When it came to business, Jiang Cheng felt somewhat out of his depth, but when it came to love of country and kin, he could only say it ran in the family's blood.
Jiang Cheng gazed at the silent forest of stone tablets covering the mountain and understood.
Or rather, this did not belong to the Jiang Family alone.
It was a shared code carved into the marrow of every child of China.
On ordinary days it might sleep beneath firewood and rice, stay mute amid the grind of making a living, even be drowned out by worldly clamor.
But Jiang Cheng believed that, no matter which child of China it was,
as long as they stood on this land that had been soaked in blood again and again and quietly guarded by loyal souls,
facing that timeless, unrepentant sacrifice and silent watch,
the code deep in their soul would be instantly, violently activated, roaring like thunder.
Besides, as someone who had returned from rebirth, he knew too well how vital continuity was.
"It concerns the confidence and dignity we will possess at every concrete moment in the future."
Take Qiu Zheng's case: if his own Great-Grandfather's generation, in an era of extreme hardship, had not swallowed humiliation and spent their life's blood—even life itself—to open up, catch up, and lay the most basic industrial and technological foundations, Qiu Zheng might never have had a fighter jet of his own to fly.
Therefore, if his own generation shirked effort now,
seven or eight years from now, when certain forces swagger at sea and provoke us again, what right would we have to defend this hard-won peace and dignity?
What right would we have to send a hundred modern warships out at once, intimidating from a thousand li away with an iron torrent?
"Grandfather…" Jiang Cheng's throat tightened.
Hearing Jiang Cheng call him with a faint sob, the old man's shoulders lifted almost imperceptibly.
When he turned back, his face was calm again, yet the surging, burning relief in the depths of his eyes could no longer be hidden.
After one last look at the tombstone behind him, he spoke softly, "Let's go. The road down the mountain—you forged it yourself—keep walking it as you have. Just remember: from now on, when you look back, a light at home will always be on for you."
With that he stopped lingering, leaned on his cane, and strode steadily ahead.
His back was still straight, yet no longer lonely; like a mountain that had watched too long, finally seeing another peak rising.
Jiang Cheng stood where he was; the mountain wind rose again, stinging his slightly hot eyes.
From childhood, "Grandfather" had been only a title; there had never been real contact.
After arriving in the capital and learning his grandfather was no ordinary man, shock had been outweighed by respect for the status.
But today, on this pine-rustling slope, two mountain ranges completed their first resonance across decades.
This heart-to-heart talk flooded him with complex feelings of reconnected blood—profound understanding mixed with a hint of belated grievance.
Neither spoke on the way down until, at the fork where they were about to board the car, two other vehicles happened to pull up.
Great-Grandfather gave the cars only a glance and headed straight for the rear seat of his own.
But just as he was about to climb in, a shout came from behind: "Brother Jiang, good afternoon!"
Hearing this, his grandfather finally stopped and turned.
Jiang Cheng looked: from the front car an old man stepped out, together with a young man and a rather pretty girl about his own age.
From the second car emerged Qiu Yihe's maternal uncle, Qiu Wu.
The moment Qiu Wu saw Great-Grandfather his expression turned visibly awkward, as if caught red-handed.
He too called out, "Brother Jiang."
Lin Hong glanced at Qiu Wu, then walked up to Great-Grandfather and offered his hand. "Didn't expect to meet here—fate, indeed."
Great-Grandfather, calm, also extended his hand. "Brother Lin, you're here too. It's quiet—good for a walk."
"Yes. Brother Qiu was having tea at my place, so I invited him along to see an old friend."
Half a step behind, Qiu Wu's face stiffened and his eyelid twitched; he groaned inwardly, "I'm doomed."
The remark sounded casual, yet in the delicate atmosphere it was like tossing a pebble into still water.
The ripples weren't violent, but enough for the observant to note—and suspect.
Almost instinctively his gaze flicked to Great-Grandfather.
But the old man had weathered great storms; his expression remained unruffled, as though he hadn't heard the veiled allusion.
Only Qiu Wu knew how terrifying the undercurrent behind those eyes could be.
He hurried half a step forward, forcing an uneasy smile.
"Brother Jiang, it's… it's pure coincidence. I dropped by Brother Lin's for tea and a chat. Then he said he was coming here, and I thought… thought I ought to pay respects to the old commanders too, so I tagged along. Really… really just a coincidence."
He spoke hurriedly, stressing "coincidence" and "chat," trying to dilute any suspicion Lin Hong's words might have seeded.
His posture was humble, his eyes betraying barely perceptible tension and eagerness, lest he be taken as the one who "brought" the Lin family or as being too cozy with them.
Seeing Qiu Wu anxious, Lin Hong's expression didn't flicker.
He knew Qiu Wu still leaned toward his own grandfather compared with himself.
And indeed he himself had been actively courting Qiu Wu.
When Great-Grandfather gave no response, Lin Hong studied the old man's face.
His tone was solicitous, his cadence meaningful: "Brother Jiang, your complexion is much ruddier than when we met at New Year. I hear your health has improved wonderfully of late—those rumors weren't exaggerated; excellent indeed…"
The word "rumors" made his grandfather's brows twitch.
The medical team had delivered a detailed check-up report, and Great-Grandfather had ordered absolute secrecy.
So where had these "rumors" leaked from?
The old man's wrinkles, like wind-dried walnuts, showed no ripple; he released the handshake and spoke evenly.
"Same as ever—old bones. The weather's warmed, so I look more lively. You, though, still hale and hearty."
Lin Hong laughed, his gaze casually sweeping over Jiang Cheng.
He gave a slight nod to the quiet young man behind him.
At once the youth stepped forward, respectful yet unbowed.
He greeted Jiang Cheng's grandfather: "Grandfather, good day."
Jiang Cheng glanced over; the young man's voice rang clear, his manners flawless.
Yet Jiang Cheng's eyes rested more on the girl beside him.