Chapter 79 Huo Zheng's Narration
That evening, Huo Yanli knocked on Huo Zheng's door.
Huo Zheng was smoking on the balcony. When he saw him come in, he offered him a cigarette: "Can't sleep?"
"Hmm." Huo Yanli took it, lit it, and took a deep drag. "I wanted to talk to you."
The two sat down on the wicker chairs on the balcony. The night was deep, and the distant sea was pitch black, with only the lighthouse beam sweeping across the horizon regularly.
"About Zhiyi?" Huo Zheng asked.
"Everything about her." Huo Yanli exhaled a puff of smoke. "Uncle, I want to know."
Huo Zheng was silent for a moment, then flicked his cigarette ash: "What do you want to know?"
“Everything I don’t know,” Huo Yanli said. “What she looked like on the battlefield, what happened before and after she was injured, what kind of person she really was.”
Huo Zheng glanced at him, his eyes filled with complex emotions: "So you finally want to understand?"
Huo Yanli smiled wryly: "Isn't it too late?"
"It's not too late," Huo Zheng said. "As long as she's still willing to give you a chance, it's not too late."
There was a hidden meaning in those words. Huo Yanli understood: "Uncle, your feelings for Zhiyi... are a little different."
Huo Zheng laughed, his laughter low and deep: "Different? Yes, it is different. But not the kind you're thinking of."
He paused for a moment, then said, "Yanli, have you ever met a true idealist?"
Huo Yanli was stunned.
“Not the kind of empty talk, not the kind of slogans.” Huo Zheng gazed at the distant sea. “It’s the kind of people who are truly willing to give everything for their ideals, including their lives.”
“I’ve seen it.” He turned to look at Huo Yanli. “I’ve seen it on the battlefield, in peacekeeping forces, and in the most dangerous places.”
“And Song Zhiyi,” his voice lowered, “is the purest idealist I have ever met.”
Huo Yanli gripped the cigarette in his hand tightly.
“I first learned about her not in Syria,” Huo Zheng said, “but in an internal briefing. Five years ago, a young translator from the Ministry of Foreign Affairs volunteered to go to the most dangerous region of Afghanistan for cultural exchange. Everyone advised her against it, but she said, ‘They need people there, and I’m perfect for it.’”
"Later, I led a team on a mission and happened to be in charge of security in that area." Huo Zheng's gaze drifted into the distance, as if he had returned to that dusty place. "I saw her. She was a thin, small person, carrying a backpack that was bigger than her body, filled with books and school supplies for the local children."
“We were attacked on the road and our car was blown up,” Huo Zheng continued. “She was sitting in the second car at the time. After the explosion, instead of lying down or running away like the others, she rushed to the first car immediately—that car was more badly damaged and the driver was seriously injured.”
“We were returning fire, bullets were flying right around her. But she acted like she didn’t hear them, dragged the driver out of the car, stopped the bleeding, bandaged him—her movements were incredibly fast.” Huo Zheng flicked his cigarette ash. “I asked her, ‘Aren’t you afraid of dying?’ She said, ‘Yes, but even if I’m afraid, I have to save lives.’”
"Later, when we retreated to a safe area, her white shirt was covered in blood—not hers, but the driver's. While treating the driver's wounds, she was also using a satellite phone to contact medical support from the rear, switching fluently between English and Pashto." Huo Zheng shook his head. "That was the first time I realized that this woman was not simple."
Huo Yanli imagined the scene—a hail of bullets, dust flying everywhere, Song Zhiyi covered in blood yet still calmly saving lives. His heart felt like it was being squeezed by something, both painful and suffocating.
“The second time we met was in Syria.” Huo Zheng’s voice was even lower. “It was when she was injured. We received intelligence that a small town had been attacked by airstrikes and that international organization personnel were trapped. I led a team to rescue them.”
He paused, the cigarette burning between his fingers, a long ash accumulated: "When we arrived, half of the school had already collapsed. The local rescue team was digging, but their tools were rudimentary, and progress was very slow."
“Then I saw her.” Huo Zheng’s voice was a little hoarse. “She crawled out of the rubble, with a piece of shrapnel stuck in her back and blood flowing all the way. But she was holding two children in her arms, and she didn’t let go of either of them.”
Huo Yanli closed his eyes. He recalled Song Zhiyi's calm narration: "A piece of shrapnel hit my back."
She didn't say how long she dug through the rubble.
She didn't say how far she had carried the shrapnel.
She didn't say how she managed to protect her two children so desperately under those circumstances.
“When we lifted her onto the stretcher, she was already delirious,” Huo Zheng continued, “but her hands were still tightly gripping the child’s clothes. When the doctors tried to give her anesthesia to remove the shrapnel, she said, ‘Save the child first.’”
Huo Yanli's cigarette burned his fingers, and he suddenly woke up, stubbing out the cigarette butt in the ashtray.
“The local medical conditions are very poor, and we’ve run out of anesthesia.” Huo Zheng’s voice was calm, but every word was like a stone hitting water. “She was conscious during the surgery. A field doctor used the most rudimentary tools to remove the shrapnel and then stitch it up.”
“She didn’t cry, she didn’t scream, she just bit down on a piece of cloth, sweat pouring down her forehead like water. I asked her if it hurt, and she said, ‘It’s okay.’ I asked her if she was scared, and she said, ‘I was scared, but I got over it.’” Huo Zheng looked at Huo Yanli, “Do you know how much willpower that takes?”
