Chapter 15 - Someone to Talk to

The car arrived in the city, where they stayed the night at a guesthouse. Lao Jian set no restrictions and let Han Qingyu spend these last hours going out with his parents. They went window shopping, had a meal, then stopped at a photo studio.

The next day was the send-off for the new recruits. It was just as Han Qingyu had seen on television and dreamed of as a child. There were banners, crowds, red flowers, new uniforms, and more.

“This is his first time leaving home. He doesn’t know much about the world yet. Please look after him, Brother Lao,” the straightforward Han Youshan repeated for what must have been the dozenth time.

Han Qingyu’s mother stood before her son in his new uniform, straightening his collar, adjusting his shoulders, and repositioning the red flower again and again.

“Don’t worry, Mom. I’ll work hard and do well. I’ll behave.”

“I know you will.” His mother looked down and dabbed at the corners of her eyes, then looked up with a smile.

The new recruits formed up into lines.

Han Qingyu happened to glance sideways and realized that Wen Jifei was there too, standing in another line not far away, waving at him.

His parents had both come as well. The two of them, separated for years, stood beside each other looking somewhat awkward and ill at ease, with little visible emotion over the parting.

Before long, the soldiers in charge began calling names. Each recruit called out “Present!” in reply before boarding the corresponding car.

Wen Jifei boarded. The number of new recruits on the platform dwindled.

No one called Han Qingyu’s name.

Lao Jian quietly came around from the side and put an arm around his shoulder, easy as an old friend. “Let’s go. We’re boarding.”

Just the two of them.

However, on the way, Lao Jian ran into an old acquaintance, a government official who had been transferred here for a training rotation, and who had also come today to see someone off.

The man was shocked to see that Lao Jian had not gone abroad after all but had become a military officer, and immediately stepped forward with a burst of eager questions.

“All right, go ahead to Car 14 on your own. If anyone stops you, give them my name. It should be fine. I need to handle this,” Lao Jian instructed.

He then turned to spin a story for his old contact. This, Han Qingyu supposed, was probably a glimpse into his life from now on too.

Car 14 was an ordinary passenger car, with only one difference. It was almost empty.

No one stopped Han Qingyu when he stepped in. Four or five people glanced up at him briefly as he made his way to a seat, but said nothing.

The car held fewer than ten people altogether, each sitting alone and apart from the others. Whatever their emotions—be it excitement, agitation, worry, or resentment—each of them was absorbed in their own private world.

Han Qingyu even saw someone slumped over their seat, shaking and sobbing quietly.

Finding a window seat, he sat down and searched the crowd for his parents through the glass. He soon spotted them on their tiptoes, craning their necks to scan each car for him.

They spotted each other and waved.

Each tried to look calm for the other’s sake, so they smiled through red-rimmed eyes.

The train started to move slowly. His parents’ figures on the platform grew smaller, their hands still waving and waving.

Mercifully, the tracks curved gradually, so the image of them on the platform faded slowly, but they eventually disappeared from view all the same.

Han Qingyu no longer needed to hold back his tears, and they fell without a sound.

Although he couldn’t see his parents in the distance, he kept his gaze fixed on the window, tears sliding silently down.

“You’ll miss them, won’t you? Hey, stop crying. It’s not like you’re heading to the front lines,” a voice suddenly said from behind his seat.

Han Qingyu’s mind went blank. He didn’t even need to turn his head—because that voice, he knew it far too well.

Was he hearing things?

He turned. “You—How are you here?”

“I came in right behind you,” Wen Jifei said, as though this were perfectly natural. “I just didn’t want to disturb you while you were feeling it.”

Han Qingyu’s mind was a tangle. He couldn’t find the words to speak.

“Our car was too crowded and didn’t have enough seats, so I generously came to stand in the connecting section. Then, I spotted you and figured I’d come say hello. Why’s it so empty in here?” Wen Jifei asked, waving friendly greetings at everyone in the car.

“You’re with the Azure Coalition too, right?” one of the passengers asked excitedly.

Wen Jifei looked confused. “Huh? What?”

Han Qingyu snapped to attention. “Get—get out!”

He shot to his feet, grabbed Wen Jifei by the collar, and dragged him toward the car door, intending to push him out.

Lao Jian ducked through the door at the same time. Looking up, he froze for a moment, then started to laugh.

A soldier who had apparently been at the rear of the car this whole time walked over with a guilty, uneasy expression and murmured a few words in Lao Jian’s ear.

After listening, Lao Jian turned to look at Han Qingyu, and then at Wen Jifei, whom Han Qingyu had shoved behind him.

“Greetings, Commander,” Wen Jifei greeted, still trying to squirm out of Han Qingyu’s grip.

“Hello there, young comrade. Didn’t expect to see you so soon.” Lao Jian smiled with warm familiarity, but in Han Qingyu’s eyes, he looked like the devil.

Wen Jifei grinned innocently. “Right, looks like you and I are fated to meet, Commander—”

“Shut up,” snapped Han Qingyu.

Wen Jifei finally stopped talking. While Wen Jifei stood there bewildered, Han Qingyu rushed over to Lao Jian and pleaded, nearly desperate, “He didn’t hear anything, really. He just—”

“Is that so?” Lao Jian asked quietly. “But he’s here now, and my guy is telling me he already heard the words ‘Azure Coalition.’”

