Breeze Never Too Late

She, has always refused to let go of her childhood pride.
Initially, he forced her into submission in the harshest way possible, which made her despise him to the bone.
At twenty, she abandoned her husband, followed a man she thought was worthy of her, only to end up being violently mistreated.
Yet, it was he who raised her from the rain when she was at her most helpless moment.
Fate brought her back to her eighteenth year, for a do-over. She emerged from her cocoon, when hate was replaced by regret, she shed her thorny exterior, but does she still have the right to pursue happiness?
But why does he always remind her in the coldest voice, "He Zhilan, I don't want the He Family to raise an ungrateful wretch."
Or menacingly warn her, "He Zhilan, don't force me to take away your freedom!"

Stars In His Eyes

At this moment, the only image in He Zhilan's mind was a scene with three people. She couldn't remember the faces of the two people next to her, but she knew they were her grandparents.


In the small courtyard of the deep alley, in their little garden brimming with grapevines and a variety of flowers, her grandpa held her on a rattan chair, gently rocking it back and forth. Her grandma brought over a plate of grapes, occasionally peeling one and feeding it to the two of them, all the while smiling warmly. On a wooden table, an old cassette player played the tune of their favorite song.


After so many years, He Zhilan could no longer remember the lyrics, but she could vaguely recall the rhythm because her grandpa, who held her securely to prevent her from falling off the chair, would leisurely tap out the rhythm in the air with his hand. His palm closed contently, with only his index and middle finger slightly raised, occasionally moving to the rhythm of the music, pointing and retracting in the air. 


In her childhood, that song's rhythm always played gently beside her ear. She couldn't understand the lyrics but would hum along. Her babyish voice was soft, but her attention was entirely focused on her grandpa's hand. 


She never understood why her grandpa liked to tap his hand in the air while listening to music. Seeing him looking so happy, she began to mimic his movements. Every time she heard that song, she would raise her chubby little hand, imitating the rhythmic pointing and retracting. 


Unlike the contentment her grandpa expressed, her movements would always provoke incessant laughter from the adults, even her grandpa would tease her.


After more than a decade, her memories faded like an ancient ink painting, whose vague contours were still visible, but one could no longer make out the faces of the people within. 


After all these years, the familiar melody suddenly echoed in her ears, teasing out memories she had almost forgotten. Against her will, tears uncontrollably streamed down her face. 


Why can't she remember their faces? Their names? The way to the small courtyard in the deep alley? 


Why is it that all these intense longings have no outlet?


In this city, which intersection should she pass? How many turns must she make? How many crossroads to choose from, in order to cross the boundary of twelve years and find the relatives she has missed for twelve years?


After twelve years, the people she had travelled thousands of miles to search for, where are they now? Are they missing her, their dear daughter, as much as she misses them?


Ten li to send off the Red Army, this moon-viewing pavilion,


In the moon-viewing pavilion, a high platform is erected.


The platform is ten zhang high, with white jade pillars,


Carved dragons and painted phoenixes, emitting a magnificent glow,


Yearning in the morning and missing in the evening, oh Red Army,


The platform's name is the Red Army lookout.


He Zhilan could not remember the lyrics, but she could hum the tune of the entire song along with the music.


"The whole song has been sung, and none of you know it? Alright, just say the name of the song and you'll pass!" Lin Deng's voice suddenly sounded, followed by the entire team complaining about how difficult the song was.


"Grandpa, what's the name of this song?"


"Miss Zhilan, you also like it? It's 'Ten Li to Send Off the Red Army.'"


"Grandpa, why do you always lift your hand like this when you listen to this song?" Her chubby, short hand clumsily imitates the old man's movement.


Chapter 106: A Song, A Kind of Longing 3_1