Huo Yanli couldn't speak. He felt a tightness in his throat and a severe tightness in his chest.
“She was in a coma for two days after the surgery,” Huo Zheng said. “We moved her to a relatively safe area. The first thing she asked when she woke up was, ‘Where are the children?’”
“I told her that they were all alive, that the two she saved were alive.” Huo Zheng paused. “She smiled. It was the first time she smiled—a very soft smile, and she said, ‘That’s good.’ Then she went back to sleep.”
Huo Yanli lowered his head, his hands clasped tightly together, his knuckles turning white.
He finally understood why Song Zhiyi was always so calm, why she was so numb to pain, and why she took life and death so lightly.
Because she really experienced it.
People who have walked the line between life and death have a different perspective on the world.
"Later, she returned to China for treatment, and I visited her in the hospital several times." Huo Zheng lit another cigarette. "The wound on her back became infected, and she had a high fever of 40 degrees Celsius. She almost didn't make it."
“But she pulled through.” Huo Zheng exhaled a puff of smoke. “Not only did she pull through, but she applied to return to the front lines three months later. The Ministry of Foreign Affairs didn’t approve it and assigned her a domestic position. But she kept applying until three years ago, around the time you got your marriage certificate, when she was finally sent out again.”
“I’ve talked to her a few times,” Huo Zheng said. “I asked her why she always goes to the most dangerous places. She said, ‘Because my parents sacrificed their lives there. I want to see the place where they gave their lives, and I want to finish what they didn’t finish.’”
“When she said that, her eyes were calm but firm.” Huo Zheng paused. “At that moment, I understood—she wasn’t just putting on a brave face; she was putting into practice a belief. A belief that most people can’t understand.”
The balcony was completely silent.
The distant sound of waves could be faintly heard, and the night breeze carried a chill.
Huo Yanli recalled Song Zhiyi's frequent business trips and long-term overseas posts over the past three years. He had once thought that was the norm for the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, but now he realized that she was putting her ideals into practice with her life.
"Uncle," Huo Yanli's voice was hoarse, "why... have you never told me these things?"
Huo Zheng looked at him, his eyes filled with complex emotions: "I did say it. I said 'you're not good enough for her.' I said 'you underestimated the kind of person you are.' But did you listen?"
Huo Yanli was speechless.
Yes, Huo Zheng said it. More than once.
But he never took it seriously. He thought it was his uncle being picky about a younger generation, or a soldier's prejudice against a businessman.
Now he understood that Huo Zheng was reminding him—you have married such an amazing woman, and you are completely unaware of it.
“Yanli,” Huo Zheng patted his shoulder, “it’s not too late to know now. But you have to understand—someone like Song Zhiyi is not someone you can love in an ordinary way.”
Huo Yanli raised his head.
"Her heart held the mountains and rivers of the world, the cries of those children, and the ruins of war," Huo Zheng said. "Love and affection may have been a very small part of her life. If you want to love her, you have to accept that—you may never be her number one priority."
Huo Yanli fell silent.
He knew Huo Zheng was right.
Today, when Song Zhiyi said to him, "Mr. Huo, you don't need to do this," he understood.
She wasn't rejecting his concern; she genuinely felt it was "unnecessary." Because in her life's priorities, personal pain and emotions always came after responsibility and ideals.
“But I still want to try,” Huo Yanli said softly. “Even if it’s just to ease her pain a little, even if it’s just to hand her a cup of hot water when she’s tired, even if… even if it’s just to watch her from afar.”
Huo Zheng looked at him for a long time, then smiled: "Then give it a try. But remember—for her, the best love is not possession, but understanding and support."
He paused for a moment: "Support her ideals, understand her choices, and stand by her side when she needs you. Instead of pulling her back into your decadent world."
Huo Yanli nodded: "I understand."
The two sat for a while longer and finished their cigarette.
As he was leaving, Huo Zheng said, "By the way, there's something you might not know."
"What?"
“She never felt that the wound on her back was a burden,” Huo Zheng said. “She said it was a reminder—a reminder of the cruelty of war, a reminder of the preciousness of peace, and a reminder that there was still much to be done.”
Huo Yanli was stunned.
“So don’t feel sorry for her.” Huo Zheng looked at him. “For her, that scar is not a pain, but a motivation. It’s the reason she keeps moving forward.”
It was very late when Huo Yanli returned to his room.
He stood by the window, looking at the sea outside.
The night was deep, and the sound of the waves could be heard.
He suddenly remembered Song Zhiyi's eyes—clear, firm, and unfathomable.
It contains mountains and rivers, the world, her parents' unfulfilled ideals, and her own beliefs and perseverance.
And what about his world?
Business games, family feuds, and the hypocrisy of the world of fame and fortune.
Compared to her, his world was so shallow, so pale.
Huo Yanli closed his eyes.
For the first time, he realized with such clarity that he wanted to enter her world.
It's not about pulling her into his world, but about stepping into hers.
Try to understand her ideals, support her beliefs, and accompany her on that less traveled path.
Even if that road is difficult and dangerous.
Even if he may never be able to keep up with her pace.
But he wanted to give it a try.
Because he knows that some people are worth following for a lifetime.
Song Zhiyi is that kind of person.
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