As he followed Qiu Yihe inside, Jiang Jianmin asked, "You're Qiu Yihe, aren't you?"
Hearing this, Qiu Yihe jerked her head up, staring at Jiang Jianmin in shock.
She wondered how on earth he knew her name.
The question almost tumbled out, but at the last second she swallowed it back, as though something had suddenly occurred to her.
After all, the man before her was someone of real status and influence.
It was only natural he would have detailed information about her.
With that thought, Qiu Yihe gave a small nod and answered with a smile, "That's right. I'm Qiu Zheng's daughter."
Jiang Jianmin's usually stern face blossomed into a warm, kindly smile.
"Looks like I guessed right," he said softly. "Your eyes are the spitting image of your father when he was young. I haven't seen him in ages—wonder if he's gone gray and round."
Seeing the nostalgia in Jiang Jianmin's smile, Qiu Yihe was stunned.
She'd assumed Jiang Jianmin and the others were simply officials coming to offer condolences to her father, but the tone and expression on his face made her realize that wasn't the case.
Clearly, from his words, he and her father shared an extraordinary familiarity—something that couldn't be faked.
After pushing open the door of the villa, Qiu Yihe asked, "From your tone, you and my father are old friends? What should I call you?"
Jiang Jianmin nodded gently. "Your father and I are old friends. Just call me Uncle Jiang. This is your Aunt Li, and this is my son, Jiang Cheng."
Learning that Jiang Jianmin was her father's friend made the tension in Qiu Yihe's chest evaporate; her earlier nervousness vanished without a trace.
When she heard Jiang Cheng's name she even gave him a polite nod and a faint smile.
With his parents present, Jiang Cheng said nothing more.
He simply returned the nod in greeting, then began looking around the house.
The building was a small three-story Western-style house. The moment they stepped inside, a wave of warmth greeted them.
Yet this warmth was different from the dry heat produced by radiators.
It carried the faintest hint of wood-smoke, giving off a unique, cozy feeling.
After a quick glance, Jiang Cheng quickly identified the source of the steady warmth: a stylish fireplace in the center of the living room.
Bright flames danced cheerfully in the hearth, casting a charming glow and warmth.
Closer in, several plush little sofas were arranged neatly around the fireplace.
Their colors, varying from deep to light, complemented one another perfectly.
On one of the single sofas lay a black-and-yellow cat.
Perhaps the soft noise of everyone's entry had disturbed its slumber.
The cat sleepily stretched its limbs, stood up, and gave a small meow.
But when it saw Qiu Yihe nearby raise a finger to her lips in a hushing gesture,
it slowly settled back down, closed its eyes, and returned to its sweet dreams.
Qiu Yihe turned back with a bright, courteous smile and said softly, "Uncle Jiang, please sit. My father—"
Before she could finish, a low, slightly hoarse male voice came from the corridor in the corner.
"Xiao He, who is it?" The voice wasn't loud, but it carried the weight of years of weariness and experience.
Qiu Yihe quickly turned and called toward the voice, "Dad!"
At her shout, Jiang Jianmin immediately strode briskly in that direction.
As he hurried forward he called out, half eager, half uncertain, "Old Qiu??"
He'd taken only a few steps when a gaunt, disabled middle-aged man slowly wheeled himself into view at the bend of the stairs.
The man clearly hadn't expected to hear Jiang Jianmin's voice here.
He froze at the familiar call.
His hands, which had been pushing the wheels, stopped mid-motion.
The instant their eyes met, time seemed to stand still.
Jiang Jianmin's expression changed drastically.
The flush of excitement on his cheeks drained away as if struck by a winter wind, leaving his face pale as paper.
Worse, his usually steady hands began to tremble uncontrollably, the tremors growing stronger, as though revealing the shock and grief he could not suppress.
It wasn't just Jiang Jianmin; even Jiang Cheng beside him drew a sharp breath.
His eyes widened in stunned disbelief at the sight before him, a wave of indescribable shock surging through him.
The impact crashed over him like towering waves, one after another battering his defenses.
There in the wheelchair sat a man who had lost both feet, his empty trouser legs fluttering in the air, stark and desolate.
