The smell of blood grew even stronger.
Seeing the dark red stain soaking through his right sleeve, Su Huaijin felt as though an invisible hand had seized her heart and squeezed hard.
“Sit down! Hurry up!”
She shouted at him with reddened eyes, her voice trembling in a way she didn’t even notice herself.
This time, Cheng Beitang obediently listened and sat down by the bedside. At over six feet tall, he now hunched his shoulders like a giant wolfdog that had done something wrong and was afraid of being scolded.
“Wife, it’s really not that serious. Just a scratch…” he tried to downplay it.
“Shut up!”
Su Huaijin glared fiercely at him before turning to grab the scissors.
Only when she leaned closer did she realize the situation was far worse than she’d imagined. Blood and tissue fluid had glued the camouflage uniform and undershirt to the wound, drying into hard scabs. If she tried to pull the clothes off by force, it would tear away skin and flesh along with it.
The hand holding the scissors trembled violently.
She had been raised like a delicate flower in a greenhouse. She had never even watched someone kill a chicken before—how could she possibly handle something like this?
“I… I don’t dare cut it…” Her voice cracked with tears as they fell one after another onto the back of his dirt-covered hand.
Cheng Beitang only felt a sudden warmth against his skin.
He sighed softly and took the scissors from her with his good left hand.
“Little crybaby. Stand farther away.”
His voice was low as he gripped the scissors in reverse and sliced roughly and decisively down from the collar.
Rip—
The sound of fabric tearing was especially sharp in the silent room.
Su Huaijin instinctively covered her mouth, but forced herself not to close her eyes.
As the tattered clothing fell away, the man’s powerful upper body was exposed beneath the light.
Su Huaijin sucked in a sharp breath.
Not only because of the bleeding wound on his right arm.
But because of his back.
That broad, sturdy back was covered in countless old scars. Knife wounds. Bullet wounds. Burns… Some twisted like centipedes, others looked as vicious as brands burned into flesh.
Every scar was a medal earned from brushing shoulders with death.
This wasn’t a human back.
It was a living battlefield map.
Looking at those scars, Su Huaijin suddenly remembered the iron box under the bed containing four martyr certificates.
How had this man survived until today?
“Scared?”
Cheng Beitang sensed the stiffness behind him and turned his head slightly, his voice tightening.
“It’s ugly. Don’t look.”
He knew how frightening his body looked. Back at the military bathhouse, even new recruits were too scared to speak after seeing it. A woman who loved beauty as much as she did would surely be disgusted.
Yet the next second—
A pair of soft, cool little hands gently rested against his back.
Her trembling fingertips carefully traced the longest and most vicious scar.
Every muscle in Cheng Beitang’s body instantly tightened like forged steel.
“Did it hurt?”
Her voice came softly from behind him, thick with tears.
His Adam’s apple bobbed with difficulty.
“It stopped hurting a long time ago.”
“Liar.”
Su Huaijin sniffled, tears falling once more. How could it not hurt? It was flesh and blood.
She took a deep breath and forced the tears back.
Now wasn’t the time to cry.
“You’re filthy. Covered in mud and blood. It all has to be cleaned before I can bandage you, or the wound will get infected.”
She regained her composure and began issuing orders.
“Go take a bath. If you can’t wash yourself, I’ll help you.”
Cheng Beitang whipped his head around so quickly he nearly strained his neck, staring at her as if he’d seen a ghost.
“You’ll help me?!”
“What? Don’t want me to?”
Su Huaijin planted her hands on her hips with all the authority of a wife.
“I’m your wife. What part of you am I not allowed to see? Hurry up and stop dawdling!”
…
Five minutes later.
Inside the crude communal shower room of the family compound.
The dim lightbulb buzzed faintly overhead. Steam filled the air, making the tiny room feel even narrower and more intimate.
Cheng Beitang stood beneath the showerhead wearing only army-green shorts, visibly uncomfortable.
He had faced countless vicious enemies in his life, yet he had never been this nervous before.
Su Huaijin rolled up her sleeves and skirt, holding a towel and her fragrant sandalwood soap as she stood before him.
