Marriage in the 1970s: The Political Commissar's Contract Wife

He knew Fang Chu too well, and he knew his family like that. Fang Chu carried on his shoulders not only his own future, but also the reputation and expectations of his entire family.

Being beaten like this in the military, regardless of the reason, would never be a glorious thing when it got back to Kyoto's social circle. It would only become a tool for his opponents to attack his father, or a handle for his family elders to use against him for his incompetence and instability.

Fang Chu didn't reply, but silently continued buttoning his shirt; this silence itself was a form of acknowledgment.

Li Yunxiao sighed, his playful tone fading, and his voice became more serious: "Don't worry, I'm very tight-lipped here. But..." He pointed to Fang Chu's injuries, "Looks like you got a beating for nothing, you'll have to keep it to yourself."

Fang Chu finally buttoned up the last button, slowly stood up, his movements still somewhat stiff. He glanced at Li Yunxiao, his eyes filled with complex emotions—gratitude, and an unspoken entrustment.

"I'm gone."

He straightened his aching back, tried his best to make his gait appear normal, and walked out of the infirmary step by step.

Li Yunxiao watched his seemingly unaffected back, shook his head, and muttered to himself, "Stubborn to the end for the sake of saving face... This time the trouble is probably not small."

Not long after the bugle sounded to signal the end of training, the door to the infirmary opened again. Zhi Lin walked in with a somber expression.

Li Yunxiao was reading the newspaper with his legs crossed when he saw Zhilin come in. He lazily got up to get the medicine, but his gaze swept over Zhilin's face and hands like a searchlight.

Although the bruises on Zhi Lin's face had faded, Li Yunxiao, as a doctor, had a keen eye. Combined with Fang Chu's miserable state just now, a bold guess instantly formed.

As he slowly rummaged through the medicine cabinet, he spoke casually, but his tone was full of probing:

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"Commander Zhi? You got hurt? Oh, this wound... looks fresh. I just saw one off, and you're already here—" He drawled, smiling knowingly, "Could it be... you went to 'spar' with our Political Commissar Fang?"

Zhi Lin didn't even lift his eyelids. He walked to the medicine cabinet, found the iodine and cotton swabs as if he knew them well, and said coldly, "None of your business."

To Li Yunxiao, those three words were practically a stamp of approval! His inner gossip flared up instantly, but he feigned concern, shaking his head and saying:

"Hey, I was just curious! Back in military school, I always thought Fang Chu was such a great fighter, like a prodigy. But now, compared to you—" He drawled, giving Zhi Lin a meaningful look, "tsk, I've discovered he's just too ordinary, utterly pathetic."

Zhi Lin understood the veiled accusations perfectly. He snorted coldly, not even bothering to give them a second glance, grabbed the medicine from the table, turned and strode away, leaving behind a cold and hard silhouette.

Looking at his back, which seemed to be protesting too much, Li Yunxiao was not angry at all. Instead, he stroked his chin, his eyes sparkling with excitement. The fire of gossip suddenly ignited in his chest.

"It's confirmed! Something's definitely up!" He paced back and forth in the empty infirmary, his mind racing with all sorts of possibilities. "Two top officers, fighting in private, and both keeping it a secret... Fang Chu was beaten half to death, but he's refusing to utter a word; Zhi Lin was the one who started it, and he's still so furious... Fang Chu, Fang Chu, what heinous thing did you do to anger a regimental commander to the point that he personally got involved?"

He felt he had touched the edge of a shocking secret. This summer seemed to have become exceptionally interesting because of this little-known gossip.

He knew this was far from over. The real show was probably yet to come.

Night fell, enveloping the residential compound in tranquility. Zhilin dragged his slightly weary body home, the bruises on his face appearing even more pronounced under the lamplight.

Inside the room, Zhixia was able to get out of bed and walk around with difficulty; the physical pain was slowly subsiding, but the wounds in her heart were far from healed. She saw the injury on her brother's face, her eyes flickered, and her voice was soft, carrying a hint of confirmation: "Fang Chu did this?"

Zhilin hung up his hat, his tone calm, as if he were talking about something trivial that had nothing to do with him, but his words carried an undeniable force: "I beat him even harder."

Zhi Xia's breath hitched slightly, and her fingers unconsciously clenched the hem of her clothes.

A complex mix of emotions welled up inside her—feeling sorry for her brother, surprise that Fang Chu dared to fight back, and even a subtle sting that she herself hadn't noticed.

"Does he still dare to fight back?" The question she uttered carried a hint of emotion beyond mere anger, one that she herself was unaware of.

Zhilin walked up to his younger sister, stopped, looked at her calmly, and spoke with an unprecedented seriousness:

"Xiaxia, listen carefully. For the sake of your peaceful life from now on, this matter ends here and is over." He paused, then gave a simple yet weighty explanation: "He was framed."

He didn't ask his sister for forgiveness, because that would be too extravagant and hypocritical. He simply gave a reason for turning the page and a decision to sever ties with the future.

"You don't need to forgive him. From now on, if you see him again, act like you don't know him, like a stranger." His gaze, imbued with elder brotherly authority, locked onto Zhixia's eyes. "Especially remember, you are absolutely forbidden from seeing him in private. Do you understand?"

Zhi Xia met her brother's gaze, a gaze that held protection, resolve, and an undeniable love. She remained silent for a few seconds, then lowered her eyelashes and accepted this arrangement, bought with pain, with a single word:

"it is good."

This single word, "good," is like a heavy stone thrown into the lake of my heart, sinking to the bottom and never to cause another ripple. The past has been forcibly severed, and the future has been clearly defined. Silence descends upon the room, broken only by the tireless chirping of cicadas outside the window, telling of the unspeakable pain and sacrifice of this long summer.

It was late at night.

Zhixia lay on the kang (a heated brick bed), the cold moonlight outside the window outlining the silent silhouettes of the furniture. The pain in her body had become dulled, but the fire in her heart suddenly ignited in this deathly silence, burning ever brighter and brighter, almost destroying her reason.

Not reconciled.

These three words, like the forked tongue of a venomous snake, repeatedly licked at her heart.

On what grounds?

Why should Fang Chu, the one who ruined her reputation and made her suffer all this humiliation and pain, be able to have his main responsibility wiped away with a casual "being framed"? Why should he still be able to wear that crisp military uniform, stand on the stage looking respectable, and continue to be the glamorous and respectable Political Commissar Fang, with a bright future ahead of him?