I was married off to a disabled hero in lieu of marriage; my in-laws doted on me and I aspired to gr

The truck chugged along for over an hour before being stopped by guards at the military headquarters.

"I...I'm looking for Commander Zhou."

Zhou Wenhui pressed his face against the window and said urgently, "I am his son, Zhou Wenhui."

The guard saluted and said, "Commander Zhou set off for the front lines two hours ago."

Zhou Wenhui's mind went blank for a moment, and he asked, "Where is Luo Meiyun, the head of the surgery department at the clinic? She's my mother."

The guard said, "Wait a moment, let me call and ask. If she's at headquarters, have her come out to see you."

The guards marched in step and entered the guardhouse.

A short while later, the guard came out, saluted, and said, "Director Luo has also set off with the medical team."

Zhou Wenhui's body went limp, and he was drenched in sweat.

"Is there anything else you need help with?" the guard asked with concern, noticing Zhou Wenhui's pale face.

"That's all, thank you, comrade."

Zhou Wenhui waved his hand and said, "Yu Fu, go back."

The car started, and Zhou Wenhui stared out the window, his face ashen, motionless. Yu Fu had many questions he wanted to ask, but dared not.

It took another hour and a half to get home, and Zhou Wenhui was so exhausted that his whole body went limp.

Yang Zheng took the wheelchair off, picked up Zhou Wenhui, and sat him in it. Qiaoqiao ran out like a shot: "What's wrong?"

"It's nothing. Have you cooked? I'm hungry," Zhou Wenhui asked casually.

"It's done, it's done. Yu Fu, have a bite too," Qiao Qiao called to Yu Fu.

"No, I'll eat at the cafeteria."

Yu Fu jumped into the car and drove away.

Back inside, Yang Zheng fetched a basin of hot water and cleaned Zhou Wenhui.

On the table, there was a bowl of stir-fried pork head meat with chili peppers, a bowl of tender radish greens, and a bowl of soybeans stewed in pork head meat soup.

"What's wrong with Mom and Dad?" Qiaoqiao had been worried all morning and couldn't help but ask.

Zhou Wenhui took a bite of pig's head meat and said calmly, "That's really ruthless; both of them went to the front lines."

"Go to the front lines? Didn't they say there wouldn't be any more fighting?"

Qiaoqiao's heart sank. Thinking back, every word her mother had said sounded like her last words.

"Things at the military headquarters are ever-changing. It's alright, Mom is a medic, she's in the rear. Dad is a division commander, he doesn't need to be on the front lines, he'll be back soon. I hate them, they didn't tell me a single thing. Do they think I'm not worthy of being their son?"

Zhou Wenhui spoke calmly, chewing the pig's head meat vigorously, but his eyes reddened.

"Wenhui, Uncle Zhou was afraid you'd worry."

"As a soldier, going to the battlefield is a common occurrence, so I'm not worried."

After taking another bite, Zhou Wenhui put down his chopsticks and said wearily, "I want to go take a nap."

Yang Zheng put down his chopsticks, picked up Zhou Wenhui, and carried him to bed.

At the dinner table, the brother and sister were speechless and couldn't eat.

"It's all my fault, I should have woken Wenhui up," Qiaoqiao said remorsefully.

"Your aunt and uncle intentionally concealed it; it has nothing to do with you."

"I just felt something was off. Why is a division commander saluting me?"

"He entrusted you to take care of Wenhui, so we'll take good care of him. Qiaomei, don't take on everything yourself, and don't bring this up again. Just go and plant your vegetables."

"Yes, if I'm always so mournful, Wenhui won't feel good either."

"Hmm, didn't you say there were still some manuscripts that hadn't been copied? Where are they? I'll go copy them for you."

"If it's in the study, then I'll have to trouble you, brother."

Qiaoqiao led her brother into the study, took out the accumulated manuscripts, and Yang Zheng carefully copied them.

Qiaoqiao was worried about Zhou Wenhui, so she quietly pushed open the door and heard Zhou Wenhui crying.

After hesitating for a moment, he closed the door. He felt sad and decided to let him cry for a while.

