Chapter 137: Heart-to-Heart

In Zhangjia Village in the Northeast, two new courtyards had sprung up at the foot of North Mountain. The construction site was bustling with people coming and going, all working in an orderly, busy manner. Not far away, the old Zhang family courtyard was quiet and still.

Now, except for the bricklayer and his apprentices who hadn’t arrived yet, everyone else was helping to tidy up the grounds. Yesterday, the bricklayer had worked until dark, finally finishing just before the cold snap hit. 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, the last thing he could do for his children was finally done.

Early this morning, Father Zhang led his three sons to clean up the new courtyards. Right now, Zhang Guoqiang’s carpentry master was leading the crew to install doors and windows in both courtyards.

Mother Zhang, seeing the courtyards nearly finished, was preparing to make extra steamed corn buns. She knew that in the next couple of days, many villagers would come to see the new houses, and some might even stay for a meal. She took her two daughters-in-law to the mill early in the morning and hadn’t returned yet to prepare lunch.

Zhou Jiao was home alone, just in time to feed the baby and change diapers. Suddenly, she felt her heart pounding uncontrollably, her heartbeat irregular. Zhou Jiao took deep breaths, trying to calm herself, but the more she tried to suppress it, the more out of control her heart raced. She had a strong premonition that something was about to happen, urging her to go outside and take a look.

Her racing heart made her hurry to settle the baby. With legs feeling weak, Zhou Jiao quickly put on her coat and hat, clutching her chest as she followed her instincts out of the room. She saw that the courtyard, empty for days, was now completely deserted—even the children were gone.

Dragging her legs, Zhou Jiao slowly made her way to the courtyard gate. As soon as she stepped onto the porch, she instinctively looked around. Looking up, she saw two figures in military uniforms in the distance, carrying bags and large sacks.

At that moment, she finally understood why her heart had been pounding so wildly. An irresistible urge pushed her forward, step by step. It was her father—her father, Zhou Xiaozheng, had come home. Tears streamed down her face uncontrollably. She didn’t bother to wipe them away. Through her blurred vision, she stumbled forward, almost running.

Suddenly, Zhou Jiao didn’t know how to face her father. She stopped, wiped her tears again, and looked longingly at the man running toward her. Her feet, as if with a mind of their own, made her stumble forward again.

Seeing her father running toward her with open arms, she threw herself into his embrace, feeling utterly wronged. Her mind went blank as she felt him holding her tightly, protecting her. She burst into loud sobs.

Her feelings for her father were different from those for her mother. She felt a deep, innate bond with him, a natural familiarity, trusting him without reservation. Leaning in his arms, she became a little girl again, wanting to act spoiled, to pour out her grievances, to say so much. In her father’s arms, she felt safe—she didn’t have to guard against anyone, didn’t have to fear being hurt.

Zhou Jiao sobbed uncontrollably, crying out incoherently over and over: “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 an unwanted child anymore.”

“Dad, why did you only come back now? Dad, don’t ever leave me again. Dad, I’ve suffered so much. Dad, why did you only come back now? I didn’t have a dad. No one was good to me. No one wanted me…”

The wild, erratic heartbeat finally calmed as she leaned into 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. There was both joy and sorrow.

Feeling the only fatherly love she’d had in two lifetimes, she was like a child eager to complain. She finally understood why children always wanted to tell their parents everything.

Because parents care for you, they stand up for you. Her mother couldn’t give her that sense of protection. But a father was different—solid as a mountain, standing firmly behind her. Just being by his side, she felt at peace.

It was different from the security she felt with Zhang Guoqing. Love and family are two different feelings. She could sense her father’s concern, could sense his guilt.

Zhou Xiaozheng held his precious daughter, who was crying her heart out in his arms. Listening to her incoherent, out-of-control sobs, he patted her gently, his heart aching unbearably. Words caught in his throat. He held his daughter tightly, occasionally nodding or shaking his head, gently wiping away her tears.

He recalled what his father-in-law had said about the first time he met her. Who said this child was mature and calm, cautious and steady, shrewd and calculating? That was just her defense against outsiders.

She had to disguise herself, force herself to hold on, 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 would be no one to protect her. She guarded her bottom line tightly, facing everything with a facade of strength.

