Searching for someone in northern Myanmar, and you call that earning tuition fees?

General ward of the military region hospital.

Su Ming was transferred out of the intensive care unit five days ago.

He leaned against the headboard, his bandages less than a few days ago, but still wrapped up like an unopened package. Three major injuries to his left shoulder, abdomen, and right leg, along with some smaller cuts, left him only able to move his neck and above.

Li Changfeng sat by the window, holding a form in his hand, the pen tip hovering in mid-air, hesitant to drop it.

When was the last time you got vaccinated?

Su Ming thought for a moment: "Fifth grade, he was beaten up by the dean."

"Allergy history?"

"Allergic to poverty."

Li Changfeng paused, then looked up at him.

Su Ming added expressionlessly, "Being poor makes me feel terrible."

"Okay, I'll fill in 'none' for you." Li Changfeng stuffed the nursing information registration form back into the folder. "This stupid form has made me fill it out three times. The first time, the nurse said my handwriting was messy, and the second time she said the pen color was wrong."

In the corner, Old Zhao was struggling with the electric lift bed in the ward. He searched for ten minutes but couldn't find the remote control, finally discovering that Su Ming had it under his buttocks.

"You did this on purpose, didn't you?" Old Zhao pulled out the remote control, but Su Ming didn't budge.

"No, my back hurts, and this cushion is just right."

Old Zhao pressed the lift button, and the headboard slowly rose. He pressed another button, and the footboard rose as well. He studied the six buttons on the remote control for a while, then pressed the middle one, and the whole bed began to vibrate.

Su Ming frowned, the wound on his abdomen throbbing with pain.

"Turn it off! Turn it off! Turn it off!" Li Changfeng lunged forward and snatched the remote control. "That's the massage function! He still has a surgical scar on his stomach!"

Old Zhao shrank back: "Who the hell designed this? Putting the massage button in the middle? Isn't that just a total rip-off?"

Su Ming leaned back, his expression unchanged, only a thin layer of sweat beading on his forehead. He pursed his lips, remaining silent.

Just then, the sound of hurried leather shoes echoed down the corridor. The footsteps were synchronized and rhythmic, displaying a well-trained sense of discipline.

Li Changfeng's expression changed. He listened for two seconds, then his gaze sharpened as he looked toward the door.

Old Zhao also stopped what he was doing. Although he was a seasoned veteran in the security department, he had spent his whole life in the army, and he knew better than anyone what those footsteps meant.

A very important person has arrived.

There were three knocks on the door, very politely.

Before anyone inside could respond, the door was pushed open from the outside. Two young officers in civilian clothes entered first, quickly scanned the room, and then stood on either side.

Immediately afterwards, a person appeared at the door.

Old General.

His crisp, crisp officer's uniform, with its pine branches and stars on the epaulets, stood out starkly under the corridor lights. His hair was completely white, but his back remained ramrod straight, and he carried a dark brown briefcase.

Li Changfeng and Lao Zhao instinctively stood up straight, their heels touching, making a soft "snap" sound.

Su Ming looked up at the old general, then looked down at himself, who was covered in tubes.

"Old General," he said, his voice still a little hoarse.

He Zhenshan's gaze fell on him, lingering on the bandages and gauze for two seconds, his brows twitching slightly.

Then he looked at Li Changfeng and Lao Zhao.

"You two, get out."

"Yes"

The two walked quickly, closing the door behind them.

The ward fell silent.

He Zhenshan pulled up a chair and sat down on the edge of the bed. He placed his briefcase on his lap, unzipped it, and took out a brown paper document bag.

The movements were slow, as if they were doing something that had been brewing for a long time.

"Does the wound still hurt?" he asked.

Su Ming shook his head.

Without exchanging pleasantries, He Zhenshan tore open the seal on the document bag and pulled out a document.

Red cover with the national emblem in gold foil.

"You already know about your parents' situation."

He Zhenshan sat down beside the hospital bed and placed his briefcase on his lap. The sound of the zipper opening was very soft, but Su Ming's gaze remained fixed on the brown paper document bag.

"I know." Su Ming paused for a moment. "They are from Operation 'Wind Whisper'."

"How much else do you know?"

"My father's name is Su Zhengze, codename Xuanwu. My mother's name is Su Wanqing, codename Zhuque." Su Ming leaned against the headboard, his voice hoarse from his injuries. "There was a mole on the mission, and they didn't come back."

The ward was silent for a few seconds.

He Zhenshan's fingers pressed tightly against the seal of the document bag.

These words, spoken by a child, were chillingly calm.

"What else did that person in the mine tell you?"

Su Ming lowered his eyes.

He said he killed my mother.

He Zhenshan's Adam's apple bobbed.

He didn't reply immediately, but instead tore open the seal, took out the red document, and slowly opened it.

"The alpha wolf participated in the ambush back then, but what he said wasn't entirely true."

Su Ming raised his eyes.

He Zhenshan turned one of the pages toward him, his finger hovering over the lines of the re-verified action record.

"Twenty years ago, Operation 'Wind Whisper' had already achieved its objectives. Your father, Su Zhengze, and your mother, Su Wanqing, successfully intercepted the core communication node of 'Snake's Lair'."

"During the evacuation, the team was surrounded by three times the number of troops because an insider leaked the route."

He Zhenshan's voice grew softer and softer.

"Your father volunteered to stay behind to cover the retreat. He was shot eleven times, and before his last shot missed, he blew up a breach on the east side for your mother."

Su Ming's fingers, resting on the blanket, slowly tightened.