“Turn around,” she ordered.
Stiffly, Cheng Beitang obeyed and faced the moss-covered wall.
Warm water poured over his body, washing away layers of black mud and blood.
Then a pair of bonelessly soft hands pressed a warm towel against his back.
She was soaping him.
Rose-scented foam spread slowly across his skin. Her movements were gentle and careful, as though she were wiping down some priceless treasure, terrified of hurting him.
Every now and then, her fingers accidentally brushed the sensitive skin along his waist.
“Hiss—”
Cheng Beitang sucked in a sharp breath, both hands bracing hard against the wall as veins bulged on the backs of them.
This was torture.
“Did I hurt your wound?” Su Huaijin stopped immediately and asked anxiously.
“No.”
Grinding his teeth, Cheng Beitang answered in a voice hoarse with restrained tension.
“You… hurry up.”
If she moved any slower, he was afraid he’d lose control and take her right there.
Completely unaware of the thoughts raging through the man’s head, Su Huaijin carefully avoided his injured arm while washing the rest of him clean.
Once she finished his back, it was time for the front.
“Turn around.”
Cheng Beitang inhaled deeply, turning around as though marching toward execution.
Their eyes met.
Through the haze of steam, Su Huaijin’s face had turned rosy pink, her eyes moist and glistening. Her gaze inevitably drifted downward…
Powerful chest muscles. Distinct eight-pack abs. And—
Su Huaijin’s entire face exploded red.
She might have talked boldly, but this was the first time she had ever actually seen a naked man.
And this was way too… overwhelming.
Panicked, she looked away and slapped the towel against his chest.
“Y-you wash the front yourself!”
Then, like a cooked shrimp, she fled the shower room in embarrassment.
Behind her came the man’s deep, muffled chuckle filled with amusement.
…
Back in the room, the atmosphere remained heated.
Cheng Beitang sat shirtless at the edge of the bed, carrying the same rose fragrance as Su Huaijin.
Kneeling beside him, Su Huaijin carefully treated his wound.
She opened the green first-aid kit and took out hydrogen peroxide and iodine.
“This might hurt a little. Bear with it,” she warned, her hand trembling slightly as she held the cotton swab.
“Go ahead. If I even frown once, I’m not a man,” Cheng Beitang said casually.
But the moment the hydrogen peroxide hit the wound and white foam bubbled up—
Though he didn’t frown, the muscles in his thighs instantly tensed, and cold sweat appeared across his forehead.
Su Huaijin winced in sympathy, blowing gently while applying the medicine.
“Hoo… hoo… it doesn’t hurt, it doesn’t hurt…”
She coaxed him softly like comforting a child.
Her warm breath brushed over the skin near his wound, carrying that sweet scent unique to her.
To Cheng Beitang, the pain transformed into a tingling itch that traveled straight from the wound to his heart.
Lowering his head, he looked at the little woman so close to him.
Her lashes drooped like tiny fans as she worked with complete concentration. She took such good care of him, never once showing disgust toward his blood.
So this was what it felt like to have a wife?
Someone who cared for you. Someone who fussed over you.
Damn, it felt good.
Finally, the wound was bandaged. Su Huaijin tied a neat little bow and let out a long breath of relief.
She collapsed onto the bed, feeling more exhausted than if she’d run six miles.
“There. Your majesty has been served,” she muttered while wiping sweat from her forehead. “Hungry? I left food for you in the pot.”
“Not hungry.”
Cheng Beitang stared at her for a moment before suddenly remembering something.
Using his good left hand, he dug into the pocket of the torn, filthy pants he had taken off and searched around for a while.
“Here.”
He pulled out a small object and handed it to her.
It was a little square bundle wrapped layer upon layer in oil paper. The outermost layer was stained with dried blood and dirt.
Su Huaijin blinked in confusion.
“What’s this?”
“Open it and see.”
For the first time, Cheng Beitang’s gaze shifted awkwardly away from hers, and even his ears turned red.
Puzzled, Su Huaijin carefully accepted it.
