The next morning, before the first light had fully chased away the lingering mist, Li Shuying set out with Li Jianmin and Li Jianguo toward the county.
The three siblings walked steadily, their pace neither hurried nor slow, each carrying their share of the bundles.
Everything had been prepared with great care.
The food was sealed in ceramic jars—salted eggs resting in brine, shredded chicken preserved beneath a layer of fragrant oil, strips of rabbit meat dried to perfection. Each jar was wrapped in old but clean cloth, then secured within coarse sacks. From the outside, they looked no different from ordinary household goods—nothing that would attract unnecessary attention during travel.
By the time they reached the county railway stop, the sun had begun its ascent, though its warmth had yet to fully spread.
The "station," if it could be called that, was little more than a modest, weathered building of grey brick, its paint peeling in places. A faded wooden sign hung above the entrance, its characters worn but still legible. In front of it stretched a narrow platform of packed earth and uneven stone, with a few iron rails running alongside.
There were no grand halls, no polished floors—only a small ticket window set into the wall, its wooden frame chipped with age. A handful of benches, cracked and uneven, were scattered nearby.
The place was already alive with movement.
Farmers in coarse cotton jackets, laborers with blue cloth-wrapped bundles slung over their shoulders, a few clerks in worn uniforms clutching documents—people from all walks of life gathered in loose clusters. Voices overlapped in a low hum of conversation, punctuated by the occasional sharp call or impatient sigh.
It was not crowded in the way of great cities
but neither was it empty.
Li Jianmin's eyes lit up as he took in the scene.
"This is my first time riding a train," he said, unable to hide his excitement. "I've heard trains are always packed like sardines. We must stay close and keep an eye on our luggage."
Li Jianguo gave a firm nod. "Let's buy the tickets first," he said.
They made their way to the ticket window, where a short but slow-moving line had formed. The three of them joined the queue, waiting patiently as each person ahead took their turn. It took nearly fifteen minutes before they finally reached the front.
Li Jianguo stepped forward and spoke clearly, "Three sleeper berths to Baicheng."
The woman behind the counter lifted her head. Her eyes swept over him from top to bottom—lingering briefly on his worn clothing and patched sleeves. A trace of impatience crossed her face. "Only hard seats are available," she said curtly. "Take it or leave it."
Li Shuying had already anticipated this. Still, she stepped forward slightly, her tone polite but firm. "Comrade, could you please check again?" she said. "The three of us are young and traveling alone. The hard-seat carriages will be overcrowded—it may not be safe."
The woman's expression hardened. "Take it or leave it," she snapped. "If you don't want hard seats, step aside and let others through."
Li Shuying exhaled softly. There was no room for negotiation. "Then three hard seats to Baicheng," she said calmly.
The woman gave a faint, disdainful snort. "Two yuan and four jiao. And your introduction letter."
Li Jianguo promptly handed over the money along with the folded letter. The woman checked it quickly before issuing three thin, stiff paper tickets, which she pushed through the small opening.
Tickets in hand, the three stepped aside. Li Jianmin frowned, lowering his voice. "How are we supposed to manage sleeper berths now?" he muttered. "With all this luggage, traveling in a hard-seat carriage is too risky."
Li Shuying smiled faintly, her composure unchanged. "Don't worry, Third Brother," she said. "Once we board, we can speak to the train attendant. Sometimes there are unused berths with money, even ghosts can be persuaded to push the millstone."
Not far from them, Zhang Wenhao stood before Gu Zhenhua, holding out a cloth-wrapped bundle.
"You must accept this," he said earnestly. "The journey to Baicheng takes more than twelve hours, and delays are not uncommon. You should at least have some homemade food."
Gu Zhenhua stood straight, dressed in his military uniform today, clean, well-fitted, the fabric crisp against his tall frame. His posture was upright, his bearing composed and authoritative, drawing subtle glances from passersby.
"Uncle Zhang," he replied calmly, "I appreciate your kindness, but there is no need. My orderly has already arranged meal for me."
Zhang Wenhao shook his head, his tone firm in the way of an elder who would not be refused. "You don't have to stand on ceremony with me," he said. "An elder's offering should be accepted."
Without another word, he passed the bundle directly to the orderly standing behind Gu Zhenhua.
This time, Gu Zhenhua did not refuse.
He inclined his head slightly. "Thank you, Uncle Zhang."
Zhang Wenhao looked him over from head to toe, a smile of quiet admiration spreading across his face.
"I fought under your father on the battlefield," he said, his voice tinged with nostalgia. "If not for him, I would not be standing here today. Decisive, sharp as a drawn blade—that was your father."
He chuckled softly.
"The last time I saw you, you were just a boy, ten years old, in the Beijing South Military Compound, leading a group of children as if you already commanded troops. Even then, I thought—this one is destined for greatness."
He nodded approvingly.
"And now look at you. Deputy Company Commander at twenty-two… rare indeed."
Gu Zhenhua did not show the slightest trace of pride.
Instead, he answered modestly, "Uncle Zhang, you overpraise me. I merely do what I am capable of—serving and protecting the people."
