Chapter 21: Mid-Autumn Delight

On the Mid-Autumn Festival Gala day, Gu Xichao took Gu Xiaobao to the venue early.

Besides a few fixed seats in the front row reserved for important leaders, the soldiers sat in their platoon order. At the same time, everyone else found seats on a first-come, first-served basis.

To promote the spirit of unity between the military and civilians, the military district even allowed nearby residents to attend the event and join in the festivities.

Since helping his wife with the zipper and tucking her in with a blanket last time, the ever-observant Major Gu noticed that his young wife had stopped talking to him again.

Major Gu paced back and forth, contemplating his options and realizing that the only person he could consult was Little Fang. Although young, Little Fang was quite sharp and quick-witted.

However, Major Gu felt too embarrassed to reveal the whole truth and tried to phrase his words subtly.

But he struggled to even begin and ultimately settled on his own understanding of the situation: maybe his young and shy wife was simply too embarrassed.

His wife was so shy, so Major Gu decided he should take the initiative.

After all, as a 28-year-old married man with a five-year-old child, he couldn’t afford to retreat.

If he didn’t hold on tight, who knew if his wife might one day leave with someone else?

Initially, Major Gu considered sitting in the middle, but then he worried that his wife might feel uncomfortable seeing him surrounded by a group of women. Yet it wouldn’t be appropriate to sit with a bunch of men while holding Xiaobao, either.

With a determined grit, Major Gu clenched his teeth, took long strides, and sat in the second row right next to the leadership seats. He sat up straight, lifting Gu Xiaobao onto his lap.

After a while, as more people arrived, Gu Xichao found himself growing sleepy as he watched the performances on stage.

During previous Mid-Autumn galas, he had quietly slipped away. It had been a while since he’d actually watched a gala, and he realized it was still the same old routine.

Gu Xiaobao, being so young, found everything interesting. He watched one thing, then another, his eyes filled with wonder. Though just a child, he was perceptive enough to lean in close and whisper his thoughts in Gu Xichao’s ear.

The sky was dusky yellow as Gu Xiaobao wore a small, army-green cap covering his face snugly. From a distance, his little green-capped head bobbed like a flash of color among the crowd.

The audience suddenly grew quiet when it was finally Su Nianmei’s turn to go on stage. The stage was pitch black, and a faint silhouette stood in the center.

Gu Xichao, seated in the middle of the second row with Gu Xiaobao in his lap, focused intently on the stage.

Gu Xiaobao held his breath, his small hand tightly clutching Gu Xichao’s palm. If Dad hadn’t told him not to make any noise, he would have let out a loud scream of excitement.

After a moment, with the stage still cloaked in darkness, Gu Xichao raised an eyebrow.

The crowd began to murmur, with some whispers louder than others. Among them, Shi Hua’s voice stood out distinctly as he said, “Looks like she’s gotten cold feet and doesn’t dare to come on stage.”

Another person joined in, saying, “I saw the Gu family’s wife dancing in the abandoned building the other day.”

“How was it?”

“Well, barely watched her take a few steps before she ended up on the floor.”

Niu Caihui quickly added, “A young girl like her, what talent could she possibly have? If it weren’t for her connections, she wouldn’t even be up there performing.”

Their voices carried easily to Gu Xichao, who was close enough to hear them without effort.

A cold smile flickered across Gu Xichao’s face. He pulled Gu Xiaobao closer into his arms and gently covered his ears.

—Such nonsense wasn’t worth hearing anyway.

Suddenly, the stage lights burst on, illuminating the figure on stage. Standing with her back to the audience, her hair was styled in a fishtail braid draped over her back.

She wore a blue cheongsam, elegant and dignified, draped with a layer of white gauze that gave her an ethereal, almost otherworldly appearance.

In her left hand, she held an oil-paper umbrella.

The lighting dimmed, and Su Nianmei turned around. Her usually plain face was now delicately adorned with light makeup: slender willow-leaf eyebrows, white teeth, and crimson lips.

