“No!”
A heart-wrenching scream tore through the quiet night. Shen Zhiyao couldn’t even count how many times over the past month she had been jolted awake by the same nightmare.
In her dream, it was a stormy day. Rain fell like the sky had split open, flooding the impoverished village she had been sent to. The downpour triggered a massive landslide. Shen Zhiyao had a chance to reach safety, but a vague figure shoved her, sending her sprawling onto the ground. Cuts on her face, hands, and knees seared with pain, and she couldn’t get up. Everyone else ran past without looking back. The only companion she had tried to glance at her but continued running for their life.
The mud swept her along. Clinging desperately to a wooden stake, she barely avoided drowning, yet the force of the flow pushed her forward. She had no strength left to cry for help; every ounce of energy went into holding the stake.
Just as she thought she would die, a man in green military uniform leaped into the debris-filled water. He scooped her up into his arms. Around them, a dozen soldiers shouted for Commander Lu and threw ropes to pull them to safety. Shen Zhiyao held on with the last of her strength.
A tree trunk, as thick as a telephone pole, drifted toward them. The man shielded her with his broad shoulders. She heard a muffled grunt. When she tried to look at him, a low, commanding voice stopped her: “Don’t look back. Hold the rope and pull.”
Obediently, Shen Zhiyao used every ounce of strength to crawl toward safety. She finally grabbed a soldier’s hand and was pulled up. Exhausted, she fainted.
Sweating and shaken, Shen Zhiyao got up, poured herself a glass of water, and tried to calm the pounding in her chest. This nightmare had plagued her for a month, leaving her distracted even in class. Her naturally pale face had grown even paler.
In the dream, after being rescued, she was taken to a hospital. When she awoke, no one was around. She desperately inquired about the injured Commander Lu, wanting to repay his lifesaving act. Eventually, she learned from a soldier that he had suffered severe injuries—a crushed shoulder and a broken leg—and had been sent back to the capital.
Shen Zhiyao’s assigned village was in Sichuan. In that era, finding him would be nearly impossible. Moreover, she had sustained her own injuries and a deep facial cut that could easily become infected. She couldn’t risk her health, yet she felt a duty to honor his bravery.
She stayed in the hospital for a month until her wounds healed. Though her face didn’t get infected, a prominent scar remained on her left cheek, bright red, like a centipede. It frightened others at a glance. She wept for a full day, torn between her desire to find him and her fear of scaring him. Ultimately, she decided to give up searching, focusing instead on living well and helping others—repaying society, if not him, and honoring the country for raising such brave soldiers.
As a volunteer, she spent three months in the hospital tirelessly caring for seriously injured soldiers and civilians, serving water and meals, comforting orphaned children, and encouraging survivors to rebuild their lives. Afterward, she returned to her small village, working from sunrise to sunset to help with disaster recovery. She worked tirelessly, almost mechanically, for years.
With the reforms and opening up of the country, she eventually returned to the city. Starting as a street vendor, she built her own business by middle age. She donated all her earnings to the state, ensuring no one would mock her scar again. Yet she remained unhappy. She wanted to know how he was, but could find no trace of Commander Lu. It was as if he had never existed in her life.
By age fifty, after a lifetime of relentless work, she developed cancer. She had never married and had no family, passing away alone in a hospital bed.
In the dream, Commander Lu survived thanks to timely treatment but was crippled—a damaged shoulder and leg prevented him from returning to the army. His family was later exiled to the remote northwest, suffering numerous tragedies. His siblings died or went insane, and his parents died bitter and unresolved. He survived, but emotionally closed off, running a scrap collection business in a small county, never marrying, and living out his life in solitude.
Shen Zhiyao wept as she recalled this. She couldn’t understand why such a good man had to suffer so much. But it was a dream, and she had no way to change it—only a hope that, if given a chance to live again, she would act differently. She would not be weak; she would have the courage to say thank you.
Dawn was breaking. Shen Zhiyao prepared for class at the dance academy, determined to honor her parents’ wishes by living well.
As she stood, her leg went numb, and she accidentally knocked over a cup. Reflexively, she bent down to pick it up, cutting her finger. Blood flowed immediately, dripping onto the jade bracelet her mother had left her—a sharp reminder of both pain and perseverance.