Beneath the Gu family’s ravenous, resentful stares, Xia Yuge finally departed Gu Village—the place where her predecessor had lived for ten years, only to perish tragically in the end. She set forth toward the army base, determined never to look back.
She could not know whether she would find the kind of life she hoped for there. Yet one thing stood certain: she would never return to Gu Village, nor would she ever again suffer her fate to be dictated by that household, as the poor girl before her had done.
With the annulment agreement formally signed, the two were bound by nothing beyond the terms already settled. Xia Yuge would not presume upon him—nor seek to take advantage of him in any way. One hundred yuan was no small sum; it had nearly emptied Gu Nianchen’s savings. He had no reason to be generous further still, and so they purchased their tickets separately at the window. After some two hours in the waiting hall, their train finally pulled in.
The journey required a transfer, and would take several days. To keep costs down, both bought hard-seat tickets. Xia Yuge was fortunate enough to secure a window seat. Watching the countryside fly past, listening to the train’s long whistle and the steady clack-clack of the wheels against the rails, she found her spirits lifting.
On the second day, they transferred to a second train—hard seats again. It was not that Gu Nianchen was being miserly; he truly had little to spare. The one hundred yuan had all but cleaned him out. As for Xia Yuge—she would gladly have booked a soft sleeper, but such luxuries were simply unavailable to her rank and status. There was nothing for it but to endure hard-seat travel alongside him.
By the third day, Xia Yuge had suffered enough to want to curse. This, she realized with profound clarity, is what happens when you have not an ounce of flesh to cushion your bones. Her hips and ached terribly. She stood, paced the aisles, and stretched whenever she could—enduring each weary hour as best she might.
Yet one blessing emerged: the train’s dining service was decent, and—most wonderfully—did not require food coupons. Xia Yuge rejoiced. Determined to reward her aching body and spare herself further hardship, she refused to stint herself at mealtimes. Every meal she ordered contained meat. On days when meat-box lunches sold out, she quietly supplemented her meals with provisions from her pack.
Gu Nianchen watched in silent dismay.
“Yuge—ought you not to be more prudent? You have no work, no steady income. And though I bring you to the base, you will lodge at the guest house. The fees are modest, yet food and lodging both cost money.”
“Yes, yes—I hear you,” Xia Yuge replied dismissively. “Rest easy. I shall find a way to sustain myself. You shall not be asked for funds.”
“You misunderstand me,” Gu Nianchen hastened to clarify. “I mean only—we are far from home. Resources must last. This is not a journey of one or two days. And let me say this: I shall not abandon you. We may not be husband and wife, yet I shall always regard you as a sister.”
“Understood.”
Xia Yuge had no desire to argue. To preserve her own peace, she did tone down her spending—at least publicly. She ceased ordering meat with every meal, much to the relief of envious passengers who had watched her feast with ill-concealed resentment.
What they did not know was that she had merely switched to provisions from her pack. While all eyes were upon her, she would produce a steamed bun stuffed with meat, then a boiled egg—tempting the children nearby to wail with longing. She merely turned her back and ate with profound satisfaction.
Days passed in this manner, until the fourth morning—the train finally pulled into Longcheng Station.
Gu Nianchen’s unit was stationed in Longcheng, beneath the Blue Camel Mountains—a vast, rolling range that bore nearly fifty percent resemblance to the land of her former life. Xia Yuge was delighted. Mountains meant wild herbs to gather, and game to hunt in the deep woods. She would never want for meat again. Besides—Little Nine thrived in such wooded country; cooped up in soul-space indefinitely would have driven it to despair. Mountains, she decided, made all things possible.
From the station, they boarded a bus that wound along mountain roads for nearly two hours, then walked another half-hour before finally reaching the base.
“Gu—Platoon Leader? You returned remarkably early from leave!” The sentry snapped a salute, then looked on curiously.
“All is well,” Gu Nianchen replied smoothly. “I simply anticipated that orders might come at any moment. And there was nothing pressing at home—so I chose to return promptly.”
“Ah—understood. And this comrade… would she be the Commander’s wife?”
“Comrade Soldier,” Xia Yuge spoke up deliberately, pausing just long enough to draw attention to her tone. “I am not the Platoon Leader’s wife. I am Xia Yuge—his… younger sister.”
The sentry looked momentarily flustered. “Ah—my apologies! His sister, of course. Base regulations require all visitors to register before entering. Lieutenant Yang—how shall we proceed?”
“Standard procedure,” Gu Nianchen said. “Yuge—produce your letter of introduction. All visitors must be recorded.”
“Certainly.”
Xia Yuge drew the document from her bag—the one written and sealed by the Village Chief—and handed it over. The duty officer examined it, asked several routine questions per protocol, entered the details into the register, returned the letter to Xia Yuge… and waved them through.
Xia Yuge breathed quietly. Her stay at the army base—for the time being—was secure.