He put down the documents and walked back to him. Just inches away, he could see the new white hair on his temples.
Fu Qixun poked his index finger into his chest with such force that it seemed as if he was nailing him into the wall:
"Don't think I don't know what you're hiding from—the only child of the Fu family is not qualified to be a member of the death squad!"
At this moment, the gaze behind his lenses was like a magic mirror, almost revealing the jealousy and unwillingness in Fu Hanzhou's heart.
"If it's because of what happened last night and all those rumors, I will..."
The turbid pupils reflected Fu Hanzhou's resolute face.
Fu Hanzhou's Adam's apple rolled as he stared at the gold star on his father's epaulettes.
The golden light flashed into a sharp ray in his pupils, like the cane his father used to whip him when he got into trouble as a child.
Thinking of Qin Ying's calm tone when she said to him, "Let's get a divorce," his heart ached again.
He picked up Fu Qixun's pen and handed it over respectfully:
"Reporting to the commander, those guys in the recruit company always say that I rely on connections. I need a victory!"
Fu Qixun slammed his hand on the table, causing the red and blue pencils in the enamel container to fall out, his eyes glaring like knives:
"I have no shortage of willing soldiers, but I lack generals who can bring my brothers back!"
His voice suddenly lowered, with an imperceptible tremor:
"Especially... the generals of the Fu family!"
Fu Hanzhou's Adam's apple rolled, his eyes were firm, and he kept handing over the pen.
"If I retreat, how can I convince the public?"
Fu Qixun stared at the paranoia dancing in his son's eyes, and remembered that he had the same look when he first applied to join the suicide squad thirty years ago.
He silently retreated to his chair, and the old-fashioned rattan chair made a creaking sound.
"Submit a detailed battle plan within today. We'll depart at five tomorrow morning. If you dare venture into danger without authorization..."
He tapped the blank space on the application form:
“Write out the alternate escape route.
"yes!"
Fu Hanzhou looked solemn and gave a standard military salute.
Fu Qixun's pen tip penetrates the back of the paper, and the ink spreads on his fingertips:
"Sign this, and you're no longer my son—you're my soldier!"
His pen paused:
"Bastard... come back alive!
He took off his glasses and wiped the lenses, his voice so low it seemed like he was talking to himself:
"If you dare die on the battlefield... I will personally rescue you from the clutches of Hades."
The application form was locked in the drawer, and the clicking sound of the metal lock was particularly harsh in the quiet room.
Fu Qixun sat silently leaning back in his chair with a solemn expression, looking like an ordinary father.
The incandescent lights in the office crackled as Fu Hanzhou turned and left. His military boots stepped on the concrete floor, and every step seemed to step on Fu Qixun's tense nerves.
The celadon cup cast a swaying shadow on the desk, and the tea in it had long since gone cold.
Fu Hanzhou walked out. In the corridor outside the door, he heard the whispers of the recruits. As he approached, someone lowered his voice:
"Last year, I heard a whole platoon went into a minefield on the border, but only one person emerged alive..."
New recruit Xiao Zhang exclaimed:
"Is the density this year even higher than last year's border crossing? This isn't a mission, this is a death sentence!"
"Shut up!"
The voice of veteran Lao Zhang was as muffled as the beating of a drum:
"The higher-ups just sent out a notice saying the death rate is estimated at 37%... I heard the commander leading the team needs to have both mine clearance experience and jungle combat experience."
Fu Hanzhou paused in front of a mottled green-painted wall with a poster of military-civilian friendship on it.
A corner of the photo of Qin Ying standing on the stage playing the violin was torn off - just like the secret hidden deep in her heart, there was always a missing piece for her to understand.
He stared at it quietly for a while. Qin Ying on the poster seemed to be immersed in her own world. She didn't look like a girl from the countryside at all.
He suppressed the doubts in his heart, clenched his fists, and strode away.
The battle plan and retreat route need to be drawn up as soon as possible.
*
Qin Ying returned to the dormitory, but her roommates were not there.
She needed to organize some relevant materials and report how she learned to play the violin.
Coach Li also asked her to participate in the military district performance, and Wei Zhuolan agreed without asking her opinion.
When I submit the materials later, I have to tell him that I can't attend.
But now, she had nothing to prove and could only make up stories.
After finishing the materials, she put down her pen and let the papers scatter on the table. She had written so much, but she didn't know if it would pass the test.
She was a little confused, and kept thinking about Fu Hanzhou's questioning and Wei Zhuolan's persuasion in her mind, with mixed feelings in her heart.
After sitting in silence for a while and organizing the materials, she took a deep breath, put them carefully into her bag, and stood up to go to the school publicity department.
When I opened the dormitory door, it was already time for get out of class to end and the corridor was full of students.
As soon as she appeared, the noisy sounds instantly became much quieter, and strange looks were cast at her like spotlights.
In those eyes, there was curiosity about her, the lingering amazement after everyone was stunned by her violin performance at the opening ceremony; there was also scrutiny and suspicion of her...
A girl holding an aluminum lunch box stood stiffly in place, pointing at her and saying:
"Look, the guy who played the dulcimer at the opening ceremony..."
"That's called a violin."
The girl with the red hairband sneered, her ponytail swinging arrogantly as she moved:
"The director of the art troupe had never heard of her rendition of 'Butterfly Lovers,' and I wonder where a country girl like her learned it from? Could it be that a deity taught her in a dream?"
Her voice was like a stone thrown into a calm lake, causing ripples of discussion.
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