At those words, every gaze that had been fixed on Ergou snapped toward Jiang Cheng, eyes wide with astonishment.
Watching Ergou nimbly complete his triple-jump, Qiu Yihe's lips curved into a gentle smile.
She popped open the tin of dog food she'd been clutching and set it gently on the ground.
Qiu Yihe slowly crouched, the movement neat yet tinged with loneliness.
Her voice, husky but soft, drifted out: "I just told you why I chose Ergou—because I've never felt safe. Ever since I was little, I was a left-behind child."
As the words fell, she bowed her head.
Silky strands of hair slid forward, perfectly masking the fleeting, almost invisible grief that had flashed across her face.
There she stayed, crouched beside Ergou, long fingers stroking his head again and again.
Her face was shadowed, eyes filled with memories and a quiet ache.
Crouched like that, her petite frame looked barely larger than the lively beagle beside her.
She seemed a child in need of protection, yet stubbornly guarding her own small world.
"So much security…" Qiu Yihe murmured.
The words sounded half to herself, half to Ergou, as if confiding the deepest tremor of her heart.
Jiang Cheng watched her silently, an unconscious mix of curiosity and concern surfacing in his gaze.
Another girl carrying wounds, he thought.
Ergou wagged his tail happily, wolfing down his favorite food with gusto.
Qiu Yihe spoke again, envy and yearning threading her voice.
"Police dogs have it hard compared with pets—they train for every task, every reward. Their world is clear rules and sharp boundaries, praise and punishment laid out in black and white. It sounds cruel, but it's the life I envy…"
Jiang Cheng's brows snapped together; his relaxed face turned grave.
"Envy?"
"From the time I could remember, it was just Grandma and me. My father trained year-round with the army—rare homecomings, and every visit brought nothing but criticism."
Her voice trembled, emotion surging at the memories.
After a pause she lifted her chin, as if seeing Grandma before her. A flicker of longing sparked, then dimmed.
"Grandma always said Dad scored top of his grade. If I matched him, I could reach the capital like he did."
"He was my hero. He phoned once a month. Once I told him I'd come second in the whole grade and asked for a toy as encouragement—he only mocked me and told me to work harder."
Her eyes reddened; her voice cracked.
"I was heartbroken, but I kept studying, thinking: next time, if I rank first, Dad will surely reward me."
Seeing the bitterness at her lips, Jiang Cheng sighed inwardly.
He could already guess the ending.
The odd tension between Qiu Yihe and her father—distance laced with guilt and defiance—had been obvious.
Sure enough, she continued.
"When I finally placed first, Dad told me not to be arrogant and asked how many times I'd failed before…" Her voice dropped, heavy with loss.
"As a child I envied others. My father was outstanding, we weren't poor, yet he never once rewarded me—or even hugged me."
Tears burst free, streaming down her pale cheeks.
Jiang Cheng felt something choke in his throat.
He'd never been good at comforting family wounds.
"If you need a hug, little sis, I'm right here."
Still drowning in sorrow, Qiu Yihe froze—then burst into laughter.
Yet tear-tracks glimmered on her cheeks.
The laugh shook more drops loose, a comical, heart-tugging sight.
Surprise at his words and warmth at being cared for mingled in her smile.
She laughed and swatted at him. "Get lost!"
Unoffended, Jiang Cheng grinned and moved to Ergou's other side.
He blinked, half-teasing. "So you chose this career just to spite your dad?"
She shook her head without hesitation.
"Of course not—I'm not that childish!"
Noticing his sweeping appraisal, as if he meant to say "yes, you are," she straightened defiantly.
The motion drew attention to her striking curves, and whatever Jiang Cheng had been about to say lodged in his throat.
He cleared it and asked, "So you truly love being a cop?"
She nodded, gaze clouded with mixed feelings.
"I used to resent Dad—even when he finally came home changed. I even thought my mother had been right to leave him. He was always domineering, always putting me down. But today, hearing what he said, I admire him."
"All these years he never mentioned it. I was shaken, moved—I wanted to comfort him, to tell him: I'm proud of you. Because of your battle, Huaxia has known peace for more than a decade."
Yes, the people live free of war's chaos thanks to silent soldiers on the front line.
Each confrontation bought with their lives.
Had they faltered, Pretty Country would have seized the chance to force Huaxia to yield its sea lanes.
Then coastal folk—and every fisherman—would face untold danger.
Jiang Cheng nodded. "Uncle Qiu may not be a perfect father, but he's a fine soldier."
Compared with Qiu Yihe, Jiang Cheng felt fresh gratitude for his own parents.
No one chooses their birth, their parents' values, or their family's circumstances.
And that, he knew, creates the world they live in.