Chapter 134: Zhou Xiaozheng Returns

In Zhangjia Village in the Northeast, two new courtyards had sprung up at the foot of the northern mountain. The construction site bustled with people, everyone busy and organized. In contrast, the old Zhang family courtyard nearby was quiet and still.

At the moment, only the bricklayer and his apprentices hadn’t arrived yet; the rest were helping to tidy up the grounds. Yesterday, the bricklayer had worked until dark, finally finishing the job before the temperature dropped. Delighted, Father Zhang gave him a big bonus after settling the bill. In the next couple of days, once the doors and windows were installed, they wouldn’t have to worry about the ground freezing. With the kang (heated brick bed) slowly warming up, Father Zhang felt he had finally completed his last task for the children.

Early this morning, Father Zhang led his three sons in cleaning up the new courtyards. Right now, Zhang Guoqiang’s carpenter master was there with his crew, installing the doors and windows for both houses.

Mother Zhang, seeing the courtyards nearly finished, planned to make extra steamed cornbread. She knew that in the coming days, many villagers would come to see the new homes, and some might stay for a meal. So, she took her two daughters-in-law to the mill early in the morning and hadn’t yet returned to prepare lunch.

Zhou Jiao was home alone, just finishing up feeding and changing the baby. Suddenly, her heart began to pound uncontrollably, her heartbeat irregular. She took deep breaths, trying to calm herself, but the more she tried to suppress it, the wilder her heart raced. She had a strong premonition that something was about to happen and felt compelled to go outside and see.

Her heart beating faster and faster, Zhou Jiao hurried to settle the baby, her legs feeling weak. She quickly put on her coat and hat, clutching her chest, and followed her instincts out of the room. To her surprise, the courtyard, usually lively, was empty—even the children were gone.

Dragging her heavy legs, Zhou Jiao slowly made her way to the courtyard gate. As soon as she stepped out onto the porch, she instinctively looked around. Lifting her head, she saw two figures in military uniforms approaching from afar, carrying bags and large sacks.

In that instant, she finally understood why her heart had been racing out of control. An overwhelming urge pushed her forward—this was her father, her father Zhou Xiaozheng, returning at last. Tears streamed down her face, and she didn’t bother to wipe them away. Through her blurred vision, she stumbled forward, breaking into a run.

Suddenly, Zhou Jiao hesitated, unsure how to face her father. She stopped, wiped her tears, and gazed longingly at the man running toward her. But her feet wouldn’t listen—she stumbled forward again.

Seeing her father open his arms from a distance, she threw herself into his embrace, feeling utterly wronged. Her mind went blank as she felt him hold her tightly, protectively. She burst into loud, unrestrained sobs.

Her feelings for her father were different from those for her mother. With her father, there was a deep, innate bond—a natural sense of familiarity and trust, free of reservations. Leaning against him, she felt like a little girl again, wanting to be spoiled, to pour out her grievances, to say so much. In his arms, she felt safe, no longer needing to be on guard or fear being hurt.

Zhou Jiao sobbed uncontrollably, her words tumbling out in a jumbled rush: “Dad, why did you only come back now? Dad, why didn’t you take me with you?”

“Dad, you’re finally back. I have a dad now, I’m not a stray child that nobody wants anymore.”

“Dad, why did you only come back now? Dad, please don’t ever leave me again. Dad, I’ve suffered so much. Dad, why did you only come back now? I had no dad, no one cared about me, no one wanted me…”

The wild, erratic heartbeat she’d felt earlier finally calmed as she leaned in her father’s arms. After crying for so long, only one thought remained in her mind: she had a father now, her father had finally come home—joy and sorrow mingled together.

Feeling the only fatherly love she’d ever known in two lifetimes, she was like a child eager to complain. Only now did she understand why children always ran to their parents with their troubles.

Because parents care for you, they stand up for you. Her mother had never been able to give her that sense of protection. But her father was different—solid and dependable as a mountain, always standing behind her. Just being by his side, she felt at peace.

It was a different kind of security from what she felt with Zhang Guoqing—love and family were two distinct feelings. She could sense her father’s concern and his guilt.

Zhou Xiaozheng held his precious daughter as she sobbed her heart out, listening to her incoherent, desperate cries. He gently patted her back, his own heart aching so much he couldn’t speak. He held her tightly, occasionally nodding or shaking his head, softly wiping away her tears.

He recalled what his father-in-law had told him about their first meeting. People said she was mature and calm, cautious and steady, shrewd and resourceful—but that was just her way of defending herself against outsiders.

She’d had to put on a brave face and force herself to stand strong, because there was no one to rely on, no one to stand up for her, no one to solve her problems. She had to depend on herself, step by step, always careful not to make mistakes, because there’d be no one to protect her if she did. She’d had to guard her own bottom line, facing everything with a mask of strength.

