Huo Zheng noticed more and more gazes drifting their way.
At the next table, a few young soldiers had glanced over three times now, chopsticks hovering midair with food that still hadn’t made it to their mouths.
His brow furrowed.
He moved before he thought.
One stride, long and decisive, and he planted himself directly in front of Qiao Yujie.
At one meter eighty-seven, he stood there like a wall, completely blocking every line of sight.
“Give me your lunchbox.” His voice was neither loud nor soft, carrying a note of no-argument flatness.
“Mingyang and I will get the food. You and your sister find a bigger table and sit down to wait. Otherwise there won’t be any seats left.”
His hand was already out. Palm up, knuckles distinct, the pads of his fingers calloused from years of training.
Waiting.
Huh? Qiao Yujie blinked, caught off guard.
Her gaze landed first on the hand extended in front of her. Broad palm, long fingers, a faint scar at the base of the thumb.
A hand that looked like it could punch a bull to death, now resting quietly before her, waiting for her to set the enamel basin into it.
She looked up.
This was the first time she’d truly looked at Huo Zheng.
That afternoon she’d only stolen a glance. The thug leaning against the pillar smoking, uniform wrinkled, collar open, his whole body screaming keep away.
Now—
The uniform on him was not just new, but crisp and proper. The collar hook was fastened to the top button. His jaw was cleanly shaved. He looked far fresher.
She even thought she caught a faint whiff of soap.
His skin was a little lighter than before, but still very dark.
Qiao Yujie drew her gaze back and didn’t move immediately.
“No need to trouble yourself,” she said, her voice unhurried. “I can— mm?”
Before she finished, her hands were empty.
Huo Zheng had taken the lunchbox and enamel mug directly. Not roughly, but absolutely decisive, with a stop wasting time certainty.
“No trouble,” he said, his tone flat as if stating a fact.
Then he turned and walked off.
Two steps in, he stopped, tilted his head, and looked at her from under the cap brim.
“Find a seat against the wall. Don’t wander off.” Then he headed for the serving window without looking back.
Gu Mingyang jogged after him, turned to shoot her a grin, and lowered his voice, though he pitched it just loud enough for her to hear.
“Zheng-ge, since when are you so good at taking care of people?”
“Shut up.”
“I’m just curious. The way you said that, it was like you were talking to a child—”
“I said shut up.”
Qiao Yujie stood in place, watching the two figures, one ahead of the other.
One tall, one lean.
The tall one walked fast, strides long, as if rushing toward something important.
She glanced down at her empty hands. Never mind. She tucked them back into her coat pockets.
In the corner of the cafeteria—
Qiao Yujie and Qiao Yuxin claimed a six-person table against the wall. Good spot. Back to the wall, open view, could see everything happening in the cafeteria.
Qiao Yuxin hadn’t said a word since sitting down. She set her enamel mug on the table and held it with both hands, head lowered.
As if studying the faded red peony at the bottom of the mug.
Qiao Yujie glanced at her and didn’t rush to speak either.
She pulled off her gloves and stuffed them in her pocket, then unwound her scarf and draped it over the chair back.
Her movements were unhurried, carrying a certainty that said this spot is good for a while.
Qiao Yuxin’s peripheral vision followed her for a moment, then she finally spoke.
“You don’t seem nervous at all.”
Her voice was flat, no inflection, like she was remarking that the weather was cold today.
Qiao Yujie looked at her and answered with a question. “You are?”
Qiao Yuxin didn’t answer right away. Her fingers brushed the rim of the enamel mug. After a while, she said quietly, “Mm.”
Qiao Yujie let out a low laugh.
“This afternoon, at the gate, you saw someone and pulled out your marriage contract immediately, telling him to fulfill it. Clean and decisive, not a trace of nerves.”
Qiao Yuxin raised her head and looked at her. There wasn’t much emotion in her eyes, but the corner of her mouth moved slightly. Not quite a smile. Just no longer pulled so tight.
“That’s because,” she paused, “the sooner I die, the sooner I’m reborn.”
Qiao Yujie was caught off guard.
Then she couldn’t help it. She laughed out loud.
Not a restrained, hand-over-mouth laugh. A real one, rolling up from her throat, breathy and full.
When she finished, she looked at Qiao Yuxin’s still-expressionless face and suddenly found this sister rather interesting.
“You’re pretty optimistic.”
“It’s not optimism.” Qiao Yuxin lowered her eyes, her voice dropping. “It’s that I have no choice.”
The words came out light, but each one was heavy.
Qiao Yujie’s laugh faded. She didn’t respond.
She looked at Qiao Yuxin.
This sister, a year and some younger than her, had grown up beside her biological parents, yet seemed more like an outsider under someone else’s roof.
While she, the elder sister who’d been “dumped” in Guangdong, had grown up with her grandparents and lived twenty-one carefree years.
In the original owner’s memories, the two sisters had barely crossed paths. One in Guangdong, one in the capital. Years without a single meeting.
Like two trees planted in different courtyards, sharing a surname but never swaying in the same wind.
“So what do you want to choose?”
Qiao Yuxin looked up, a flicker of surprise in her eyes. She probably hadn’t expected the question.
Silence for a few seconds.
“I don’t know,” she said, her voice even lower.
Qiao Yujie watched her. The weight of those words was far heavier than “no choice.”
She didn’t press.
She simply picked up the scarf from the chair back, folded it, and set it casually on the corner of the table.
