Xu Qingzhou’s hoarse, desperate cry “Wife… forgive me…” fell upon Fang Yao’s heart like salt poured into an open wound. Grief stung her eyes until they burned and throbbed.
She looked upon the half-conscious man lying there. Even in that final, desperate moment of peril, his last thought had been of the promise he had made to her. Her heart felt as though seized and crushed in a fist.
Trembling, she reached out to take his right hand scarred, caked with mud yet drew back, afraid even the lightest touch might cause him fresh pain.
Ordinary hands so wounded would have been wrapped in layers of bandages. Yet beside his grave injuries, these small cuts were deemed insignificant cleansed only with antiseptic and left uncovered.
“I am here, Xu Qingzhou. I do not blame you,” she whispered close beside his ear, striving to draw him back from the nightmare that held him fast.
Still he murmured on, trapped in a repeating fever-dream. And so she spoke it again and again: “I do not blame you. It is over. You are home now. All of it is past.”
“Qingzhou…” Wang Hua called out his name once then broke down, burying her face in her hands and turning away.
The two comrades standing watch could no longer contain their grief either. Through tears, they spoke of what had happened.
“If not for Lieutenant Xu… those cowards who fled would have perished! He gave his legs to save their worthless lives! It is wrong so terribly wrong!”
“They should be court-martialled! I shall never rest until justice is done!”
Perhaps their words reached him, or perhaps the anaesthetic had finally worn off. Xu Qingzhou fell silent. Slowly, painfully, he opened his eyes.
“Qingzhou? You are awake?” Fang Yao leaned forward, breathless.
At the sound of her voice, he understood he was still alive. A faint spark of joy flickered in his dull, weary gaze. But when he tried to turn his head, searing pain shot through every limb bones ground to powder. He could not speak; his throat felt as though scored with a thousand blades. He could only cough, ragged and faint.
Mud and silt inhaled during the landslide had inflamed his lungs. Every breath burned. Of his entire body, only his eyes could move freely.
Seeing him awake, one comrade hurried to summon the doctor. He examined Xu Qingzhou thoroughly, cleansed and dressed his minor wounds, and gave clear instructions on his care. Fang Yao listened intently, committing every word to memory, determined to overlook nothing.
The doctor then administered a strong painkiller to help him rest a mercy for his shattered nerves.
Noon had long passed. Comrade Yang Fan brought food from the canteen and handed Fang Yao her portion. Seeing she remained steady, he turned gently to Wang Hua, urging her to eat.
The other comrade, Liu Shitou, stayed beside Fang Yao. He ate quickly, then stood and said: “Sister-in-law please go eat. I shall empty the drainage bag for him.”
“Let me do it,” Fang Yao set down her bowl and rose.
She had resolved to care for him herself and would shrink from nothing. But Liu Shitou gently but firmly guided her aside.
“I know you love him dearly, Sister-in-law. But our orders are to tend him. This is our duty. Rest assured I shall care for him well.”
Fang Yao watched him work capable, careful, respectful and stepped away to check on Wang Hua.
Wang Hua had taken only a few mouthfuls and could eat no more. Her eyes kept drifting to the bed, then away, heartbroken each time she looked.
“Mother let me add warm water to your rice,” Fang Yao offered, lifting the thermos. A person might go without food for a time but without water, strength would fail in days. The road ahead was long. Both of them must endure.
Wang Hua understood that her sorrow was becoming a burden to her daughter-in-law. She held out her bowl, drank and ate half its contents, and set the rest aside to soak for the evening.
“Fang Yao I must return home briefly,” she said. “I shall fetch clothing and necessities fresh clothes for you both, and things we shall need.”
Recovery from such injuries took a hundred days. With shattered legs and festering wounds, Xu Qingzhou would remain hospitalised for a long time to come.
Fang Yao hesitated to let her travel alone. She turned to Yang Fan. “Comrade might I ask you to escort my mother home?”
“Certainly. The Commander left the vehicle at our disposal. I shall drive her there.” Yang Fan rose and walked out beside Wang Hua.
Liu Shitou finished his tasks, sat back in the chair, leaned against the wall and fell fast asleep.
Fang Yao feared he might catch a chill. She went to the nurse’s station, borrowed two blankets, and draped them gently over him.
He did not wake. He had snatched him and Xu Qingzhou back from death itself and then laboured through the long hours of the night. He was exhausted.
Fang Yao sighed softly and returned to Xu Qingzhou’s bedside. She looked at the dried mud still clinging to his cheeks and wrists. She longed to wash him clean yet dared not, lest she rouse him and bring fresh pain.
Xu Qingzhou had always been so fastidious his uniform pressed, every fold in order, immaculate and proud. Yet this same man had faced death in mud and storm, again and again. He had risen above himself great, honourable, and strong.
Wang Hua rode home in the military vehicle. As she entered the village, every eye turned toward her.
Word of Xu Qingzhou’s terrible injury had spread like wildfire. The moment the vehicle stopped, a crowd gathered round, anxious and loud.
“Wang Hua! How is he? Is he alive? How badly hurt?” the neighbour who had brought the news called out first.
Before Wang Hua could reply, Old Madam Xu came hobbling forward, supported by Xu Jianshu. She wept as she ran.
“Wang Hua… what has become of him? Why does he not come home with you?”
For all her favouritism, her heart ached for the grandson who had brought such pride to the family. She feared the worst.
Wang Hua held back her tears. She looked upon every face and spoke as hopefully as she could to calm the panic and quiet the whispers.
“His life is no longer in danger. He must remain in hospital for a time. Fang Yao and I shall stay with him. His comrades are also there to help. Please do not worry!”
She pushed through the crowd and entered the house. Old Madam Xu followed close behind. Proud and private, she ordered Xu Jianshu to bar the gate then pressed Wang Hua for every detail.
Wang Cuilian had hurried over too late and found the gate barred. Cold and impatient, she gleaned a few words from neighbours and turned back home.
Inside the house, Li Xuemiao came forward to ask: “Mother what news from their household?”
Wang Cuilian dared not gloat openly before outsiders but indoors, she let her satisfaction show.
“They say he is alive… but still in hospital. Mark my words it is grave indeed! I said it from the first Fang Yao brings nothing but ill fortune! Wang Hua would not listen! And now? Her son lies broken! Years of service without a scratch and barely days married… half-dead in a hospital bed! Is it not exactly what she deserved?”