A crease appeared in the adhesive tape near the IV needle, and a faint red ooze was seeping from the needle site. He seemed oblivious, his eyes fixed on the black text on the document.

"Your mother was also injured at the time."

He Zhenshan paused for a moment, his gaze falling out the window.

His gray hair and crisp military uniform were reflected in the windowpane. After a long pause, he continued speaking.

"She led the rest of the group to retreat three kilometers and handed the intelligence over to the support team. Afterward, she found that the pursuers were too close, so she turned back alone."

Su Ming's breathing quickened.

"It's not that she didn't have a chance to leave," He Zhenshan said. "She chose to stay."

"One man, a gun with only half a magazine left, and a Type 56 triangular bayonet, held off the enemy for a full forty minutes."

"The two scars on the alpha wolf's face were left by her."

The smell of disinfectant in the ward was a bit stronger.

The狰狞 ​​(zhengning, meaning ferocious or hideous) face in the mining area flashed before Su Ming's eyes.

From below the left eye to the cheekbone.

From the right temple to the base of the ear.

Those two scars, which had lingered for twenty years, were marks left by a mother to her enemy.

He Zhenshan's fingers trembled slightly as he placed the document in front of Su Ming, but his palm remained closed for a long time.

"They accomplished their mission, rescuing the evacuees and preserving the intelligence."

"But the mole erased their achievements and forged a report of the operation's failure. The heroes became missing persons, while the traitor rose to a high position and lived a peaceful life for twenty years."

The edges of the paper rustled softly between the old man's fingers.

"This is our fault."

He Zhenshan finally loosened his grip.

He took the last page from the bottom of the document, carefully flattened it, and placed it on Su Ming's quilt.

Decision on posthumously awarding Comrades Su Zhengze and Su Wanqing the honorary title of "Special-Class Revolutionary Martyr"

Black and white on white paper.

At the top is the national emblem in gold foil, and in the lower right corner is the highest red seal.

"Liu Dexian has been arrested, and Chen Jing'an has also been detained. Everyone involved in covering up the truth and falsifying documents will not escape."

He Zhenshan looked at Su Ming.

"Operation 'The Message' has been reclassified: all your parents' achievements have been restored, their names have been entered into the list of martyrs, and they have been enshrined in the Martyrs' Shrine."

Su Ming did not respond.

His gaze lingered on those two names.

Su Zhengze.

Su Wanqing.

He had seen those two names in the old files before.

He knew they were his parents, and he knew they had died in that rainforest twenty years ago. But only now, seeing the lines of official text beneath the national emblem, did he truly realize—

They are not two faded photographs.

It's not a cold, impersonal code name in a file.

It's not just a vague "mission lost" as some people say.

They lived.

I once held him when he was a newborn.

I once named him.

He also gave the chance to live to others in the last moments of his life.

Su Ming reached out his hand.

His fingertips still had the adhesive tape left from the IV drip on them, and he paused slightly when he touched the paper.

For so many years, the "parents" section of his file has always been blank.

The registration form at the welfare home always has four words written on it.

Their origins are unknown.

As a child, he would often lie by the window, watching other children being picked up by their parents. When cars drove out of the yard, kicking up dust, he would look down and count the cracks between the bricks on the ground, pretending he hadn't seen them at all.

He stopped waiting.

Because he thought he had been abandoned.

But it turns out, no one rejected him.

His father fell on the evacuation route, shot eleven times.

His mother turned and walked back into the gunfire, spending forty minutes fighting for the lives of many more people.

They just couldn't come back.

He Zhenshan stood up.

The old man raised his hand to straighten the hem of his military uniform and took a step back. His heels were pressed together, and his back was straight.

Then, he raised his right hand, his fingertips resting steadily on his brow.

A standard military salute.

"Comrade Su Ming."

He Zhenshan's voice was hoarse, but every word he spoke was clear and distinct.

"Comrades Su Zhengze and Su Wanqing were loyal to the country and the people. They completed their mission, protected the intelligence, and saved their comrades."

"They are never mission failures."

"And not a missing person."

"They are heroes."

Su Ming's gaze traveled down the document line by line.

The text reads, "Comrade Su Zhengze took the initiative to undertake the task of covering the rear during the evacuation."

The text reads, "After running out of ammunition, Comrade Su Wanqing used close combat to delay the enemy's pursuit for forty minutes."

Upon seeing that "the heroic deeds of the two men are the highest example of our intelligence front," it was noted that...

Upon seeing the inscription, it reads, "All his reputations have been restored, he has been posthumously awarded the title of Special-Class Revolutionary Martyr, and enshrined in the Martyrs' Shrine."

His lips were pressed tightly together.

A stiff line appeared on his jawline.

Her breathing grew shallower with each breath, and the bandage on her chest rose and fell slightly with it. Footsteps sounded outside the ward, but quickly faded away through the door.

He didn't say a word.

A drop of water falls onto the paper.

It's very light.

However, a small dark patch appeared next to the three characters "Su Zhengze".

Su Ming's fingers stopped.

The second drop fell immediately afterward, landing squarely on the name "Su Wanqing," blurring the character "Wan."

He lowered his head, and his shoulder twitched very slightly.

It was a tremor that seemed to be caused by a wound in the abdomen.

It's like that child who waited twenty years in the orphanage, finally getting someone to tell him—

You were not left behind.

He Zhenshan lowered his salute.

He offered neither advice nor words of comfort.

He simply turned around and stood between the hospital bed and the door.

The old man's white hair gleamed silver in the sunlight, his back still straight, silently shielding a twenty-year-old from all the gazes from outside the door.