It slid slowly down his cheek.
Jiang Cheng instinctively turned to look at his mother, Li Yan.
To his shock, even his ever-steel mom was now paper-white.
Tears rained down like snapped strings of pearls; she could barely breathe through her sobs.
She had no strength left to notice the grief-stricken husband beside her.
Not just Jiang Jianmin and Li Yan—even Qiu Zheng in his wheelchair was already weeping uncontrollably.
Tears burst free like a dam giving way.
He cried, yet smiled, eyes locked on Jiang Jianmin.
In that laughter was the wild joy of reunion; in those sobs, every hardship, torment, and grievance of the intervening years.
It was as if he meant to vent every ounce of longing and pain suppressed for decades.
Neither man spoke, neither moved a single step.
Only a few metres apart, they simply stared, scalding tears streaming down their faces.
On Qiu Zheng's badly burned features, that agony looked almost grotesque.
Yet when Jiang Cheng saw his parents' tears falling nonstop.
And then the scars covering Qiu Zheng.
His own eyes reddened, his heart brimming with aching sympathy.
Watching his father, Jiang Cheng was certain: this was Qiu Zheng.
He remembered Jiang Jianmin halting at the mouth of the alley.
Then he'd thought his father was lost in memories of youthful days.
Now, seeing the broken man in the wheelchair, he knew he'd been wrong.
His father's pause had been fear, sorrow, reluctance—perhaps also longing for a past he couldn't release... Qiu Yihe watched her father sob.
Coming back to herself, she stepped forward, expression a mix of reserve and heartache.
She patted Qiu Zheng's back. "Dad, stop crying. Remember what the doctor said—no excitement."
The gesture made Jiang Cheng frown.
There was stiffness between Qiu Yihe and her father; their bond seemed ordinary at best.
Unlike the easy, warm way he himself interacted with his parents.
Jiang Jianmin's face drained of colour; he looked at Qiu Zheng in dread.
He knew he had to stay calm.
He dragged in several deep breaths, forcing back the collapse.
Then he strode to Qiu Zheng's side.
Knelt, wrapped his arms around the frail body.
Voice trembling, thick with care: "Old Qiu, how did this happen... Don't cry, we have to be strong, listen to the doctor!"
The embrace sent warmth through Qiu Zheng.
He lifted his one good arm and returned the hug.
Choked up: "Never thought I'd see you again. Living wasn't for nothing..."
Fresh tears slipped free.
Jiang Jianmin patted his shoulder, offering silent comfort.
Then stood, moved behind the chair, grasped the handles, and wheeled Qiu Zheng toward the warm living room.
They went in silence, yet emotion surged between them like tides.
Once Qiu Zheng was settled, Jiang Jianmin studied the man who had once been dashing and full of life.
The sight stabbed his heart.
Qiu Zheng's scalp was bald, cross-hatched with savage scars like a demon's graffiti.
Jiang Jianmin's face darkened; murderous glint flashed in his gentle eyes.
Clenching his lips, he fought rage and grief. "What happened? Your letter only said you were wounded and discharged—why like this?"
Seeing Jiang Jianming's red-rimmed, burning eyes, Qiu Zheng mastered himself.
He drew a steadying breath and said calmly: "Sit first, don't stand there—sister-in-law, Xiao Jiang, you too."
Jiang Cheng nodded politely. "Thank you, Uncle Qiu."
Seated, Jiang Jianmin still burst out: "What exactly happened?"
Qiu Zheng lowered his head, silent, then began.
He coughed softly, lifted his head, and in a low, husky voice continued.
"After you left the capital I became a pilot, an ace at thirty-six. In '16 I even wrote you a letter—never sent it."
"What letter?"
"My last will."
The word flashed through Jiang Jianmin's mind; he said in anguish: "Last will? 2016? So this happened on that sea mission?"
Qiu Zheng gave a weary nod.
"Yes. Pretty Country had assembled two carriers with 150 fighters, five cruisers, seven destroyers, one supply ship, right on our coastline."
"Below them several attack subs, and 300 nautical miles out two more ships with three thousand marines. They vowed to seize our islands and missile our inland airfields."
Jiang Jianmin looked at Qiu Zheng's reddened eyes and nodded grimly.
"I remember—the biggest stand-off since WWII. Our home-built carrier hadn't launched; the refitted one wasn't combat-ready. Pretty Country's navy tops the world; even on our doorstep the odds were grim."
Qiu Zheng's good hand clenched, as if back in that moment.
"We threw every hull we had at the coast—every last ship."
His voice shook; the memory still seared.
"Four admirals took the front; we all wrote ourselves off..."
"No one flinched; retirees rushed back the instant the recall arrived."
"We each wrote our last will, were issued body bags, ready to die."