The news that brought countless nationals to tears spread across Jiuzhou.
On the streets and alleys, in schools and factories, in the fields, numerous people stopped in their tracks, bewildered and disbelieving their own ears.
Wails of grief filled the streets and alleys; on this day, the land spanning 9.6 million square kilometers was wet.
The courtyard suddenly emptied; usually bustling with people coming and going, it was now desolate and empty. Lin’s parents had not come home in three days, and upon hearing the broadcast, Lin Huai Zhou put on his military uniform, his eyes red, and left the house using a crutch.
Countless wreaths were placed under the Hero Monument, and everyone on the lengthy street wore mourning bands.
Lin Nianhe, dressed in black, placed a bouquet of white silk flowers beneath the monument.
The bouquet was crafted by her, and she was not skilled at handiwork, so the flowers looked somewhat crude, as if cardboard was pasted with petals and then stamens before finally being shaped into flowers.
Yet, she still chose to place this bunch of flowers at the base of the monument. Because the white "cardboard" was made from photographs covered with white paper, those photos were beautiful, clear, and colored—featuring J-20, the year ’97, the Olympics, Shenzhou V’s launch, Chang E’s moon landing... The "stamens" were cereal grains, cultivated and refined over decades.
"Later on, we could argue for days and nights over sweet or salty tofu pudding, sweet rice dumplings and meat rice dumplings were lifelong adversaries... Our aunties even made those Wall Street folks pale in comparison; even capital moguls couldn’t withstand the power of the masses."
"After that, we no longer needed to take a three-day train ride from Beijing to Hei Province, as high-speed rail takes around five to six hours, and by plane, two hours would suffice; if it’s an airline from Shandong, it might be even faster."
"And later... later we also encountered some hardships, but ultimately, we prevailed."
"You must have seen all these, sir."
These words, Lin Nianhe did not speak out loud, just like those photos covered by paper.
She wiped the tears from her face, looking through a misty gaze at the people around her.
She did not know if there were other transmigrators like her, but she believed that if there were, they too must be here, saying similar things.
"Sir, the begonias in the West Flower Hall bloom every year... Prosperous Huaxia, as you wished."
When Lin Nianhe returned home, Lin’s parents were still not back, but Lin Huai Zhou had already returned.
Ultimately, he was sick; going out for three days was his limit. Now he sat on the sofa, pale-faced, his eyes the only part of him that was red, nowhere else showing a hint of blood color.
Lin Nianhe took off her coat and went to wash her hands, quickly grabbing the medical kit to change Lin Huai Zhou’s dressings.
His wounds had several tears, and the blood had soaked the gauze and coagulated, sticking to his skin. Lin Nianhe poured hot water into a bowl, soaked a piece of gauze in it, and slowly dissolved the hardened dressing.
"No need to trouble so much, just tear it off," Lin Huai Zhou, exhausted, opened his eyes and seeing his sister’s puffy eyes, asked, "Are you okay? It’s cold outside, you’ve been out in the wind for so long, don’t get sick."
"I’m fine." Lin Nianhe’s voice was hoarse, with a tinge of sob.
Lin Huai Zhou pressed his forehead, worried about Lin Nianhe’s overwhelming grief, and changed the subject: "By the way, you told Uncle Huang a few days ago that you came back early because of something very urgent, what was it?"
Lin Nianhe paused, her eyes welling up again.
She lowered her eyes and said softly, "It’s already done."