Zhou Wenhui didn't get up until the afternoon, so Qiaoqiao quickly heated up some food for him.

This time, he was truly hungry. He ate two bowls of rice, stopped mentioning his parents, and went to his study.

Qiaoqiao breathed a sigh of relief and quickly washed all the clothes she had taken a bath in the night before.

Zhou Wenhui was in a bad mood and couldn't do anything; a huge bucket of clothes had piled up.

The next day, Yang Zheng was about to go back, and Qiaoqiao packed him a bag of pig's head meat and some mooncakes.

Yang Zheng said to Zhou Wenhui, "My master and I will come to pick up the mold on Sunday. Wait for me."

"Okay." As long as Zhou Wenhui shifted his attention, he wasn't so sad anymore.

Life went on, and Zhou Wenhui developed a fondness for going to buy groceries in the mornings.

After finishing their meal and cleaning up, the couple went out.

As the sun rises and the lively children line up to cross the street, the vibrant atmosphere of daily life is palpable.

Sometimes, even when they don't need to buy groceries, Qiaoqiao will push Zhou Wenhui to the grocery store to chat with Sister Liu for a bit.

Meat coupons, tofu coupons—they were exchanged back and forth, and even though life was tight, it was still quite enjoyable.

Yang Zheng and his master came to Zhou Wenhui's house twice to take molds. Each time, Qiaoqiao would prepare fish and meat to entertain Chen Yan, which made Chen Yan favor Qiaoqiao more than Yang Zheng.

The publisher called, urging the novel manuscript to be completed quickly, as they couldn't wait to publish it.

Zhou Wenhui and Qiaoqiao worked overtime at night to organize manuscripts so they could go for a walk in the morning.

Three months passed in the blink of an eye after a winter snowfall. Occasionally, news of victories from the front lines would arrive, but my in-laws did not contact us.

Soon, good news came from the publisher: Zhou Wenhui's "The Silent Hero" had been published, and a check for five thousand yuan was sent with the letter.

This is a lot of money, Qiaoqiao is planning to put it in a fixed deposit.

Zhou Wenhui, however, said that the money did not belong to him personally, but was a shared honor for their class.

Zhou Wenhui had fifteen comrades-in-arms. He paid 300 yuan to each of them, totaling 4,500 yuan. With the remaining 500 yuan, he bought fifteen copies of "The Silent Hero" and sent them to his comrades' homes along with the remittance.

Qiaoqiao thought it made sense, so she set about doing it.

Finding the home addresses of fifteen comrades was no easy task. Qiaoqiao asked the union for help, but they only managed to find five.

Zhou Wenhui personally wrote letters to the families of the five martyrs and sent them the money and books together.

As I left the post office, I noticed a heavy snowfall. The roads had been cleared, and snow piled up on both sides of the road.

Zhou Wenhui was wrapped in a long military overcoat, but he was still a little cold.

Qiaoqiao pushed her wheelchair, looking worried, and said, "The union has contacted the military, but we haven't received the list of the other soldiers yet. If we can get it before the New Year, the families of our comrades will receive 300 yuan, and we won't have to worry about the New Year."

"Back then, we didn't think about leaving an address. We thought we could go home safely, and we thought we would have many, many years of camaraderie. Things have changed, and everything has become a vicissitude in the blink of an eye." Zhou Wenhui sighed as he looked at the bright white snow.

"I'm not going to the grocery store today; my stomach is upset, and I feel nauseous."

"I'll go back and cook some porridge. There are also pickled cucumbers, right? They'll cleanse my stomach. I'm getting a bit tired of eating."

Qiaoqiao pushed her wheelchair, her steps uneven, and when she encountered a slope she couldn't push up, passersby would quickly come to her aid.

In the depths of winter, there are always those who offer warmth akin to spring.

When I got home, I took off my military overcoat and scarf. The house was heated, so I only needed to wear two layers of clothing.

Qiaoqiao really liked the heating; she never knew that winter could be so warm.

She asked Sister Liu, who said that her family didn't have heating. Only military families' compounds and key state factories had their own boilers, which provided heating.