Chapter 132 Extra Chapter (Song Zhiyi and Huo Yanli): 7. Requesting to Return
In the third month in the Sahel region, time seemed to be kneaded into a different texture by the heat waves and sandstorms, slow and heavy, yet at certain moments it was frighteningly fast.
On the morning before departure, it was drizzling in Beijing. Huo Yanli was making coffee in the kitchen, and Song Zhiyi was doing a final check of her packing list.
"Did you bring enough sunscreen?" he asked with his back to her, his voice slightly hoarse from the early morning.
"Three." She tucked a new one into her side pocket. "Enough to last until the rainy season."
Huo Yanli turned around and handed her a glass of warm water with a spoonful of honey added, which was her morning routine. He was wearing dark gray loungewear, his hair was a little messy, and only she could see his relaxed demeanor.
“I have to send out code every day,” he said, reaching out to tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “Especially for 1103.”
Her communication with Huo Yanli had long been simplified into a string of numerical codes that only the two of them understood.
"1101" - Peace and safety.
"1102" - Busy, but everything is normal.
"1103" - I miss you.
Song Zhiyi looked up at him: "Won't using 1103 too frequently reduce communication efficiency?"
“No,” he answered matter-of-factly. “I need this data to do sentiment baseline analysis.”
She couldn't help but laugh, put the water glass aside, and reached out to wrap her arms around his waist: "Mr. Huo, you've recently learned to be cheeky."
“I learned it from you.” He lowered his head and kissed her forehead. “Who was it that used ‘data analysis’ as an excuse in the meeting last time to make me leave work early to try that newly opened Yunnan restaurant?”
That was two weeks ago. Song Zhiyi did indeed include a restaurant review in her report, euphemistically titled "A Study on the Practice of Cross-Cultural Communication Scenarios".
"The food was delicious that time," she said matter-of-factly.
“Hmm.” Huo Yanli tightened his arms. “So this time I also need to collect data. The number of times I send 1103 emails per day is related to my sleep quality index in Beijing.”
The vibrations of his chest as he spoke could be heard through his clothes. Song Zhiyi leaned against him quietly for a while, listening to his steady heartbeat.
“I will send it every day,” she said softly, “but you can’t stay up all night waiting.”
“I can adjust my schedule.” He said calmly, as if it were something perfectly normal. “I’ll schedule a video conference from eight to nine in the evening. After you finish sending out the code, you can rest.”
Song Zhiyi looked up and saw the faint dark circles under his eyes. He had been working non-stop for a long time recently in order to coordinate the logistics of her project.
"Huo Yanli." She rarely called him by his full name like that. "Get some sleep, that's an order."
He raised an eyebrow: "Since when did Commissioner Song have the authority to order me around?"
“It started when you secretly stuffed hand warmers and chocolates into my luggage.” She poked his chest. “We made a three-point agreement: you promise to get six hours of sleep every day, and I promise to send out code every day. If you work overtime once, I'll send one less 1103 error.”
Huo Yanli fell silent. He knew this was the most serious exchange she could offer.
“…Deal.” He finally said, a helpless smile in his voice, “But you also have to promise me that every time you finish releasing code, no matter how busy you are, you’ll drink half a glass of water. You always forget.”
"How do you know I forgot—" she stopped halfway through her sentence, remembering the water glass she had casually placed aside during the last video call.
“I have my own sources of intelligence.” He spoke mysteriously, but his eyes gleamed. “For example, a volunteer wrote on his blog that ‘Commissioner Song works like a camel in the desert.’”
Song Zhiyi chuckled: "You even look at this?"
“I read everything about you,” he said frankly, “including that exaggerated report that said your smile could make the Sahel rain.”
"That article is clearly outrageous."
“But you’re right about one thing.” Huo Yanli cupped her face, his thumb gently stroking her cheekbone. “You can indeed make some people willingly wait, even across seven time zones and half the globe.”
---
In the Sahel, their communication system has evolved a unique sweetness amidst harsh realities.
The UN's old satellite equipment only had a fifteen-minute window of opportunity each day, but Huo Yanli somehow managed to get through to the backup channel. So, in addition to the standard code, Song Zhiyi occasionally received some "additional information."
