A “clatter” came from the other end of the line, sounding like a teacup being overturned. “What?!” the Commander’s voice jumped an octave. “Say that again?”
“I’m getting married,” Han Qingmo said, enunciating every word. He could already picture the Commander’s eyes bulging out of his head.
“Good! That’s great!” the Commander stammered, momentarily incoherent. “The toughest nut to crack in our entire division has finally seen the light! Wait—” His tone shifted abruptly. “Where are you exactly right now?”
“Still in a village down in Chun City,” Han Qingmo answered honestly.
Silence followed for a few seconds. “Xiao Han…” the Commander’s voice became heavy with mock concern, “you haven’t… been hexed, have you? There are a lot of ethnic minorities out there; maybe someone used a bit of voodoo or a love potion on you…”
Han Qingmo nearly choked on his own spit. “Commander!” he said, caught between a laugh and a sigh. “You have quite the imagination.”
“Well, what else am I supposed to think?” the Commander retorted righteously. “How many years have you been in the army? How many girls from the Arts Troupe have thrown themselves at you without you even giving them a second glance? Now you go on a mission to the border and suddenly you’re getting married?”
Han Qingmo rubbed his temples, the slender image of He Yanchu surfacing in his mind. “Couldn’t it just be that I fell in love at first sight?” he said softly.
“Love at first sight?” the Commander scoffed. “You? Han Qingmo? So many female soldiers have tried to get close to you and you couldn’t even remember their names!”
Han Qingmo couldn’t help but smile. “This time is different. The moment I saw her, I knew I wanted to marry her.” He paused. “Once the report is filed, you’ll understand.”
After hanging up, he dialed a number in the capital. It was picked up after only two rings; his grandmother’s kind voice answered.
“Grandma, it’s me.” Han Qingmo’s voice softened instinctively.
“Momo!” Grandma Han cried out in delight, then turned to shout into the house, “Old man! Come quick! It’s Momo on the phone!”
The sound of frantic footsteps followed before Grandpa Han’s booming voice came through. “You brat! You actually remembered to call home?”
“Grandpa, Grandma,” Han Qingmo took a deep breath. “I’m getting married.”
On the other end, Grandma’s voice spiked, trembling with a hint of a sob. “Really?!” A thud echoed as if a chair had been knocked over in her haste. “Old man! Did you hear? Momo said he’s getting married!”
Grandpa Han practically lunged for the phone, his voice a mix of urgency and joy. “Which family is she from? How old? What does she do?”
Hearing his grandfather’s machine-gun questioning, Han Qingmo gave a low chuckle, his tone turning exceptionally serious. “She is the daughter of martyrs. Both her parents passed away, leaving three siblings. Her brother is a soldier, her sister is a military doctor. She is twenty years old—same as me.”
The line went quiet for a moment. He could hear his grandmother whispering to herself, almost like a prayer: “The ancestors have blessed us… I thought this boy was going to be a bachelor for the rest of his life…” He then heard her hurried footsteps heading toward the main hall—likely to light incense at the ancestral shrine.
Grandpa Han snapped back to reality. “What’s she like? Is she pretty?”
The image of that radiant face—unadorned yet more striking than a wild mountain rose—filled Han Qingmo’s mind. His throat tightened slightly, his voice softening further. “Very beautiful. Also, the three of them are triplets; it’s quite a rare sight.”
“Triplets?!” Grandpa’s voice boomed again, followed by a hearty laugh. “Good! Good! You lucky brat!” Then, his tone grew stern. “You better treat that girl right. It isn’t easy for the children of martyrs. If you dare bully her, I’ll be the first to break your legs!”
Han Qingmo rubbed his brow. “Grandpa, don’t worry.”
After that, he called his parents. When his father picked up, the background was noisy with people discussing work. But upon hearing the news, his father slammed the table—Bang!—startling everyone nearby.
“Good lad! Finally grew a brain!” Han Senior laughed boisterously. “I’ll wire some money and coupons to you immediately. We can’t let that girl feel slighted!”
Before he could say another word, the phone was handed to his mother. “Son…” her voice was hesitant, even a bit cautious. “Is the person… a man or a woman?”
Han Qingmo: “…”
He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. “Mom, it’s a woman, obviously. Your son doesn’t have such ‘diverse’ tastes that he’d bring you home a son-in-law!”
A clear sigh of relief came from the other end. “That’s good, that’s good…” She sounded as if a massive weight had been lifted. “I’ll start preparing the betrothal gifts! I hear the ‘Three Rounds and One Sound’—sewing machine, bicycle, watch, and radio—are the trend. We won’t miss a single one!”
He stared at the receiver, finally hanging up with a helpless laugh. “My mom is as brisk as ever.”
After paying the fee, he stepped out to find He Yancheng squatting by the roadside. “Done, Comrade Han?” Yancheng stood up, dusting off his pants.
“Yeah.” Han Qingmo nodded, his eyes sweeping toward the nearby supply store. “Let’s go. We need to buy some things.”
Yancheng blinked. “Buy what? We’re just picking up meat later!”
A slight curve touched Han Qingmo’s lips. “Things for the wedding.”
Ten minutes later, the shop clerk watched in a daze as this upright young officer in uniform cleared out almost everything wedding-related: enamel basins, towels, red cloth, malted milk, socks, thermos flasks… he bought them all.
Yancheng struggled behind him, clutching a mountain of items. “Comrade Han, are you trying to empty the whole store?”
“Brother, this isn’t enough!” Han Qingmo replied without looking back.
“What? Still not enough?”
“You forgot? We still have to buy the meat Second Aunt asked for.” Han Qingmo frowned, stopped, and turned to Yancheng. “Where’s the black market?”
Yancheng’s eyes widened. “You’re going to the black market?”
Han Qingmo didn’t answer but shoved the bags into Yancheng’s arms. “Brother Cheng, just point the way and wait here. I’ll go get the meat. Also, just call me by my name. ‘Comrade Han’ sounds too formal; we’re about to be family.”
Yancheng pointed to a nearby alley. “Alright, Qingmo. That’s the way. Hurry back!”
Half an hour later, Han Qingmo emerged from the alley with a small basket on his back, heavy with over ten pounds of pork and two live chickens. Seeing him limp back, Yancheng’s jaw nearly hit the ground. “Qingmo! Your leg isn’t healed! Why are you carrying something so heavy? I should have gone with you!”
Han Qingmo’s expression softened. “It’s fine. This weight is nothing to me.”