Chapter 33 Family Banquet Turmoil 4
Song Zhiyi looked at Huo Siqi, remained silent for two seconds, and then smiled gently—it was the first smile she had shown that night, faint but genuine.
“I will go when the job requires it,” she said, her tone still calm. “But compared to the dangers that local civilians face every day, our working conditions are much better.”
She used the word "we," placing herself and all diplomatic staff together. She didn't boast about her own bravery, nor did she complain about the harsh conditions; she simply stated a fact—a fact that instantly made one feel insignificant.
But this fact made those people at the table who talked about jewelry, bags, promotions and raises all day long suddenly feel a little... ashamed.
The old man, Huo Qishan, who had been silent until now, put down his chopsticks, looked at Song Zhiyi, and his eyes showed relief, pride, and a knowing "I knew it all along" attitude.
He spoke slowly, his voice not loud, but every word was clear: "When Zhiyi was assisting with the evacuation of Chinese citizens in Lebanon, she barely slept for three days. After the last group of Chinese citizens were safely evacuated, she was so exhausted that she fell asleep on a chair at the airport. There are photos; Lao Liu showed them to me."
After these words were spoken, the table fell completely silent.
Evacuation of citizens. Battlefield. Three days without sleep.
These words struck like a heavy hammer against everyone's heart.
Xu Wenjun's expression changed. She looked at Song Zhiyi, her eyes filled with complex emotions—shock, confusion, and even a hint of... awe that she herself was unwilling to admit. She suddenly realized that this woman, whom she had always considered "unworthy" of the Huo family, was doing things that she could never have imagined or understood in her entire life.
Lin Wanru nearly dropped her teacup. She remembered how she had just been boasting about her daughter's "easy job" at the art museum, and her face burned with embarrassment. That childish achievement seemed so pale and laughable compared to Song Zhiyi's nonchalant description of her experience.
Huo Siqi fell silent, her head bowed, twisting the napkin between her fingers, her nails digging into her palms.
Just then, a deep voice came from the doorway: "Not just Lebanon."
Everyone turned their heads.
Huo Zheng was standing on the porch at some point. He wasn't wearing his military uniform today, just a simple black jacket and dark trousers, but he still stood tall and straight, broad-shouldered and with a strong, rugged air characteristic of soldiers. He had probably just returned; his shoulders still carried the chill of the outside air, and his hair was slightly damp, as if he had been caught in the rain.
He walked in and nodded to the old man first: "Dad, there was a traffic jam on the way, so I'm late."
Then he walked to the table, his gaze swept over everyone, and finally landed on Song Zhiyi, nodding: "Zhiyi."
He called her "Zhiyi" instead of "Miss Song" or "niece-in-law," his tone familiar and natural, conveying a sense of equal respect.
Song Zhiyi nodded to him: "Uncle."
Huo Zheng sat down in the servants' quarters—right next to Song Zhiyi. After sitting down, he looked at Huo Siqi, who had just asked the question, and said in a calm but straightforward tone, like a soldier: "You just asked Zhiyi if her job was dangerous?"
Huo Siqi was intimidated by her uncle's imposing manner and nodded subconsciously.
Huo Zheng smiled, a smile that held a detached acceptance of the world: "I met Zhiyi last year when I was on a mission in Syria. She went alone to negotiate with armed groups in order to rescue trapped workers and local civilians."
He paused, his gaze sweeping over everyone at the table before finally settling on Song Zhiyi's calm profile: "The other side had a machine gun, and she hadn't even fully put on her bulletproof vest before she went over holding the national flag. They talked for twenty minutes and then brought everyone out."
He spoke casually, without any embellishment, yet the imagery was incredibly vivid.
One person. Armed group. Machine gun. National flag. Twenty minutes. Rescue.
Every word is like a heavy hammer blow, striking everyone's heart.
Huo Yanli's knuckles were white as he gripped the wine glass. Looking at Song Zhiyi's calm profile, he suddenly recalled the words he had spoken to her two years ago outside the Civil Affairs Bureau—"All you'll get is the title of Mrs. Huo," "The Huo family's resources are none of your concern," "Let's part ways amicably after five years"...
Looking back now, it seems so ridiculous, so... self-righteous.
She didn't need the Huo family's resources at all. She was creating value, saving lives, and doing things that many people wouldn't even dare to dream of or do in their entire lives. The scars on her body and her understated experiences silently proclaimed that she and everyone else at this table were not from the same world.
After Huo Zheng finished speaking, he picked up his chopsticks and took a piece of pastry, as if what he had just said was just an ordinary little thing. Then he looked at Song Zhiyi and a genuine, undisguised smile of appreciation appeared on his lips: "Well done."
Song Zhiyi nodded slightly: "Of course."
A long silence fell over the table.
Only the old man slowly picked up his teacup, took a sip, and then spoke slowly, his voice carrying an undeniable certainty: "Zhiyi is like my comrades from back then. She carries great things in her heart and bears great responsibilities on her shoulders."
He looked at everyone present with piercing eyes: "Our Huo family is blessed to have such a daughter-in-law."
These words were extremely harsh, so harsh that Xu Wenjun's face turned completely pale. She opened her mouth, wanting to say something, but looking at the old man's serious face, she ultimately said nothing.
Lin Wanru lowered her head, not daring to look at Song Zhiyi again.
Huo Mingxuan raised his glass, stood up, and said to Song Zhiyi, "Sister-in-law, I'd like to toast you. I admire you."
He spoke sincerely, his eyes no longer filled with scrutiny, but with pure respect.
Song Zhiyi also picked up her teacup—she always drank tea instead of wine—and clinked it against his: "Thank you."
The atmosphere completely changed in the latter half of the banquet.
No one flaunts jewelry anymore, no one talks about their children's achievements, and no one "inadvertently" probes Song Zhiyi's family background.
Instead, there was a subtle, awe-inspiring silence.
Song Zhiyi was still sitting in the lowest seat, but at this moment, no one felt that she should be sitting there.
She is like a piece of jade that has sunk to the bottom of the water. Previously covered by mud and sand, now the dust has been washed away, revealing a warm and solid core.
The light was understated, yet it was enough to illuminate the entire hall.
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