He knew all the reasoning.
But his heart would not listen, just as stubborn as she had been last night when she had planted her hands on her hips and scolded him, beating wildly on its own, throbbing until his head ached.
He lifted a hand to rub his temples, then his fingers brushed the silver lock around his neck.
It was an old thing, worn smooth and bright. He had no idea where it had come from; it had simply been there when he woke up. The doctor had said it was likely something he had always kept close.
He rubbed it instinctively, and the restlessness churning inside him slowly settled.
By afternoon, Lu Qingnian had tried to put her out of his mind. But sitting at his desk, papers spread open before him, he had not taken in a single word.
Irritated, he set down his pen, stood up, and looked out the window.
Beyond the parade ground, in the distance, lay the family quarters.
Again he thought of that glance that morning. When she had looked up at him, something in her eyes had flared bright, something he had seen before, though he could not place where.
It was the feeling of stepping somewhere you have never been, yet recognizing every tree and every stone. Like hearing a melody for the first time and knowing every note by heart.
A voice whispered inside him: You know her.
Not since yesterday. Long before that.
But he could not remember.
The pain returned, sharp and familiar, an ache that had plagued him ever since he lost his memory three years ago. The deeper he probed, the sharper it grew, as if someone were driving an awl into his temples. Afraid to dig further, Lu Qingnian put on his coat and left the office.
He did not head toward the family quarters. Instead, almost against his will, he found himself walking toward the small river at the edge of the camp, seeking quiet. But as he approached, he saw someone crouched by the bank.
It was her, Jiang Shuiying, with Niannian, fishing.
A thin layer of ice coated the autumn surface, shattering and melting with every gust of wind. Mother and son swept a large net through the water. Niannian stumbled and landed hard on the grass, making Jiang Shuiying laugh aloud.
Lu Qingnian stood watching from a short distance, a smile tugging unbidden at his lips. He wanted to step forward, yet hesitated, afraid of intruding.
Before he could decide, Niannian spotted him.
Uncle, he jumped up and waved. Come help us catch fish. Mother has not caught even one.
Caught off guard, Lu Qingnian paused, then found himself walking toward them.
Jiang Shuiying looked surprised, a flush rising to her cheeks. Battalion Commander, what brings you here.
Just passing through, he said, rolling up his sleeves. Let me help.
He gauged where the fish were, dipped the net in, and pulled it up quickly. A catfish wriggled inside.
Wow, you are amazing, Niannian clapped. Far better than Mother.
Jiang Shuiying gave him a mock-stern look. Niannian, that is rude.
But it is true, the boy protested.
Lu Qingnian looked at the child, and something stirred within him. The boy’s features, they looked so much like his own.
His heart skipped a beat, though he dared not dwell on it. He rested a hand lightly on Niannian’s head, soft hair beneath his fingers, and a warm feeling traveled up his arm and settled deep in his chest, so warm his hand trembled.
He pulled back quickly and cleared his throat. I should go.
Battalion Commander, Jiang Shuiying called after him.
He turned. She stood silhouetted against the setting sun, her hair caught by the wind, gilded light framing her. Her lips parted as if to say something, then she simply whispered, Thank you.
Lu Qingnian nodded and turned away, walking fast, almost fleeing. He knew if he stayed longer, he would not want to leave. Worse, he would find himself asking, Where is your husband. When will he be back.
He had no right to ask.
Back in his quarters, Lu Qingnian sat at his desk, took the silver lock from beneath his collar, and held it tight in his palm. Cold at first, it slowly warmed in his grasp. He closed his eyes, and there she was again, looking up at him by the fountain that morning, her profile soft in the sunlight by the river, hair blowing in the breeze, that quiet thank you.
Do not go, a voice inside urged. Stay.
And another, You know her. You have always known her. You just cannot remember yet.
He opened his eyes, beads of cold sweat forming on his forehead. The headache returned, worse than ever, as if saw blades were pulling through his skull. Gripping the edge of the table, he tried to stand to pour water, but his hand shook so badly the cup slipped and shattered on the floor.
Stepping outside for fresh air, the world suddenly went dark. He collapsed.
Battalion Commander, Wang Jun rushed to catch him.
Brother Qingnian, Zhao Xueting arrived just in time and hurried over. What is wrong. Is it your head. Come with me to the medical station.
Lu Qingnian waved her off, his face pale and damp with sweat. Leaning against the doorframe, he waited until the darkness cleared and his vision steadied, though the throbbing behind his eyes persisted.
Then he saw her. Pushing past Wang Jun, breathless and wide-eyed, eyes red with worry, Jiang Shuiying. Wang Jun had gone to tell her the Battalion Commander had returned and brought her along. She held Niannian close, all cheer gone from her face.
Doubt had gnawed at her since yesterday. The set of his brows, the way he pressed his lips together, that faint furrow between them when he spoke, every gesture matched her Qingnian. Yet she had not dared believe. Three years was a long time; people changed. She had traveled all the way from Sichuan clinging to one slender hope. But now that she stood before him, she was terrified, afraid of being mistaken, and even more afraid of being right only to be forgotten.
So she had watched him these past two days, looking for signs, his hands, his wrists, the shape of his brows. But his uniform sleeves were buttoned tight, his collar fastened high, and she had seen nothing.
Wang Jun met her gaze. Sister-in-law, do not worry. This is the Battalion Commander you have been looking for.
Those words hit her like thunder.
This was him, Lu Qingnian, her husband. The father Niannian had missed every single day for three years.
Qingnian, her voice trembled uncontrollably.
He looked up, seeing her clearly now, closer than before, closer than ever. She was the wife he had forgotten. As he met her gaze, a sudden surge of joy rose in his chest, while a faint, fleeting image danced just beyond his grasp, sending another sharp pang through his temples. The girl in his memories, was it her. She had changed so much, yet her tear-filled eyes were exactly as he remembered.
You, his voice was hoarse. What is your name.
Tears spilled over. Jiang Shuiying. Jiang as in rivers, Shuiying. You used to call me Yingzi, or just Shuiying.
Shuiying, he rolled the name over his tongue, strange, yet achingly familiar. He looked at the boy. And him.
His name is Lu Nian, she stroked his hair. Nian means remembrance. I was carrying him the year we married. You were stationed far away when he was born. A quiet pause. We named him Niannian so he would never forget his father.
Lu Qingnian reached out, then hesitated, his hand hovering before resting gently on the child’s head.
Battalion Commander, Wang Jun said quietly, look at him, he is your living image.
Zhao Xueting stepped forward sharply. Wang Jun, stop this. He has no memory, how can we believe anyone who shows up claiming to be family.
Is she lying, then, Wang Jun countered. She traveled hundreds of miles to find her husband, why would she pretend.
How do I know. She could have found out everything beforehand.
Enough, Lu Qingnian stood. His voice was soft, yet carried unshakable authority. He looked at Jiang Shuiying, his gaze heavy with emotion he could not yet name. You will stay at the family guest quarters for now. We will sort everything out in time. He paused. I do not remember you. Not yet. Give me time, and I will find out the truth.
Jiang Shuiying nodded through her tears. All right. There is no rush. I will wait. However long it takes.
Zhao Xueting stood apart, burning with frustration. Jiang Shuiying, who do you think you are. Her eyes fell on Lu Qingnian. He was rubbing the silver lock around his neck, something she had never seen him do in three years. Over and over, his fingers traced it, as if holding something precious he had feared lost forever.
His body was betraying him. She knew him better than anyone; his mind might be confused, but his instincts never lied. Unless she acted now, it would be too late.