For example, one day she sent "1102" and received a reply three minutes later: "1102 received. P.S.: It's raining heavily in New York today, the balcony is leaking, and I remembered someone who doesn't like to carry an umbrella."
Looking at the message, she recalled how, last year at a conference in New York, she had run two blocks in the rain and was completely soaked when he stopped her. She replied: "1101. P.S.: There's no leak here, but remember to get it fixed. PS: It's not that I don't like carrying an umbrella, it's just that this one is too small."
Five minutes later, a new message appeared: "Fixed. New umbrella ready, double size. PS: Admit it, you just can't remember to bring an umbrella."
Song Zhiyi smiled at the screen. Outside the camp, the heat was intense, but her heart felt as if it had been gently soothed.
Another time, after working continuously for 36 hours, she received his code in the early morning: "1103. P.S.: The improved almond cookie experiment was a success, with a 15% reduction in sugar content, meeting the stringent standards of a certain nutritionist."
She was so tired she could barely keep her eyes open, but she still replied: "1101. Also: the sugar content can be reduced by another 5%, and the almonds need to be doubled. The acceptance time is to be determined."
"Double the amount is ready. Suggested inspection time: the first weekend morning after you return, with Yunnan black tea. Also: go to sleep."
He always knew when she was just putting on a brave face.
---
Their weekly phone call is their most cherished moment. The signal is sometimes good and sometimes bad, but as long as they can hear each other's voices, that's enough.
"Today's water cellar inspection... went very smoothly..." Song Zhiyi's voice was mixed with the sound of the wind and the laughter of children in the distance, "The villagers... danced..."
"Very good." It was quiet in the middle of the night on Huo Yanli's end, with the faint sound of a piano in the background. He was in his study. "Your voice is a little hoarse. Did you forget to drink water again?"
"I drank it." She paused. "...I just remembered."
A deep laugh came from the other end of the phone: "I knew it. Let's go drink now, I'm waiting."
Song Zhiyi got up helplessly, poured herself half a glass of water, and drank it. When she returned, she heard him ask, "Was that enough?"
"That's enough." She wiped her mouth. "What music are you listening to?"
“Chopin’s Nocturne.” His voice softened. “The one you said you liked last time.”
She did mention that on a similarly tiring night, he happened to be playing this song in his study during a video call. She casually remarked that it was "beautiful," and he's remembered it ever since.
“When I get back,” she said, “you can play it for me. On the living room carpet, just like last time.”
She was talking about a weekend at the beginning of the year when they were eating takeout on the living room floor, listening to this record, and she fell asleep on his shoulder from exhaustion. When she woke up, she found him still in the same position, holding a tablet and looking at a report, without moving at all.
"Okay." Huo Yanli's voice was gentle. "The carpet has been changed to the one you like, the gray long-pile one."
The call was nearing its end. He concluded by saying, "Code?"
"1101. You too."
“1103,” he added, “and Song Zhiyi—”
"Um?"
“Starting tomorrow, I’ll have the delivery trucks carry an extra case of water. You have to drink one bottle in public; that’s the instruction for the driver.”
She wanted to call him domineering, but a smile crept onto her lips: "...I understand."
---
On the night the mediation was successful, Song Zhiyi wrote that long email under the starry sky. But before sending it, she added a paragraph at the end:
"Old Ma's grandson asked me today if the ring was a magic item that could produce water. I said no, but he insisted that it was because the water cellar was built ever since I wore it. Children's logic is very straightforward."
I told him it was a symbol of a promise. He asked what the promise was, and I said it was a promise that someone would be waiting for me far away, waiting for me to finish what I needed to do and return safely.
He said he would make a promise: once the water cellar was full, he would treat me to millet porridge cooked by his grandmother. I agreed.
See, your ring has taken on a new meaning here. It has become proof in a child's heart that 'good things will happen'.
P.S.: I counted, and we can see seven planets tonight. Once you've learned to recognize them all, we'll go see them together.