His right hand was severed halfway, the remaining stump hanging limply at his side.
Even more horrifying, his entire face and neck were covered in gruesome burn scars.
The twisted, crisscrossing marks seemed to recount an unspeakably tragic past.
Jiang Cheng shot a quick glance at Jiang Jianmin.
As expected, his father's eyes were already rimmed red, tears trembling on the edge of spilling over.
Looking at that face so heavy with sorrow it seemed it could drip water, grief beyond words.
Jiang Cheng felt his heart plunge with a dull thud.
A foreboding surged like a tide, sweeping in and drowning him whole.
Could the figure before him be Qiu Zheng, the best friend his father had grown up with?
If that were true, it was simply too heartbreaking to bear.
At the thought, Jiang Cheng shivered and instinctively looked at his father again.
Sure enough, Jiang Jianmin's eyes were crimson, tears rolling like a breached dam, ready to pour at any second.
As if fighting back a wave of emotion, his father's hands trembled uncontrollably.
His lips pressed into a tight line, as though making a final stand against inner agony.
But no matter how hard he clenched his teeth, the tears finally broke free.
They slid slowly down his cheeks.
Jiang Cheng turned instinctively toward his mother, Li Yan.
To his shock, even his ever-steadfast mom was pale as paper.
Tears fell like snapped strings of pearls; she could barely breathe for crying.
She had no strength left to comfort her devastated husband.
Not just Jiang Jianmin and Li Yan—even Qiu Zheng in the wheelchair was already sobbing uncontrollably.
Tears gushed like a burst dam.
He wept yet smiled, gaze fixed on Jiang Jianmin.
The laughter held the joy of reunion; the sobs carried every hardship, every grievance of years.
It was as if he meant to release every ounce of longing and pain stored up inside.
Neither man spoke; neither moved a step.
Only a few meters apart, they simply stared, letting hot tears stream down.
On Qiu Zheng's burn-scarred face, that suppressed, agonized look seemed almost terrifying.
Yet when Jiang Cheng saw his parents' tears falling non-stop.
And then noticed Qiu Zheng's wounds covering his body.
His own eyes reddened, his heart aching with boundless sorrow and pity.
Watching his father, Jiang Cheng was certain—this was Qiu Zheng.
He recalled Jiang Jianmin stopping at the mouth of the alley.
Then he'd thought his father was merely lost in memories of youth.
But seeing the broken Qiu Zheng, he realized he'd been wrong.
His father had halted out of fear, out of pain, and perhaps out of longing for days gone by...
Beside them, Qiu Yihe watched her own father sob in the wheelchair.
Coming to her senses, she hurried forward, gently rubbing Qiu Zheng's back.
"Dad, don't cry. Remember what the doctor said—you mustn't get too upset."
At her words, Jiang Jianmin's face went white, eyes full of worry for Qiu Zheng.
He knew he had to stay calm.
He drew several deep breaths, forcing his emotions under control.
Then he strode quickly to Qiu Zheng's side.
He knelt, wrapping his arms around the frail figure.
Voice trembling, he said, "Old Qiu, how did this happen... Stop crying. We have to be strong, listen to the doctor!"
Feeling that warm embrace, Qiu Zheng's heart flooded with heat.
He lifted his one good hand to clasp Jiang Jianmin's back.
Choked with tears, he said, "Never thought I'd see you again. Living was worth it..."
More tears slipped from the corners of his eyes.
Jiang Jianmin patted his shoulder in silent comfort.
Then he stood, moved behind the wheelchair, grasped the handles, and pushed Qiu Zheng toward the warm living room.
Neither spoke along the way, yet their feelings surged thick as tide-water in the air.
Once Qiu Zheng was settled, Jiang Jianmin finally looked closely at the friend who had once been so handsome and proud.
The sight stabbed his heart.
Qiu Zheng's scalp was bare, crossed by grotesque scars like marks left by demons.
Jiang Jianmin's face darkened, a murderous glint flashing in his once-gentle eyes.
Clenching his teeth against fury and grief, he demanded, "What happened? Your letter only said you were wounded and discharged—why are you hurt this badly??"