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

An old woman walked forward shakily, stood on tiptoe, and hung an old hada (a ceremonial scarf) around Chen Zheng's neck.

Her hands were shaking so badly that she had to try several times before she could hang it up.

After hanging it up, the old woman put her hands together and said a Tibetan phrase to Chen Zheng.

Ram stood to the side, and after hearing this, her nose tingled with emotion, and she quickly turned her head away.

That Tibetan phrase means—Tashi Delek, may the Bodhisattva bless you with a long and healthy life.

Chen Zheng stood still, with more and more hadas hanging around his neck, piled up so high that his chin was almost invisible.

He did not refuse, nor did he make any polite remarks.

He simply nodded in greeting, his expression much gentler than usual.

An Ran stood by the car, watching Chen Zheng surrounded by hadas (ceremonial scarves), and a smile involuntarily crept onto her lips.

On the training field, there was always an instructor carrying a thermos, known for his sharp tongue and harsh remarks.

At this moment, he had at least twenty or thirty hadas hanging around his neck, and his entire body, from his chest to his chin, was covered with scarves of various colors.

But he stood there with a serious expression, holding his thermos in his hand.

The scene was strangely comical.

They look like a long-necked tribe.

While laughing, La secretly took out her phone and took several pictures from various angles.

"I'll share this in the group chat so everyone can see it," Ram muttered to herself as she took the picture.

An Ran glanced at her: "If you dare to post that, the instructor will triple your training volume when you get back."

Ram's thumb hovered over the send button, hesitating for a moment.

I pressed it in the end.

So what if he's dead? It would be a disservice to the entire Mulan team not to post this kind of picture!

Just then, the crowd automatically parted to make way.

Tsering, leaning on his cane, slowly walked out from behind the crowd.

The old man had specially changed into a clean Tibetan robe today. The dark brown fabric was without a single wrinkle, and the belt was tied neatly.

The prayer beads were also polished until they shone.

The 87-year-old man walks very slowly.

He strode each step with great force, his cane poking small holes in the mud.

But he kept his back as straight as possible.

Although his hunched body could never straighten up to the height of a normal person.

Tsering, an elderly man, walked up to Chen Zheng and stopped.

He tilted his head back, his cloudy old eyes full of laughter.

The old man reached out and grabbed Chen Zheng's arm, which was already covered with hadas (ceremonial scarves).

Chen Zheng looked down at the calloused hand and did not pull away.

Tsering, the elderly man, gripped his arm and turned to face everyone.

The old man took a deep breath and spoke a long passage in Tibetan in a loud voice.

Ram stood beside them, helping with the translation.

"These are the soldiers sent from above."

"He chased away all the people who were bullying us."

"The Gongjue family, the Qiangba family, and the Dawa family will not be coming again."

"They will never come back."

As Ram translated, he sniffed hard.

After speaking in Tibetan, Tsering paused for a moment.

Then, he released Chen Zheng's arm, turned around, and faced Chen Zheng.

The old man looked up at the young soldier who was much taller than him.

Then, in his not-so-standard Mandarin, he shouted loudly to everyone around him.

"These are the soldiers sent by Mao Zedong!"

The village entrance fell silent immediately.

Hundreds of people stood on both sides of the dirt road, and not a single one of them spoke.

Then, applause rang out sporadically from the crowd.

But soon, a second person caught up, and then a third person followed.

The applause quickly spread and grew louder and louder.

Someone laughed, a wide grin that revealed their yellowed teeth.

Some people started crying, tears streaming down their dark, rough faces.

Some people put their hands together and chanted unintelligible scriptures.

Dajie stood in the crowd, his injured right arm draped over his left hand.

His eyes were red-rimmed, and his lips were tightly pursed, but he still clapped louder than anyone else.

Beside him, his wife was wiping away tears and gave him a hard push, signaling him to be careful of his arm.

Dajie ignored her and continued filming.

Tsering Wangdui's mother stood at the very back of the crowd.

The old woman who used to squat by the stove, holding an old hada scarf and shedding tears, is wearing a new pair of shoes today.

The shoes were bought by Tsering Wangdui as soon as he returned from the county town.

The old woman, wearing those new shoes, stood in the crowd without clapping.

Her hands weren't working well, so she couldn't make any sound.

But she just stood there, looking in Chen Zheng's direction, her lips constantly muttering something.

Chen Zheng stood amidst the applause and hada (ceremonial scarves), without saying a word.

He looked at Tsering's smiling face and at the dark faces of the herders around him, some of whom had tears in their eyes but were still grinning.

He did not correct Tsering's words.

That person has been gone for many years.

But on this land, in the hearts of these old people, he has never left.

There is no need to correct it.

Because what Elder Tsering said was correct.

The group of people who crossed the snow-capped mountains sixty years ago, and the person standing here today.

Once you put on this military uniform, you're essentially the same kind of person.

Chen Zheng lowered his head slightly and accepted the honor.

The applause lasted for a very long time.

It went on for so long that even Ram felt embarrassed to take any more photos without permission. She obediently put her phone back in her pocket and clapped enthusiastically.

An Ran stood beside the car, clapping along.

Even after the applause subsided, the herders' enthusiasm did not wane.

They took the three of them directly into the village.

Someone brought over butter tea, while someone else brought out their own sun-dried yak beef.

Several women were also trying to stuff wool scarves they had spun themselves into Anran and Lamu's hands.

The scarf's workmanship is not exquisite; the stitches are uneven, and the color is not very uniform.

An Ran was clearly not used to this kind of situation, and was surrounded by a group of Tibetan women, struggling to cope.

A woman was wrapping a scarf around her neck, another was stuffing beef jerky into her arms, and yet another was holding her hand and speaking Tibetan incessantly.

Anran couldn't understand a single word and could only nod and smile.

While it's true that you shouldn't take even a needle or thread from the people, if you really don't take it in this situation, you'll probably be chased down and forced to take it by the people.

Finally, she was carrying a bunch of things in her arms, with two scarves wrapped around her neck, three bags of beef jerky tucked into her hands, and a Tibetan flower hat stuffed into her hands.

He looked rather flustered.

Ram, on the other hand, completely let loose and let himself go.

She huddled together with several Tibetan girls of similar age, chattering away in Tibetan.

He would burst into laughter every now and then, laughing so hard he was doubled over.

A girl grabbed Ram's arm, touched the muscles on her arm, and exclaimed in surprise.

Ram proudly flexed her arms, showing off her biceps, and the girls around her immediately gasped in amazement, marveling at her muscular physique.