finally, we made it out of the desert and completed our mission, but the teammate who collapsed succumbed to his injuries and left us forever.
Every time I finish a mission, I call my dad to tell him I'm fine and not to worry. But I never dare tell him about the dangers of the mission, or how many of my teammates have sacrificed their lives. I'm afraid he'll worry, afraid he'll urge me to give up. Only when the night is quiet do I take out the things I brought from the old alley, look at those familiar objects, and recall the warm times of my childhood; only then do the wounds in my heart slowly heal.
After one mission, I returned to the old alley. The alley was still the same; the old locust tree was still lush and verdant. Ya Huan had graduated from university and become a teacher; Sister Rong Rong had opened an embroidery shop; Aunt Su's husband and son had returned; Grandma Xian was still in good health; and Aunt Sun was much gentler than before. We sat under the old locust tree, chatting about our childhood and our experiences over the years. Ya Huan took my hand and said with a smile, "Zhao Zhao, you're really amazing now, a special agent, protecting everyone." Looking at their familiar smiles, my heart was filled with emotion. I knew that the reason I was able to become a special agent, the reason I could persevere in the brutal war, was not only because of the changes in my family, but also because of the warmth I felt in the old alley when I was a child—that warmth, like a ray of light, illuminated my path forward, allowing me to find the courage to persevere even in the darkest and cruelest moments.
As I left the old alley, Grandma Xian held my hand and gave me a new jade pendant, saying, "Zhaozhao, take this pendant with you. It's like Grandma is by your side. You must come back safely." I took the pendant and nodded vigorously. I knew that no matter how far I went, no matter how cruel the war, the warmth of the old alley would always be my strongest support. I will carry this warmth with me as I continue to fight on the battlefield, protecting more people, protecting those warm homes like the old alley, and preventing more people from experiencing the pain and loss I once suffered.
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