His daughter—his Jiao Jiao—was only seventeen. She’d endured enough hardship for a lifetime, learning to read people’s moods, to compromise, to endure, just to survive with composure. It was only after so many painful experiences that she’d become so guarded, unable to trust others, keeping everything bottled up inside.

While other seventeen-year-old girls were still acting spoiled, asking their parents for money, throwing tantrums for what they wanted, his daughter had already learned to keep her distance, quietly protecting herself, planning for her own future. Who wouldn’t want to grow up innocent and carefree? But at the age when she should have been blossoming, his daughter had lived cautiously, calculating every step, as if she were an orphan with no one to rely on, wishing she could escape all the troubles of the world. If only he’d been there for her, she wouldn’t have had to struggle for seventeen years like an orphan, living like a weed by the roadside.

She was crying now, but really, she was venting. Seventeen years of grievances, too much pain she couldn’t share with anyone else—only her father could be trusted with it. But what right did he have to ask for his precious daughter’s trust?

His daughter was sensible and kind, gentle and warm-hearted. Yet even so, she’d suffered so much abuse and humiliation from those so-called relatives, nearly losing her life. With her character, if Huang Zhaodi’s schemes had succeeded, she wouldn’t have survived—who would have avenged her then? He’d never been so grateful to heaven for letting him live to see his Jiao Jiao again, for letting her wait safely for his return.

Looking at her sallow, thin face, her frail body as light as paper, he saw how poverty had taught her to be content and obedient. She knew that without him behind her, she had to endure slights and injustices, learning to read people’s faces and hide her feelings.

He didn’t blame his wife—he knew his own father too well. If things had gone as he’d hoped, and his wife had taken their daughter to the army base, who would have dared to bully her? But he couldn’t say that out loud. He was a man; if anyone was to blame, it was himself. His wife had searched for him all over the country during his seventeen years of disappearance, waiting for his return, shedding countless tears and enduring endless longing. How could he bear to blame her? And what right did he have to blame his in-laws? Even his own father had ignored his child, even making things worse.

This iron-willed man had never shed a tear, not even when gravely injured, not since he was a child. Even when missing his daughter so much it hurt, he’d never cried—he just hoped to finish his mission and come home sooner. But now, holding his daughter in his arms, hearing her say, “Dad, why did you only come back now?” he couldn’t hold back his tears any longer.

He’d imagined countless times what it would be like to see his daughter again—how he would react, how she would react. He’d never expected to see her break down in tears. Listening to her repeated questions—why he’d only come back now—with no complaints or blame, only made his heart ache even more.

He’d wondered, if he died, would his Jiao Jiao forget her father? Would she know that he’d fought to survive just to see her again—to tell her that he hoped she could live up to her name, to be cherished and spoiled, to live proudly, like a princess?

In the past few days, from his father-in-law and wife, he’d learned how his daughter had grown up like a weed, learning to survive by watching those around her. But deep down, she’d inherited all his strengths—she truly was his daughter! His Jiao Jiao was strong and kind, calm and thoughtful, intelligent and well-mannered, quick-witted—everything except spoiled. Life had given her hardship, but she’d learned to be generous and composed, to keep a low profile, and to master the ways of the world. He felt both proud and heartbroken.

Catching sight of people approaching from not far away, Zhou Xiaozheng quickly wiped his tears and gently patted Zhou Jiao. “Daddy’s Jiao Jiao, my good girl, don’t cry. Daddy’s home now, and I’ll never let you cry again. Someone’s coming—let’s go inside first.”

Zhou Jiao was still dazed from crying, staring blankly at her father’s tears. It wasn’t until Lin Lishan pulled her toward the house that she snapped out of it, hurriedly calling, “Mom, don’t pull me! My dad, my dad hasn’t come in yet—Dad, come in quickly…”

Lin Lishan, holding her hand, shot her a look, her red eyes making her look anything but charming. “Silly girl, your dad’s holding your hand. You only care about your dad, huh?”

Zhou Jiao didn’t have time to answer. She just stared at her father, gripping his hand tightly. When she saw Zhang Guoqing running over, she cheered excitedly, “Brother, my dad’s back! Brother, my dad’s really back! He’s alive! Look, this is my dad, my dad!” As she spoke, she held up Zhou Xiaozheng’s hand for everyone to see.

Zhou Xiaozheng just kept looking at her, watching her clutch his hand tightly, showing him off like a child, her tear-stained eyes now clear as water, her face beaming with pride.

With Zhou Jiao’s excited shouts, people who heard the commotion from afar came running over, curious when they saw Zhou Xiaozheng in his military uniform. Zhou Jiao’s father was Zhou Xiaozheng—everyone in the surrounding villages knew him. He was Zhou Xiaozheng, the one who became an officer and married a general’s daughter. The Zhou Xiaozheng who’d been declared dead for over a decade.

Among the crowd were childhood friends who’d grown up with Zhou Xiaozheng, running over in disbelief, rubbing their eyes. Wasn’t he supposed to be a martyr?"