The Zhao family had suffered many misfortunes. Years ago, Zhao’s father, a traveling peddler, had his legs broken by local bullies, leaving the family without income and burdened with medical expenses.
The family struggled, supported solely by Zhao’s mother. Just as their son grew old enough to share the load, the northern war intensified, and the conscription expanded. With no money to buy their son’s exemption, he was sent to the front lines.
The son never returned. Two years ago, Zhao’s father also passed away. With her son missing and no news, Zhao’s mother grieved daily while barely scraping by.
Though only in her forties, she looked like a woman in her fifties, her hair already streaked with white beneath her headscarf. It was a heartbreaking sight.
Huang Manqing supported Zhao’s mother. “Yuan niangzi, don’t be afraid. This is Changsui’s comrade. He’s traveled all the way from the north to see you.”
She carefully explained their purpose and introduced Huo Shu.
Though she hadn’t mentioned Changsui’s fate, tears welled up in Zhao’s mother’s eyes the moment she heard Huo Shu’s identity.
Before Huo Shu could speak, she asked directly, “Changsui… is gone, isn’t he?”
Huo Shu’s brow furrowed. Zhao’s mother looked far older than he had imagined, making it even harder to say that Changsui had died in battle.
Instead, he reached into his bag and pulled out a pair of knee pads, handing them to her.
Zhao’s mother hesitated before taking them. Her fingers traced the dense, sturdy stitching.
Suddenly, she grew agitated. “These are Changsui’s! They’re Changsui’s!”
The edges of the knee pads were slightly curled from long use.
“I made these for him before he left for the army. I was worried the northern border would be cold, and his knees would suffer in old age.”
Zhao’s mother smiled through her tears, her voice already choked with sobs.
Huo Shu pressed his lips together. Years ago, in the army, Changsui had told him these exact words.
“Yuan niangzi, please accept our condolences.”
Ji Yangzong sighed deeply. As the village head, he was well aware of the Zhao family’s hardships.
News from the magistrate's office had been circulating since June, though the northern war hadn’t affected the south directly, its end brought peace to the land, filling people with joy.
As soldiers gradually returned home, he had kept an eye out, hoping those from the village would reunite with their families.
But many who left never came back.
Even outsiders found the news heartbreaking, let alone a mother.
“Yes, your health is what matters most, Yuan niangzi. Don’t let grief consume you.”
“I’ll endure. Truthfully, after so long without news, I’d already prepared myself. These past two years, I’ve often dreamed of him coming home.”
Zhao’s mother bowed deeply to Ji Yangzong and his wife. “Thank you, Village Head and Huang niangzi, for your concern. With autumn affairs so busy, I won’t keep you any longer. I’d like to speak privately with Changsui’s comrade.”
Huang Manqing and Ji Yangzong exchanged glances. This was for the best. After offering a few more words of comfort, they took their leave.
Once they were gone, Zhao’s mother invited Huo Shu inside.
“Changsui’s been gone for so many years. Why didn’t he ever send a letter? Even if I can’t read, I could’ve asked the village teacher to read it for me.”
Zhao’s mother poured Huo Shu a bowl of tea, still clutching the knee pads tightly.
“He did write, and sent things.”
Huo Shu said, “But the army doesn’t allow casual correspondence. Chances to send letters home were rare. And with the distance between north and south, some messengers may not have delivered them.”
Zhao’s mother wiped her eyes. “He must have suffered terribly.”
Though her own life had been hard, the thought of her son on the battlefield pained her even more.
She studied Huo Shu’s tall, imposing figure, searching for some trace of her son. But the two were nothing alike. Her son had been cheerful, while this man before her had a fierce, unapproachable air.
Yet the fact that Huo Shu had traveled so far to deliver these belongings and messages proved their bond had been deep. Even if she couldn’t see her son again, meeting someone who had shared those years with him brought some comfort.
“The northern frontier… I can’t imagine how Changsui endured all these years.”
Life in the army was harsh. Conscripts, especially those from poor families, were often bullied and sent to the front lines first.
Huo Shu watched Zhao’s mother’s white-streaked hair. If she had broken down wailing, he might have felt better. But her silent tears, held back, twisted his heart even more.
Though years in the army had made him taciturn, thinking of his friendship with Changsui, he spoke more than usual, hoping to console her.
“Changsui and I enlisted in the northern army the same year.”
Ten years ago, Huo Shu had just turned fifteen. Born in a small northern village, his family had been poor.
The northern frontier was vast, but barren, plagued by sandstorms and constant warfare.
Conscription there was brutal, most men never returned.
After his parents died, Huo Shu could no longer avoid the draft and joined the army.
That same year, southern conscripts were sent north. Huo Shu and Zhao Changsui ended up under the same commander.
Both were young recruits, often bullied by veterans - starved, beaten, and punished.
In that harsh environment, they formed a bond, sharing what little food they had and teaming up against their tormentors.
After two years, war broke out at the border, and they saw battle together.
From trembling at the sight of blood to killing without flinching.
They rose from lowly recruits to seasoned soldiers, then squad leaders, and eventually centurions…
Huo Shu spoke little, but on sleepless nights, Zhao Changsui would talk endlessly about Jiangnan’s food, drinks, and beautiful women…
They had promised each other that once the war ended, they would visit Jiangnan together.
“But two years ago, at the Battle of Sand Hill, he was gravely wounded. Medical supplies were scarce, and he didn’t make it.”
At this point, Huo Shu’s stoic expression cracked, his steady voice faltering slightly.
Zhao’s mother listened, her heart aching with every word. Just as her tears were about to fall, a loud thud came from the yard - something had been kicked over.
Zhao’s mother's face paled instantly.
“Old woman, have you made up your mind yet? The autumn tax is due in October. If you don’t pay, how will you survive next year?”
Zhao’s mother rushed outside to find her fence gate knocked to the ground. Two burly men strode in, stepping over the fallen gate.
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