The air outside was damp and stifling, carrying a wave of heat tinged with coal dust that hit her face.
Wen Qiao looked around.
The platform was crowded with people, and the cement floor was moist.
It reflected the gray-blue sky above, trampled by countless pairs of canvas shoes, plastic sandals, and patched cloth shoes.
A sea of wet footprints spread across the ground.
On the platform’s pillars, slogans calling to “Carry the Cultural Revolution of the Proletariat to the end” were steamed and dampened at the edges.
Noise filled the air, a mixture of Cantonese, Chaoshan dialect, and Mandarin.
Station workers wearing red armbands blew whistles and shouted:
“Don’t push! Hold onto your tickets and introduction letters, line up to exit!”
But the crowd surged toward the exit like a flood breaking its banks.
Wen Qiao clicked her tongue.
Fearing she would be swept along, she instinctively stepped back, then back again.
She wasn’t used to physical contact with strangers—and she certainly didn’t want to be packed like sardines.
The military reception exit was on the west side of the platform.
Lu Huaizhou showed his officer ID and quickly left the platform.
Before leaving, he couldn’t help glancing toward the edge of the platform.
He didn’t see that flash of bright yellow.
A trace of disappointment lingered in his heart.
He didn’t know why, but ever since seeing her once, the girl’s voice, appearance, and smile kept appearing in his mind.
Lu Huaizhou reined in his thoughts; he had an urgent mission and couldn’t be distracted.
Without hesitation, he turned and got into the military jeep.
Wen Qiao stood in the corner of the platform holding her canvas suitcase, waiting for the crowd to thin out.
Passersby hurried past, staring at her.
Several young men watched her intently, even glancing back secretly after walking some distance.
One, so focused on looking at her, nearly ran into a platform pillar.
Wen Qiao met his gaze, and his face immediately flushed bright red to the ears.
She found it rather cute.
The admiration in these young men’s eyes was pure, not lewd.
So Wen Qiao didn’t feel uncomfortable.
Humans are visual creatures; everyone appreciates beauty.
Wen Qiao was no different. Just like that night on the train, when she had noticed the exceptional military officer more than once.
It was just human instinct.
Admiring beauty always lifted one’s spirits.
The pedestrians’ clothing was generally modest.
Most of the men wore gray, black, white, blue, or green, but many women wore brightly colored blouses.
Yangcheng was truly at the forefront of fashion in the country.
Although national clothing was politically restrained—modest and plain—the city’s distance from the capital, and proximity to Hong Kong and Macau, made people pay more attention to style and details.
For instance, the same straight-cut or military pants—
Girls would subtly tighten the waistband or hems and add hidden trim at collars and cuffs.
It looked far more refined.
The girls passing by wore two braids, just like Wen Qiao.
But their braids were glossy, smooth, and neat.
They glanced at her while walking, whispering to each other.
Wen Qiao followed their gaze to look at her own dress and shoes.
There was nothing out of place.
Her hairstyle fully conformed to the era’s customs: two fluffy braided pigtails.
Worried about drawing attention, she hadn’t even worn her favorite sparkling hairpins.
Aside from the fabric, her dress’s style was similar to theirs.
Her low-heeled shoes were plain, unremarkable.
Yet what she didn’t know was that this simple outfit, ordinary in the modern era, stood out in this time.
Not counting her refined features, people couldn’t help staring.
And her skin—radiant and flawless—added to the effect.
The bright yellow blouse made her complexion glow.
Standing there gracefully, she looked like a fairy descended to the mortal world.
She exuded an otherworldly aura.
Wen Qiao was accustomed to the admiring gazes around her and felt completely at ease.
Most people of this era were still pure and simple; their glances were discreet.
Many stole a quick look, few dared openly stare at her face.
The air above the station square pressed down heavily, stifling and suffocating.
Suddenly, a strange gust of wind blew. A few discarded newspapers swirled across the square.
One stuck to the “Welcome to Yangcheng” sign.
A silent lightning bolt streaked across the sky. The air carried a faint salty, fishy sea breeze, mixed with coal dust and the tang of sweat.
In the distance, the low horn of a cargo ship sounded.
Like an ominous premonition.
Wen Qiao felt a sudden jolt in her chest, a bad feeling washing over her.
It looked like the signs of an approaching typhoon.
In the book, the male lead’s injury was only briefly mentioned: he had fainted near Baiyun Mountain and was rescued by militia from a nearby military farm.
It didn’t mention a typhoon.
This was bad.
July at Baiyun Mountain was hot and humid, with unpredictable rainstorms.
The forest was dense, tree canopies blocking the sun, leaving the undergrowth dim.
A recent thunderstorm left lingering mist, reducing visibility to almost nothing.
A few soldiers lay hidden in the dense forest, motionless.
The man at the front crawled beneath the shadow of a ponytail, draped in a green camouflaged netting interwoven with twigs and vines. His cap was filled with leaves and ferns.
The brim pressed low over his brow, and his facial contours were covered with charcoal and wet mud.
Only his long, narrow phoenix-like eyes were visible, cold and clear under long lashes.
He calmly observed the terrain ahead.
Guard Chen Ping quietly leaned toward him.
“Commander, could the intel be wrong? We’ve been lying in wait here all day and haven’t seen anyone. Could the two spies have escaped to Moxing Ridge?”
Lu Yancheng furrowed his brow. A glint of cold determination passed through his calm eyes.
“Impossible.”
Yesterday he had received an urgent mission.
Sentries had detected a shortwave signal near the Dajinzhong Reservoir at Baiyun Mountain. Two spies were hiding in the forest, attempting to map radar coordinates.
The spies had long blended into the local population and were extremely familiar with the terrain.
The military region immediately assigned him to lead a secret operation to seal off the mountain and capture them.
Lu Yancheng led a small team, lying in wait at Majiling.
The terrain there was hidden, one of the best places to hide in the mountains, and a necessary path for descending.
Another team, led by capable officer Gao Shun, was stationed at Moxing Ridge.
If these two strongholds were blocked, the spies wouldn’t be able to escape.
However, the spies might be carrying explosives.
To prevent them from lashing out and destroying military installations if discovered, surprise and strategy were crucial.
Chen Ping fell silent, satisfied with the commander’s firm answer, and continued to hide like a shrub.
He was miserable.
If he had known they’d have to lie in wait this long, he would have chosen to crawl earlier, at least to rest.
He had been squatting all day; his lower body was numb, every small movement feeling like thousands of ice needles piercing bone.
The sensation was painfully sharp.
Lu Yancheng looked up at the sky, worry flickering in his eyes.
The weather in Yangcheng had been abnormal lately.
Gusty winds and racing clouds made everything feel like a typhoon was coming.
If a typhoon struck suddenly, it would greatly complicate their mission.
For some reason, he felt an uneasy premonition.
He wasn’t sure if it was the weather—or something else.
Something unexpected seemed about to happen.