“Your guy—”

“Was negligent and will face disciplinary consequences, but that’s a separate matter. This isn’t the time.”

“Well, as for Wen Jifei...” Han Qingyu lowered his head and thought hard, then looked up with complete seriousness. “It doesn’t matter. He’s not smart enough to make sense of it. He retook his college entrance exam and still only scored 230.”

Lao Jian was speechless.

“Really. He won’t suspect anything,” Han Qingyu tried desperately.

Just then, Wen Jifei’s voice drifted over from behind them, easy and unhurried. “Commander, what’s the Azure Coalition? Are you guys a secret unit?”

Lao Jian didn’t answer. The corner of his mouth curved slightly as he stared at Han Qingyu.

Han Qingyu still wouldn’t give up. “It’s fine, he—”

“It’s not fine. Stop fighting it,” Lao Jian said evenly. At that moment, he had become the same man from the forest clearing in Fenglong Valley.

“But recruiting him won’t be of any use. He’s just an idiot,” Han Qingyu said frantically, jerking a thumb over his shoulder at Wen Jifei behind him, as if to say,“Can’t you tell based on that?”

Wen Jifei was not, of course, an idiot. He simply wasn’t aware of the situation he was in. Thus, he concluded that the Azure Coalition was some kind of secret special-forces unit, and that Han Qingyu was simply worried about him going somewhere dangerous.

“Hey, what’re you saying, Little Qing?” Wen Jifei interjected. “Commander, don’t listen to him. I’m not afraid of danger. I was born tough and brave. I’m good at sports, I have good eyesight, and I’m upbeat and full of energy!”

“The upbeat and full of energy part I’ve noticed for myself. That counts for a lot.” Lao Jian leaned to look past Han Qingyu and asked, “Got your luggage with you?”

“Right here.” Wen Jifei turned to show off his backpack happily.

“All right then. Sit yourself down over there.”

Wen Jifei sat down, but quickly stood up again, a trace of anxiety and disbelief on his face. “Commander, what about the unit I was assigned to?”

“Not a problem. Our unit outranks them. I’ll have someone arrange a transfer order for you. Don’t worry about it. Just sit there.”

“Wow.” Wen Jifei settled back down, straightening his uniform as though immediately filled with pride. “Our unit is something else, isn’t it, Little Qing?”

Han Qingyu said nothing, stone-faced.

“Don’t be like that.” Wen Jifei nudged his arm and lowered his voice. “It’s a special ops unit, recon or whatever. I can guess that much. Yeah, there’s some risk, but we’re brothers going in together. That’s better than you going alone, isn’t it? Besides, there’s no war right now. What’s there to be afraid of?”

Han Qingyu still didn’t respond to him, though Wen Jifei was perhaps not entirely wrong. This meant that on the long road ahead into who-knew-where, there would at least be one person he could talk to.

But that didn’t change the fact that, right now, Han Qingyu didn’t want that person here at all.

Lao Jian went out the other end of the car, probably to arrange the transfer order for Wen Jifei.

Han Qingyu, unwilling to give up, followed him out.

The soldier stationed at the rear of the car hurried over to block him, but Lao Jian turned and gestured for him to be let through.

The train thundered along the rails. In the empty connecting section, Lao Jian lit a cigarette and stared at Han Qingyu.

“He knows you’re going to a special unit, he recognizes me, he knows the words ‘Azure Coalition,’ and he knows most of the people in this car,” Lao Jian listed. “That alone, there’s no undoing it. The soldier will be disciplined for his negligence, but this situation is already set in stone. I hope you won’t make this harder for me.

“The moment you stepped onto this train, life and death became something you’ll have to face and reckon with every day. When it comes to these matters, having your closest friend with you is a great stroke of luck.

“And this kind of person, someone who blindly, cheerfully charges forward, is something our unit honestly needs. Needs very much, even.

“There’s something in you that I suspect you’re not even aware of, a certain obstinacy and fortitude. In him, there’s spirit. More of it than most people carry,” Lao Jian said, voice perfectly even the whole time.

He had delivered this speech almost gently, yet with such sincerity and unwaveringness that there was no room to argue or resist.

Han Qingyu opened his mouth, but in the end, he didn’t say a single word.

When he got back to the car, Wen Jifei had moved to a different seat to chat with the Azure Coalition soldier who had made the mistake.

He couldn’t quite make out what Wen Jifei was saying, but the soldier was smiling.

Han Qingyu still didn’t know exactly what Lao Jian meant by the fortitude buried in himself. What he did understand, though, was that what Lao Jian called Wen Jifei’s exceptional vitality was probably a unique quality that could be best described as “constantly courting death while remaining entirely unaware of it.”

“You’re back, Little Qing?” Wen Jifei asked, face showing a flash of unease before turning conciliatory.

Han Qingyu gave a faint, somewhat forlorn smile and nodded. “Yeah.”

“Hey, come on, lighten up. Isn’t this great? Don’t worry. From now on, I’ll be here to cover for you.”

Han Qingyu’s first instinct was to say “Please don’t,” but he caught the words before they left his mouth.

After thinking it over, he finally said, “From now on, let me do that.”