“Fine. Then think it over properly.” Her tone was as casual as if she’d said then eat a bit more.
But Qiao Yuxin glanced at her, her lips moving slightly.
This time she really wanted to smile. It didn’t come out, but the layer of ice in her eyes thinned a little.
At the serving window—
A line, neither long nor short.
Huo Zheng held two enamel basins, one his own, one Qiao Yujie’s. Her enamel mug was tucked in the crook of his other arm.
He stood in the middle of the line, expressionless, staring at the back of the head in front of him.
Gu Mingyang stood behind him, also holding two basins, one his own, one Qiao Yuxin’s.
He craned his neck to look ahead, then glanced back, then lowered his voice.
“Zheng-ge, you grabbed her mug too. After we get the food, who’s going to get her water and bring it over?”
Huo Zheng looked down at the mug in the crook of his arm.
“…Forgot.”
“Forgot?” Gu Mingyang nearly laughed out loud, then choked it down.
“So you’re planning to carry two basins in one hand and tuck a mug under your arm to go get water? What are you, an octopus?”
Huo Zheng ignored him.
“Alright, alright.” Gu Mingyang reached over and pulled the mug from his arm.
“I’ll hold it for you first. After we get the food, you run over and deliver it to her. Your legs are long anyway.”
Huo Zheng glanced at him, said nothing, and turned back to the line.
He stared at the steaming trays in the window ahead, but his mind was elsewhere.
The way she’d said “no need to trouble yourself” had been so flat. Not politeness. She genuinely meant it.
He’d seen too many people be polite to him.
Comrades-in-arms, superiors, the wives in the family quarters, and those girls who came knocking through connections.
All of them spoke politely. But the things hidden in their eyes, he saw them clear as day. Fear, avoidance, wanting to get something out of him. All of it.
But that Qiao Yujie—
She was afraid of him, that part was real. That afternoon, crouched in the corner looking utterly done with life, that couldn’t have been faked.
But now?
He’d blocked her line of sight, and she hadn’t dodged. He’d taken her lunchbox, and she hadn’t gotten upset. She’d just glanced at him lightly, then tucked her hands into her pockets and turned away.
That look…
Huo Zheng couldn’t explain it.
Not fear. Not dislike. Not gratitude either. She just… looked at him.
Like she was looking at an ordinary person.
“Zheng-ge,” Gu Mingyang spoke up again from behind. “You think she didn’t recognize you?”
“She recognized me.”
“Then why did she—”
“How should I know?” Huo Zheng cut him off, his tone a little sharp.
Gu Mingyang wisely shut his mouth, but the curve of his lips wouldn’t flatten no matter what.
They reached the window.
The cook on duty was a young soldier. He grinned when he saw Huo Zheng. “Commander Huo! What brings you here at this hour?”
“Business.” Huo Zheng answered briefly and handed over the basins. “Two servings.”
“You got it!” The cook ladled two generous scoops of food and, handing the basins back, took a curious peek inside. “Commander Huo, who are you getting this for?”
Huo Zheng didn’t answer. He took the basins and turned to leave.
The cook scratched his head, looking at Gu Mingyang. “Commander Huo in a bad mood today?”
Gu Mingyang smiled meaningfully. “Great mood. Just a little too great.”
When Huo Zheng returned with the two basins, Qiao Yujie was talking with Qiao Yuxin.
She sat sideways, one hand resting on the chair back, the other gesturing as she spoke, her expression animated, a faint smile at the corner of her mouth.
Her scarf was off, draped over the chair beside her, revealing the pale line of her neck.
Huo Zheng’s step paused. Then he walked over and set the two basins down in front of her with a thud. Not loud, but with a certain weight.
Qiao Yujie looked up.
Huo Zheng had already turned and walked off to find Gu Mingyang and get the enamel mug filled with water.
Qiao Yurou and Gu Mingsong came over with their food and happened to see Huo Zheng going out of his way to get Qiao Yujie’s meal.
Qiao Yurou’s hand tightened on her enamel mug.
In her past life, Huo Zheng had never done anything like this for anyone.
He’d married her as if completing a task. On the day they got the certificate, he’d shown up half an hour late, still covered in training-ground mud.
After the wedding, he was rarely home. When he did come back, he’d collapse into sleep and be gone before dawn the next day.
She’d endured that marriage for five years. In five years, the words he’d spoken to her couldn’t fill a single page.
She’d thought Huo Zheng was just that kind of person. Cold, hard, oblivious to feeling. The same with everyone.
But now—
With Qiao Yujie, he was different.
Qiao Yurou took a deep breath and forced the churning emotions down.
It didn’t matter.
The marriage contract was in her hands.
As long as she married Gu Mingsong, this life would be complete.
Gu Mingsong was gentle, refined, respectable. In everyone’s eyes, the ideal husband.
In her past life, she could only watch him from a distance, holding Qiao Yujie’s hand as they walked through the military district compound. That image had stayed with her.
In this life, that place was hers.
She tilted her head slightly and glanced at Gu Mingsong’s profile.
He was drinking water from his enamel mug, his throat moving gently as he swallowed, his posture composed.
Qiao Yurou curved her lips, her voice soft as a March breeze. “Brother Gu, thank you for all the trouble today.”
Gu Mingsong turned his head, his tone warm. “No trouble. It’s only right.”
Only right. Qiao Yurou savored the three words silently.
Yes. Only right.
She was the one he was supposed to take care of.