There’s no need to think about it. If He Teng wants a red envelope, it must be packed by his wife.
After getting the permission of Commissar’s wife, He Teng left without looking back.
Behind him, Chen Zheng and his group were still laughing at his retreating figure. "Indeed, a man needs a wife. With a wife, there’s someone to care for him, to make him a responsible husband. Even the most stoic man would become considerate," they commented.
On the other side, He Teng, clad in the sweater knitted by He Zhilan, went to the canteen to collect the hot noodle soup he had asked to be prepared earlier, and then returned to the guesthouse.
"You’re back?" He Zhilan had been tidying up her stuff since He Teng left. Hearing a sound at the door, she turned and saw He Teng coming in with his stuff. She noticed then that He Teng had worn the sweater she knitted for him when he went out. He looked calm and composed, not at all showing any signs of having been frozen.
"It’s hot. Eat up." He Teng handed the food to He Zhilan. Taking off his sweater, he stated, "I’ll wear again tomorrow."
Always harbouring traditional beliefs, Platoon Leader He Teng firmly believed that new clothes should only be worn on the first day of Chinese New Year.
He Zhilan smiled wistfully. Although He Teng hadn’t said it, she could see that he truly loved the sweater she knitted with her own hands.
Opening the food box, she saw a bowl of noodles with some vegetables and a fried egg inside. She felt a warm gratitude towards the unit’s people for their kindness.
However, as soon as she sat down and reached for the chopsticks, she was hit by a wave of difficulty. Her hand was burnt, covered in gauze with only half of her fingers free to move. Doing anything was difficult and holding chopsticks was proving to be a serious challenge.
Zhilan, resigned to her fate, clutched the chopsticks in her swathed palm like a toddler learning to use them for the first time. She tried to roll the noodles onto the chopsticks and into her mouth.
But the noodles had a mind of their own.
She managed to roll a small amount, but as she brought the chopsticks towards her mouth, the noodles fell back into the bowl, splashing soup on her face.
"Brother! Why didn’t you give me a spoon?" He Zhilan called to He Teng who was busily tidying things up on the other side of the room. He was carefully folding the sweater he had taken off and placing it neatly into the little wardrobe.
On hearing Zhilan’s voice, He Teng turned around and met her pitiful gaze. Seeing how she was struggling with the chopsticks, he remembered her hand injury. She couldn’t hold them properly.
He walked over and sat down beside her, taking the chopsticks from her hand. Holding the bowl in one hand and the chopsticks in the other, he quickly picked up some noodles and brought them to Zhilan’s mouth.
Her eyes brimming with happiness, Zhilan was almost floating in her bliss at this rare attempt of He Teng’s to feed her noodles.
Once the noodles arrived at her mouth, she hurriedly took a bite, not realizing that the noodles were still too hot. It almost scalded her tongue.
Watching Zhilan repeatedly sticking out her tongue in discomfort, He Teng couldn’t help but feel a sense of heartache for his wife, "Didn’t you know to blow on it before eating?"