She slowly peeled away the layers of oil paper carrying the smell of blood and gunpowder.
Her movements became slower and slower, her heartbeat faster and faster.
When the final layer came off, revealing a delicate little glass bottle dripping with capitalist luxury—
Su Huaijin froze in shock.
It was a bottle of perfume.
An old-fashioned imported perfume bottle engraved with elaborate patterns and decorated with a gold-stamped French label.
Under the lamplight, the amber liquid inside shimmered softly.
On this desolate frontier where even face cream required ration coupons, the appearance of this perfume was practically mythical.
“You…” She looked up at him in disbelief. “Where did you get this?”
Had he gone to war these past three days, or gone shopping overseas?
Cheng Beitang scratched his head awkwardly, his gaze drifting.
“We raided a smuggling gang’s hideout this time. There was a bunch of random stuff confiscated. The political instructor said it all had to be turned in and destroyed.”
He paused, lowering his voice with the guilty confidence of a thief.
“I thought this thing smelled pretty nice. Kinda like you. So… I stuffed it in my pocket.”
Stuffed it in his pocket?
Su Huaijin looked at the carefully wrapped oil paper stained with blood.
This was no casual gesture.
He had clearly protected it with his life through bullets and bloodshed, holding it close to his chest the entire time.
He’d suffered such severe injuries, lost so much blood—
All just to bring her this useless little bottle of perfume that had no value on the battlefield except to please a woman.
“Cheng Beitang… are you stupid…”
Holding the perfume still carrying his warmth, Su Huaijin burst into tears again.
“Do you know what would’ve happened if the bottle broke and cut into you? You nearly threw your life away for this stupid thing?”
Scolding him through tears, she carefully threw herself into his arms, avoiding his injury as she buried her face into the crook of his neck.
“You’re such an idiot! The biggest idiot in the world!”
Cheng Beitang became completely flustered by her crying.
He hadn’t wanted to make her cry.
He’d only wanted to make her happy.
Awkwardly, he patted her back with his left hand and comforted her in a stiff voice.
“Stop crying. I’m tough. A little cut wouldn’t kill me.”
“And besides…”
Lowering his head, he rested his chin atop her hair, his voice low and domineering.
“My wife’s this delicate. Of course she deserves the best things. As long as you like it, I’ll even pluck the stars out of the sky for you.”
Su Huaijin cried even harder in his arms.
She had heard countless sweet words in her life, yet none of them had ever moved her as deeply as this bloodstained promise.
At that moment—
She finally knew for certain.
She had fallen in love with this unreasonable, unromantic man who laid his very life at her feet.
…
The night grew late.
After all the commotion, both of them were utterly exhausted.
For the first time, two people truly shared the narrow single bed.
Because of the injury to his right arm, Cheng Beitang could only lie flat on his back. He tried to stay as close to the edge as possible, afraid of crowding the delicate woman beside him—and afraid the smell of blood on him would bother her.
“Come here.”
Su Huaijin suddenly rolled over to face him, resting one hand against his chest.
“I won’t.” Cheng Beitang’s body stiffened. “I smell awful. Don’t let it bother you.”
“What awful smell? You smell nice.”
She leaned closer and sniffed his uninjured shoulder like a puppy.
There was the scent of sandalwood soap, mixed with his own unique masculine scent that somehow made her feel safe.
“Cheng Beitang.”
In the darkness, she gazed into his eyes, brighter than the stars outside the window.
“Mm?”
“Don’t ever do something this stupid again. Perfume, dresses—none of those matter more than you. The best gift you can give me is coming home safely and whole.”
His throat tightened.
Turning onto his side, he wrapped her completely in his good left arm.
“Alright. I’ll listen to my wife.”
Lowering his head, he placed a reverent kiss on her forehead.
“Go to sleep.”
Curled in his embrace, Su Huaijin found a comfortable position and listened to the strong rhythm of his heartbeat, feeling more secure than ever before.
Even the wind outside seemed gentler that night.
The moon over the Gobi Desert was especially full.
And that night, two hearts finally became one.