Zhang Wenhao laughed.
"Yes, yes—just like your father."
He sighed lightly.
"Ever since I was stationed in the provincial capital here in Jilin province, I have not seen him again. When you next meet him, you must remind him of me."
Gu Zhenhua nodded. "I will. He will be pleased to hear that you are doing well."
Then, as if recalling something, his tone shifted to more serious, "Uncle Zhang, did you find anything about the person I asked you to look into?"
Zhang Wenhao shook his head slowly, his brows drawn together in mild frustration.
"The description you gave was too limited," he said. "Though this county is small, there are many communes scattered around it. I have asked around and gathered what little I could. People matching your description were indeed seen in the county once… but after that, they vanished. No one has seen them again."
Gu Zhenhua's expression tightened slightly.
"That is impossible," he said in a low, steady voice. "According to my information, those people never left this place."
Gu Zhenhua's gaze grew colder, more focused.
"My intelligence came directly from the forward unit stationed near the northern transport line," he continued. "Their movements were traced up to this county. No outgoing permits, no recorded transfers, no unusual departures. It is as if..." He stopped, then finished quietly, "...as if they sank into the ground."
Zhang Wenhao's eyes flickered.
"In times like these," he said slowly, "when people vanish without a trace, it is rarely without reason. They are hiding themselves well."
He leaned slightly closer.
"Tell me, Zhenhua is the matter troublesome?"
Gu Zhenhua did not answer immediately.
His silence itself was an answer.
After a moment, he said in a measured tone, "Uncle Zhang, there are matters that are not convenient to speak of openly." Then, after a brief pause, he added, "But if I were to say this concerns national interest… would that be enough?"
Zhang Wenhao's expression shifted.
The faint ease in his demeanor vanished, replaced by something sharper.
"Then it is serious," he murmured.
He studied Gu Zhenhua for a moment, then sighed faintly.
"I always knew," he said, lowering his voice, "that your presence in Taonan County is not merely for drills or routine training. There is something else at play."
He paused, then added with quiet sincerity, "I will not ask for details, military matters are not for idle ears. But if you require assistance, you need only say the word. I will remain in the county for another month."
Gu Zhenhua inclined his head. "Thank you, Uncle Zhang."
Zhang Wenhao waved his hand dismissively, as if such gratitude were unnecessary.
He was than about to take his leave when his gaze drifted towards a group of three children and suddenly stopped. A look of recognition flashed in his eyes, followed by a broad, delighted smile.
"Little Shuying! Little Jianmin!" His voice carried clearly across the modest platform.
The three Li siblings, who had been waiting quietly for the train's arrival, turned at once toward the sound.
The moment Li Shuying and Li Jianmin recognized him, their faces brightened instantly, as though a lamp had been lit within them.
"Uncle Wenhao!" they called out together, their voices filled with genuine warmth as they hurried toward him.
There was no pretense in their joy.
Though they had met Zhang Wenhao only once—during their first time into the black market—they had formed an unexpected bond. He had not only shown them a path to earn money in these harsh times, but his identity as a soldier just like their father, naturally drew them closer to him.
In a world where trust was scarce such connections were not easily dismissed.
Behind Zhang Wenhao, Gu Zhenhua turned at the call. His gaze followed the direction of Zhang Wenhao's attention and then stilled.
For a fleeting moment, surprise flickered across his otherwise composed face. He recognized her. There was no mistake. It was the same girl from the black market two days ago—the one who had sold those unusually high-quality supplies.
Behind him, He Jianci, his orderly, leaned forward slightly, his voice tinged with excitement. "Deputy Company Commander," he whispered, "isn't that the girl we were searching for yesterday at the black market?"
Gu Zhenhua gave a faint nod. But he said nothing. His gaze remained fixed on Li Shuying.
That morning at the black market, the place had been lit only by dim kerosene lamps, obscuring details. But now in the clear light of day he saw her fully.
She stood small and slender, no more than thirteen or fourteen years old.
Her skin was pale—almost porcelain-like—strikingly so against the coarse, faded fabric of her clothing. Her features were delicate, finely shaped, as though carved with care, though still carrying the softness of youth, not yet fully matured.
And yet the signs of hardship were unmistakable. Her cheeks were slightly hollow, her hair lacking its natural luster, tinged faintly with yellow from malnourishment. Her frame was thin, almost fragile at first glance.
But something about her did not match that fragility. There was a steadiness in the way she stood. A quiet composure. Maturity beyond her age. As if beneath that slight figure lay something far more resilient.
His gaze shifted briefly to the two boys beside her.
They appeared slightly older and bore a striking resemblance to one another, suggesting they were twin brothers. Their features were strong, their complexions a healthy wheat tone, though their lean frames told the same story of scarcity.
Gu Zhenhua's eyes narrowed ever so slightly. Before he could withdraw his gaze Li Shuying suddenly turned.
As if sensing something. Her eyes met his. For a brief, suspended moment time seemed to still. Both of them paused. Caught off guard.