The moment she began to sing, the crowd stirred.

“Brick houses, old city walls, alleys by the well, 

Even the stone pavements carry the fragrance of wine.”

As she lightly twirled the umbrella in her hand, the first few lines instantly transported the audience to the charm of a southern Jiangnan town.

Curious to see something so unique, the crowd leaned in, captivated.

Su Nianmei adjusted her gauze lightly, moving gracefully in her cheongsam. Her dance was soft and fluid, the umbrella in her hand swaying gently in time to her rhythm as she continued singing,

“Bamboo bridges, lingering sunsets, the waterwheel turns, 

Dusting off the hem, boarding the passenger boat…”

“Spring river at high tide, chill waters reflect lantern shadows, blurring the lake’s light.

Beneath flowered shade, with an umbrella by the bridge, 

A fine robe returning home calls me to remember.”

When she looked up again, her eyes were filled with an expression of deep sorrow.

She seemed like a wife bidding farewell to her husband about to embark on a long journey, her reluctance clear, performing this final dance in hopes of his early return.

“…”

“The curling smoke is you simmering soup, 

The green lamp’s glow is you donning cold-weather clothes. 

Husband, oh husband, when will you return? 

Husband, oh husband, won’t you come back?”

Her voice grew even more plaintive, filled with a heart-wrenching sorrow, as though a wife yearning for her husband’s return, his absence stretching endlessly.

The soldiers thought of the homeland they had left behind and the dear ones they had longed to see on that soil.

Eyes grew misty.

Today was Mid-Autumn, a day meant for family reunions.

Yet here they stood, still guarding the border, protecting their nation.

Dressed in their military uniforms, without regret or complaint, they were prepared to give their lives and shed their blood, unflinching in their loyalty and courage.

But though their hearts were steadfast, a quiet ache lingered.

They wondered if the harvest back home had been good this year, if their parents were still in good health if the one they longed for was still waiting for them, and if their children were thriving.

“Why don’t they come back? They can’t return, they can’t come back!”

The song’s lingering melody and her graceful movements filled the air, and soon, the sound of soft sobs could be heard from the audience. Some even broke into loud, heartfelt cries.

These women were the ones who stood behind their heroes, who once spent countless days and nights at home, anxiously awaiting that single letter from the frontlines.

They wondered if he was doing well in the army, if he had an extra layer for the cold if he was sleeping soundly on hot nights, and if his torn clothes ever got mended with no one there to help.

Gu Xiaobao leaned against Gu Xichao’s shoulder, his large eyes filled with confusion as he looked up at him and softly asked, “Dad, why are the aunts crying? Mom’s singing is so beautiful.”

Gu Xichao ruffled Gu Xiaobao’s hair, his voice rough with emotion as he answered, “These things… you’ll understand when you’re a bit older.”

His gaze was deep and contemplative—his young wife could truly surprise him.

Gu Xiaobao looked down, counting on his small fingers with a touch of wistfulness. He was already five years old; how much longer would it take to grow up?

“I never forgot you, counting the ferries, folding willow blossoms in the morning light, 

Watching as thousands of sails drift by, your back turned to the sunset.”

The song reached its crescendo, and Su Nianmei’s dance swelled with intensity. Suddenly, the paper umbrella slipped from her hand and fell to the ground. She collapsed beside it as though all her strength had drained away.

“That last letter you signed so sadly while I hung my heartache out to dry…”

The final note was filled with sorrow, fading into silence.

The audience sat in complete stillness, every seat cloaked in quiet reverence.

For a long time, no one moved.

In the front row, the elderly commander suddenly slapped the table, his hoarse voice ringing out with a forceful shout of approval.

At sixteen, he had left home, struggling to make a living, then joined the army to fight. He had fought in the Anti-Japanese War, the Korean War, and the Vietnam War, accumulating so many honours that even he sometimes couldn’t remember them all.

Yet, looking back, he realized that the one who had stood beside him all those years was long gone.

The bitterness of longing—it was a pain few could understand.