His daughter—his Jiao Jiao—was only seventeen. She had suffered enough, learning to read people’s faces, to endure and compromise, to be patient, just to survive with composure and calm. It was only because she had experienced so much that her heart had grown cold, making it hard for her to trust others, keeping everything bottled up inside.

Other seventeen-year-old girls would act spoiled, ask their parents for money, throw tantrums to get what they wanted. But his daughter had already learned to watch in silence, to quietly protect herself, to plan for her future. Who wouldn’t want to grow up innocent and carefree? At seventeen, the age of blossoming youth, his daughter lived cautiously, calculating every step, as if she were an orphan with no one to rely on, wishing she could escape from all troubles. It was only because he hadn’t been there for her, only because she lacked a father’s support, that she had struggled for seventeen years like an orphan, living like a weed by the roadside.

She was crying, but wasn’t it also a release? Seventeen years of grievances—she had so much pain in her heart, things she couldn’t tell anyone. Only her father could be trusted with them. But what right did he have to ask his precious daughter to trust him?

His daughter was sensible and well-behaved, kind and gentle. Yet even so, she had suffered all kinds of abuse and humiliation from those so-called relatives of his, and he had almost lost his Jiao Jiao. With her character, if Huang Zhaodi’s schemes had succeeded, she wouldn’t have wanted to go on living. Who would have sought justice for his daughter then? He had never been so grateful to the heavens for letting him live to see his Jiao Jiao again, for letting her wait for his return.

Looking at his daughter’s sallow, thin face, her body as fragile as paper, poverty had taught her to be content and cheerful, obedient and sensible. She endured being looked down on, endured grievances, learned to read people’s faces, to be calm and steady, to keep everything inside.

He didn’t blame his wife—he knew his own father too well. If things had gone as he had hoped, and his wife had taken their daughter to the army base, who would have dared to bully her? But he couldn’t say it out loud. As a man, the only one he could blame was himself. His wife had spent seventeen years searching for him all over the country, 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 made things worse.

This iron-willed man had been wounded many times in the past seventeen years without shedding a single tear. He hadn’t cried since he was a child. Even when he missed his Jiao Jiao so much it hurt, he never cried—he just hoped to finish his tasks and return as soon as possible. But now, holding his daughter in his arms, hearing her sobbing “Dad, why did you only come back now?” he couldn’t hold back his tears any longer.

He had imagined countless times what it would be like to see his daughter again—how he would react, how she would react. But he never expected to see her break down in tears. Hearing her repeat “Why did you only come back now?” without a word of blame or reproach, he felt his heart ache even more for the daughter in his arms.

Many times, he wondered: if he had died, would his Jiao Jiao forget her father? Would she know that her father had struggled to survive just to see her again—to tell her that he hoped she would live up to her name, to be cherished and spoiled, to live proudly, to be treated like a princess?

In the past few days since his return, from his father-in-law’s and wife’s words, he had learned that his daughter had grown up like a weed, learning to survive by watching those around her. But deep down, she had inherited his strengths—she truly was his daughter! His Jiao Jiao, strong and kind, steady and thoughtful, well-read and quick-witted, the only thing she lacked was the ability to be spoiled. Life had given her hardship, and she had learned to be magnanimous and composed, to keep a low profile, to master the ways of the world. He felt both proud and heartbroken.

Zhou Xiaozheng saw from the corner of his eye that someone was approaching. He quickly wiped away his tears and gently patted Zhou Jiao. “Daddy’s Jiao Jiao, my good girl, don’t cry. Daddy’s back. I won’t 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. Lin Lishan, unable to bear it, pulled her toward the house, snapping, “Are you silly? Your dad’s holding your hand. You only care about your dad, huh?”

Zhou Jiao didn’t have time to answer, just kept staring at her father, clutching his hand tightly. When she saw Zhang Guoqing running over, she cheered, “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 raised Zhou Xiaozheng’s hand high.

Zhou Xiaozheng just kept looking at her, watching her grip his hand tightly, showing him off like a child, her tear-stained eyes now clear and proud, her face beaming with joy.

With Zhou Jiao’s loud cheers, people in the distance heard the commotion and, seeing Zhou Xiaozheng in military uniform, all came running out of curiosity. Zhou Jiao’s father was Zhou Xiaozheng. Everyone in the surrounding villages knew Zhou Xiaozheng—he was the one who became an officer and married a general’s daughter. The Zhou Xiaozheng who had been declared dead for over a decade.

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