Xu Zhuohua studied very seriously, her eyelashes drooping, casting a small shadow under her eyelids, and the sound of the pen tip gliding across the paper was as light as a feather falling to the ground.
However, she has a poor memory; she forgets the characters she has just been taught as soon as they are taught, and insists on creating her own simplified forms—for example, omitting half of the radical in the character "谢" (xiè), and writing the "言" (yán) radical in the character "许" (xǔ) as a crooked circle.
It was clearly wrong, yet strangely, it was understandable. Every time Cheng Muyun saw it, he couldn't help but think that this girl was being lazy and trying to be clever.
He would always put down his book, bend his knuckles, and gently tap her forehead.
"Slacking off again."
As soon as he finished speaking, Xu Zhuohua would exclaim "Ouch!" and throw her pen on the table, covering her head with her hands as if to dodge away, muttering, "I can't learn it, it's so hard," but her eyes would be bright as she looked at him, her expression clearly saying: you can't coax me without a good meal.
Looking back now, I realize how awful I was back then.
Holding the book, she chased after him, asking, "What do you think of this revolution?" He deliberately gave some unorthodox interpretations, and when she frowned and retorted, "That's not right, that's not how it's written in the book," she patiently tugged at his sleeve again and again, insisting that he explain the proper meaning before she would give up.
Her persistence was like a small pebble, always creating ripples in the calm lake of his heart.
At that time, both of them had something on their minds.
He wanted to get closer to her, and she wanted to change him. Neither of them said it outright, but in those little moments of interaction, they brewed a sweetness like honey.
The sunlight was warm, the pages of the book were light, and even the way she stuck out her tongue when she made a mistake seemed to be coated with sugar, so sweet that one couldn't bear to criticize her.
Suddenly, the sound of a cannonball came from outside. Cheng Muyun came to his senses and realized that the people breaking into the prison had arrived.
Relying on his memories, he felt an overwhelming surge of pride. He threw down the newspaper in his hand, stood up abruptly, and knew it was time for revenge.
The vast majority of those in the Eastern Continent Army who were willing to follow Cheng Muyun did so because in this era, even soldiers could not see their future; they were either suppressing bandits or fighting wars, and there was endless internal strife.
Although they were well-fed and clothed, living better than most people of this era, no one wanted to continue living a life of constant danger.
During the days when they were arbitrarily dispatched to fight by high-ranking officials of the Beiyang government, everyone was terrified, because they never knew when they would be going to report to the King of Hell.
Encountering a good general is like winning the lottery.
Cheng Muyun was that good general. He loved everyone. He grew up in the military camp and lived and ate with the Dongzhou army. He could even call the cooks who tended the fire by name, and he knew exactly how many people were in a soldier's family.
Cheng Muyun is a man of great talent, skilled in both literature and military affairs, and following him is better than following any other general.
Cheng Yuguang was already tired of bowing down to those ignorant people and letting them point fingers and give orders haphazardly in the court.
This sudden fire was like a raging inferno that consumed everything, completely extinguishing his last remaining faith in the Beiyang government.
The thought of Cheng Muchuan's death still causes him heartache.
The fact that a dignified young marshal died at the hands of foreigners reveals the weakness and incompetence of the Beiyang government. It was their concessions and indulgence towards foreigners that allowed them to so recklessly disregard human life on Chinese soil.
The death of Cheng Wenyun was another heart-wrenching pain.
She was trapped by the invisible shackles of feudal ethics for more than a decade, with nowhere to express her pent-up frustration and grievances, and ultimately she passed away.
But looking across China's five thousand years of history, she was not the only woman oppressed by this heavy feudal ethics, and it wasn't just for the past ten years.
It is a cage that generations of women have found difficult to escape.
As for the fire, if Chen Hede hadn't arrived in time to mediate, the so-called fire brigade would have been delayed, and by then, Cheng Muyun would probably have perished in the flames, leaving no trace of his remains.
Cheng Yuguang only had these three children in his entire life.
But now, one after another is dying. How can an ordinary person endure such heart-wrenching pain?
Not to mention that Madam Cheng was already heartbroken and unable to accept it, how could her father not also be suffering from a broken heart and sleepless nights?
The day after the fire, the rumors flying everywhere were like poisoned needles, stabbing Cheng Muyun with every word, belittling him to nothing, as if he were some heinous sinner.
How could Cheng Yuguang not feel pain in his heart when he heard those words?
That was his only child, the son he had watched grow from an infant into who he is today, and now he was being slandered and defamed.
Without the tacit approval or even authorization from above, how could those newspapers dare to so blatantly publish a bunch of fabricated charges and relentlessly attack Cheng Muyun like mad dogs?
Having been immersed in officialdom for many years, Cheng Yuguang knew this trick all too well.
Now, all he feels is utter despair for this corrupt officialdom.
He had long been tired of those days of having to read people's faces and play both sides.
The Fengtian clique in the north has long been self-reliant and independent. Why can't he fight for a way out for himself and the Cheng family?
Therefore, when Cheng Muyun proposed the revenge plan, Cheng Yuguang did not hesitate at all.
He patted his son on the shoulder, his eyes filled with an unprecedented resolve: "Go for it. All the power of the Cheng family is yours."
He wanted to let those hiding in the shadows know that the Cheng family was not to be trifled with; he wanted his deceased children to rest in peace; and he wanted to seek justice for the living.
Cheng Muyun stood there in the cramped cell, his back straight, his gaze passing through the mottled rust on the iron bars and quietly settling on the full moon outside the window.
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