The crowd seemed to come back to their senses, following his call with their own cheers.

This praise was sincere, a shout from the depths of their souls.

Su Nianmei stood up, bowing deeply toward the audience. Each person before her was a hero worthy of her utmost respect. After hearing it once by chance, she had chosen the song “Letter from a Wife”; it left a deep impression on her. Though its original meaning differed, in this setting, it conveyed the feelings of everyone present.

Who among them didn’t feel the pangs of longing? Who didn’t miss the one they held in their dreams?

Once a soldier, one must leave home, defend the borders, and protect the homeland!

They were heroes!

Su Nianmei scanned the crowd, searching, but couldn’t spot that familiar figure. The stage lights were too bright, casting the audience below in darkness.

A faint sense of disappointment tugged at her heart—she didn’t know if he had come. But if he were here, what would she even do?

At twenty-eight, having lived alone all these years, meeting someone she truly liked had turned her shy and hesitant.

Everything felt awkward and uncertain.

Su Nianmei walked out from backstage, the early autumn evening bringing a chill to the air.

Ahead lay a corner that led to a small grove, where the wind rustled through the branches, filling the air with a soft, whispering sound.

She instinctively pulled the light shawl around her shoulders closer, her eyes downcast. This awkwardness in her nature—sure enough, she was the one left walking alone in the end.

Head down, she kept moving forward but suddenly bumped into something.

Her nose tingled with a slight pain.

When she looked up, she found herself face-to-face with Gu Xichao.

Startled, she took a small step back. “I’m sorry.”

The man, bathed in moonlight, held her wrist, his voice light and playful, like a distant flute, mingling with the whispers of the wind through the bamboo grove. “No need to apologize. I’m right here—run into me all you like.”

She looked up, cheeks flushing with a hint of color she didn’t notice. Gu Xichao, in his military uniform, stood with an air of strength, his lips curved in a subtle smile, his slightly narrowed eyes carrying an effortless charm.

“You… you’ve been here the whole time?” Su Nianmei asked, her face blooming with a blush she barely felt.

Gu Xichao didn’t answer, letting go of her hand as he turned and took a few steps forward.

The hopeful feeling she had just managed to gather fell, and she bit her tongue.

She felt like she was a fool.

See? Men could be so fickle, and she was the one who had read too much into things, thinking he might be waiting for her.

She felt like a turtle, tentatively poking her head out only to be frightened right back into her shell.

Looking down, she resumed her slow steps, nudging a small stone by the roadside with her toe, her heart tight and sulking as if throwing a quiet tantrum.

Suddenly, warmth enveloped her as a military jacket was draped over her shoulders.

Gu Xichao, now only in his shirt, had returned to her side.

Su Nianmei pressed her lips together, her eyes wide with surprise. “You… you came back?”

Hadn’t he already left?

Seeing the astonishment in her eyes, Gu Xichao couldn’t help the smile that flickered across his face.

He reached out, tousling her hair gently, his heart filled with one thought: she was absolutely adorable.

If he weren’t worried about embarrassing her further, he might have stripped off his jacket right in front of her.

Major Gu’s thoughts stirred. She looked radiant tonight, the blue qipao making her fair skin seem almost luminescent, her performance on stage unexpectedly dazzling.

Watching her dazed expression, he felt his heart racing. He’d held back as long as he could, but it was too much now.

Su Nianmei noticed the shifting expression on his face, and a sudden tension gripped her, sensing something dangerous in his gaze.

Gu Xichao leaned in close beside her, bending down, and before she could react, he planted a quick, mischievous kiss by her ear.

The soft, damp warmth against her earlobe sent a tingling shiver through her, reaching right down to her core.

He said softly, 

“As long as you’re here, how could I bear to leave?”

In the distance, the evening’s festivities continued, laughter and cheers drifting through the air.

Beside the tree, the two of them stood, faces flushed, hearts beating in sync.

She thought to herself: “Dear Major Gu, wait for me… wait for me to come closer, little by little.”

Like a turtle coming out of its shell bit by bit.