Four days later, when the cooler arrived, the note had changed: "Supplies delivered. A third rose bush has been planted; we'll name it when you get back. Also: I've started learning astronomy and recognize three planets. Progress is slow, but it's justified—you said we'd look at the stars together. Safe return."
Song Zhiyi carefully put away the note and found a small sealed bag at the bottom of the box. Inside was a individually wrapped pack of mint-flavored throat lozenges, her favorite brand.
She tore one open and popped it into her mouth, the cool sensation spreading through her. Then she picked up her satellite phone and sent a short message: "Candy received. P.S.: The third rose can be called 'Star of the Sahel,' if it produces pale yellow flowers."
Five minutes later, the reply came: "Name noted. Also: no more than three candies a day, too many will upset your stomach. I'll ask the driver if you've exceeded the limit."
"How nosy," she muttered to herself, but couldn't resist eating another one.
---
During the seventy-two hours of the conflict, Song Zhiyi rarely allowed herself to think about him. But occasionally, during a lull in the fighting, she would gently turn her ring, silently counting what he might be doing at that moment.
It was 2 a.m. in Beijing. He should have just finished work and was checking the last emails in his study.
At seven o'clock in the morning in Beijing, he might be jogging along the river they often frequent.
At noon in Beijing, he might be in a meeting, his fingers unconsciously twirling a pen—a habit he has when he's thinking.
She imagined these as tiny threads, stretching from the underground bunker in the Sahel, across continents and oceans, connecting to him.
So when communication was restored, the phone was connected, and she said "I'm fine," she actually had so much more to say.
I want to say that in these 72 hours, I counted your schedule 17 times.
I was thinking about how a young volunteer was so scared she cried. When I held her, I was reminded of the warmth of your embrace.
Thinking back to the most dangerous moment, I touched my ring and felt very calm.
But in the end, she only heard him say, "Another rose has bloomed," and her eyes welled up with tears in the dimly lit bunker.
A kind person nearby asked her if she was scared, but she shook her head and couldn't say it.
I'm not afraid.
I suddenly realized that there was someone in this world who told me in such a gentle way:
No matter what happens here, the roses on the balcony of my home are still blooming on time.
Life has not stopped, and hope continues to grow.
And I was waited for in such a quiet and steadfast manner.
---
That night, after arriving at the safe zone, Song Zhiyi stood in the shower for a long time. The hot water washed away three months of dust and fatigue, and also broke down her last line of defense.
She squatted on the ground, letting the water flow down her face, unable to tell whether it was water or tears.
Once outside, she accessed the encrypted channel and saw the photo of the rose. The deep red flowers bloomed in the morning dew, his ringed hand rested on the railing, and the city skyline gradually brightened in the background.
She looked at it for a long time, and then began to reply.
My fingers paused on the keyboard a few times, making several deletions and revisions, finally leaving this text:
"Next week is my day off. I'd like to request a visit to the rose garden and its growers. Suggested itinerary: Day 1: Inspect the naming of the three rose bushes (especially whether 'Star of the Sahel' is in bloom). Day 2: Check the results of my astronomy studies (I need to identify at least five stars on site). Day 3... to be determined, but I hope it includes a rug, a nocturne, and a new double-sized umbrella."
P.S.: I brought back the Sahel's starry sky, not photos, but the children's stories. They said each star represents a lost person carrying a lantern, searching for home. I told them not to be afraid of getting lost, because there will always be someone who remembers the direction you started from and leaves a light on for your return.
The children asked me who left the light on. I said, "It's someone who gets angry because I forget to drink water, but remembers all my preferences. It's someone who, during a time of war, told me that another rose had bloomed in their yard."
Did they understand? I don't know. But they said it must have been a very, very bright lamp.
So, Huo Yanli, I request to return home. To go back to that lamp, that flower, and that person.
Please reply.
Her hand was very steady when she clicked send.
Outside the window, the Sahel sky remained as brilliant as ever. But Song Zhiyi knew she was about to embark on a journey to keep a promise that would cross mountains and seas.
And he will wait there, with newly opened roses, stars he has learned to recognize, and a homecoming light that will never be turned off.
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