I put you in charge of those rebellious female soldiers, how come they all became top special forces

The courtyard fell into a deathly silence.

Chen Zheng froze on the spot.

Having lived two lives, he had seen all sorts of storms and waves, and he had never even frowned when standing on the border facing the enemy's gun barrels.

But at that moment, the words of an 87-year-old Tibetan man silenced him.

The weight of those words was greater than any military order he had ever received in his life.

Chen lowered his head and looked at the hunched old man in front of him, whose face was full of wrinkles and who had a pair of cloudy but incredibly sincere eyes.

There was no fear or fawning in those eyes, only pure expectation.

That was the last bit of faith left in the heart of an old man who had experienced serfdom, the transition from the old era to the new era, and decades of trials and tribulations.

One day, someone will come and take care of it.

Chen Zheng took a deep breath.

He then nodded slowly.

"Yes."

Tsering's lips trembled, and his hands holding the prayer beads also began to shake.

The old man neither cried nor laughed.

He simply stood there, tilted his head slightly, nodded vigorously, and repeated the same Tibetan phrase over and over again.

Ram stood to the side, tears silently streaming down her face.

No translation was needed; everyone knew he was expressing his appreciation and gratitude to the deceased old man.

An Ran leaned against the courtyard wall, biting her lip tightly to keep herself from making a sound, her eyes reddening.

Chen Zheng stood there motionless, letting the hunched old man look up at him for a full minute.

As the wind blew across the plateau, the prayer beads gently clinked in the old man's hands, making a soft, tinkling sound.

No one moved.

It wasn't until the old man Tsering finally came to his senses, stretched out his calloused hands, and grabbed Chen Zheng's wrist.

Chen Zheng glanced down at his wrist, which was being tightly gripped, but did not break free.

Tsering pulled him into the house, speaking in Tibetan in rapid succession, so fast that even Lhamo couldn't keep up.

Ram quickly wiped his face with his sleeve and followed behind to translate: "Grandpa said he wants you to come in and sit down; he has something to tell you."

Chen Zheng was pulled into the house by the old man.

The mud-brick house was dimly lit and simply furnished.

It was nothing more than a wooden plank bed, an iron stove, and a few bags of dried cow dung cakes piled in the corner.

But the moment Chen Zheng entered the room, his gaze was fixed on something on the wall.

A faded portrait of an old man hangs on the wall, his face already somewhat faded, pasted on the earthen wall directly opposite the door.

A butter lamp was placed in front of the portrait, its wick still burning.

It wasn't just lit; most of the lamp oil had already burned away.

This butter lamp is clearly lit every day.

Chen Zheng looked at the portrait and his heart trembled even more.

An Ran walked in, her gaze immediately falling on the lamp, and her lips unconsciously pursed.

Elder Tsering asked Lhamo to make butter tea, while he pulled Chen Zheng to sit by the stove and began to talk.

The old man's Mandarin was very poor, he spoke haltingly, and he couldn't say many words, so he spoke Tibetan directly.

Ramu acted as translator as he added tea bricks to the iron kettle.

According to Elder Tsering.

When he was young, the Langse family was also a noble family.

But my great-grandfather was kind-hearted and not so cruel to the serfs.

That year, my great-grandfather voluntarily handed over his land, released the people, and even helped the work team distribute land to the herders.

"So many soldiers came back then." Tsering's cloudy eyes gleamed as he gestured with his hands in front of him, "Soldiers in green uniforms helped us build houses, helped us plow the fields, and even taught us to write."

"I remember the leading officer telling us that they were sent by that man."

Chen Zheng listened quietly the whole time, his thermos cup resting on his lap, without taking a single sip.

"Later, when the Gongjue family was arrested, we all thought that good days were coming."

The old man stopped there.

Ram squatted down beside the iron kettle, having broken off half of the tea brick in his hand, and stopped.

Tsering's voice lowered, and he gripped the prayer beads in his hands even tighter.

"At first, we did have a great time."

"But in recent years..."

"The descendants of the Gongjue family have returned, along with the Qiangba and Dawa families. They are now rich and even more ruthless than before."

"They hit my son's leg and took our land."

"They also had people write marks on the walls, just like the marks of the old serf owners."

"I thought these things were long gone."

"But they came back."

Ram gripped the tea brick tightly, her nails digging into the tea leaves.

An Ran stood by the door, arms crossed over her chest, her whole body involuntarily tensing up.

Tsering remained silent for a long time.

The firelight reflected the wrinkles on his face.

A moment later, he raised his head and looked at Chen Zheng again.

"Are you... still going to care?"

The room fell silent.

This question made Chen Zheng feel a tightness in his chest.

Ram squatted on the ground, head down, tears streaming down her face.

This problem is heavier than any accusation, louder than any cry.

Because it is not a question, nor a test.

It was an 87-year-old man who, with the last of his strength, asked one more question.

Does the faith I've held for half my life still exist?

……

Chen Zheng looked down at the cow dung cakes slowly burning in the stove, and remained silent for a long time.

Tsering sat there quietly, waiting silently.

About half a minute later, Chen Zheng looked up.

He didn't utter any grand words, but simply looked into Tsering's eyes and spoke calmly.

"Still in charge."

Tsering, the elderly man, trembled slightly.

The prayer beads slipped from his hand and rolled to the ground.

But the old man didn't pick it up.

He slowly stood up, clasped his hands together, raised them above his head, and bowed deeply to Chen Zheng.

Chen Zheng quickly got up and reached out to help him.

But Tsering's body remained completely still, and he couldn't be pulled up at all.

He concentrated all his strength in this bow, insisting on completing it to the very end.

Ram broke down in tears, squatting there biting her lip and crying silently.

An Ran turned her head away and wiped the corner of her eye with her sleeve.

After several seconds, Tsering slowly straightened up.

Chen Zheng quickly bent down, picked up the Buddhist beads from the ground, and gently placed them back in the old man's hand.

The old man took the prayer beads, looked down at the dark red beads in his palm, and a relieved smile appeared on his lips.

After leaving Ram's house, Chen Zheng did not go straight back to the safe house.

Instead, he had Ram lead the way, visiting each and every household in several nearby villages to meet the herders who had been oppressed by the three major families.

The situation was similar at each household.

The ranch was robbed, and the cordyceps were bought at ridiculously low prices.

The injured family members, and the helplessness of their report to the county authorities going unanswered.

A young Tibetan woman stood at the doorway, holding a child.

The child was only three years old. He was perched on her shoulder, his two bright black eyes looking timidly at Chen Zheng.

Ram translated what the woman had said.

She said her husband was taken to the mine by the Dawa family last year and there has been no news of him since.

"The child has grown up and has only seen his father a few times."