I knew from a young age that I was not my parents’ biological child, but neither I nor they considered this an important matter, nor did it affect our closeness in the slightest.

I was born in Pingdu Pass. My birth parents both died in that war. I was still too young then and suffered too great a shock, so later I couldn’t remember what they looked like, or even my own original name. But Mother told me that no parents would blame their child – they would watch over me from heaven, and as long as I was happy, that would be enough.

I also had an adoptive father who saved my life amid thousands of soldiers. Mother often spoke to me about him – about his learning, his character, how he single-handedly saved an entire city’s people. As she spoke, her eyes would become misty, and then she would turn away to cry secretly. I knew they all missed him very much. Actually, I missed him too. I always remembered how in that final moment, he gently stroked my hair, his eyes filled with calming strength, and said: “Don’t cry. Live well.” Then he ran out. I hid in the haystack listening to the sounds of battle outside. I was very afraid but didn’t dare cry out loud, yet I remembered those last words he said. Later I studied hard and tried to do many useful things, because this was my promise to him.

When I was seven, Mother gave birth to a younger brother. I had never seen her look so happy. The next year, Mother had a sister and third brother. Our home became increasingly lively. They all loved me as their big brother, following behind me chattering every day, asking me to play with them, while Mother would watch us and smile foolishly. I was curious and ran over to ask why she was smiling. She hugged me and gently rested her chin on my head, saying: “Because Mother never imagined she could watch you all gathered around me like this. Sometimes I’m really afraid this is all a dream.” I felt something cool falling on my hair. Only later did I learn that a person can shed tears when joy reaches its peak.

My mother smiled most happily at two times – when looking at us, and when looking at Father. But when looking at Father, her smile was somehow different – no longer just filled with gentleness and loving kindness, but tinged with a young girl’s bashfulness. Even after we all grew up and married, her manner toward Father never changed.

If you mentioned my father in Qingzhou City, no one would fail to show reverent expressions. Everyone praised how the Loyal and Brave King struck terror into the barbarians on the battlefield and implemented benevolent policies that gave people in several states good lives. But in my eyes, Father was nothing like the lofty figure people described. Every time Mother put on a stern face, he would anxiously scratch his ears and cheeks, begging us to intercede for him, and trying various ways to amuse her and win her favor.

I often heard people discuss how strange it was that Father, being a prince, had only one principal consort. Some local gentry, trying to curry favor with him, would secretly send beautiful women to him, but he threw them all out and gave those gentry quite a hard time. After that, no one dared send women to him anymore.

Many people didn’t understand how my seemingly gentle and weak mother, whose appearance wasn’t particularly outstanding, could have such a hold over the Loyal and Brave King. Only I could see that Father actually couldn’t live without Mother – Mother was even more important to him than we were. Sometimes when Mother went to Yunchong Mountain to visit Aunt Cui, he would become particularly irritable, like he’d lost his soul. When Mother returned, he would drag her into their room and not let her come out – who knows how he “punished” her.

I also knew a little secret about my parents. Every so often they would arrange to watch the sunset together on the mountain – during those times, no one was allowed to disturb them. Once when little sister suddenly developed a fever, I went looking for them where the servants directed me, and happened to encounter them at the foot of the mountain. I saw Father carrying Mother down the mountain. The pale red sunset cast their shadows among the flowers and grass covering the mountainside. Mother lay on Father’s back laughing like a shy little girl, occasionally whispering something in his ear. Father just listened intently and smiled gently, as if his eyes could only hold Mother alone. I stood there in a daze, somewhat reluctant to step forward and disturb them.

When they came closer, I heard Mother laughing and saying: “I’m getting older and older – I’m afraid you won’t be able to carry me much longer.”

But Father raised an eyebrow and said: “How can you look down on your husband like that! How could I not be able to carry you? As long as my legs can still walk, even if I need a walking stick, I’ll keep carrying you forever.”

I saw Mother smile sweetly. The setting sun gradually lengthened their shadows, and that scene lodged in my heart forever, helping me understand what happiness truly looks like.

Oh yes, I also have an aunt in the capital. She sometimes comes to Qingzhou City to visit us, and each time she complains about what her husband has done to make her so angry she left home. But I can tell she’s actually very happy, because when she mentions that man, though her tone is full of reproach, even the corners of her eyes hint at hidden smiles. When I turned fifteen, Aunt brought my cousin Xia Wanrou. It was March then, and she stood in a field of flowers, her eyes curved in a smile as she softly called me “Big Brother.” In that moment, I suddenly found what I truly wanted to pursue.

Later I told Mother I wanted to go to the capital. When she understood why, she stroked my head with great relief and said: “My little Zhuzi has finally grown up.” Then she seemed to think of something and said softly: “If your adoptive father knew how bravely you’re pursuing what you want, he would surely be proud of you too.” I felt like Mother was remembering something, and her expression became sorrowful and wistful. I didn’t know why she looked that way – perhaps that’s another story altogether.

When I was twenty, I finally married Wanrou. Though her father was very fierce and used many methods to make things difficult for me, fortunately we remained steadfast and didn’t miss each other. A year after our marriage, Wanrou became pregnant. Just as we were overjoyed about the coming new life, something major happened in Qingzhou City. I received a letter from the frontier saying Father had been severely wounded in battle and had been unconscious for several days.

My aunt and I brought Wanrou back to Qingzhou City. When I saw Mother again, I could hardly believe that the gentle, strong mother I knew could become like this. Her cheeks were deeply sunken, her eyes had lost all light, as if her entire world had emptied.

As soon as she saw me return, she rushed over and hugged me tightly, but she said nothing and didn’t cry. From the time I returned, I never saw her shed a single tear. Even when little aunt cried at Father’s bedside for a long time, Mother just sat beside him in a daze, staring at Father. Those hollow eyes only showed a hint of gentle light when they fell on Father, but it quickly sank back into a hopeless abyss.

After I returned, I stayed with Mother constantly, but as Father’s unconsciousness dragged on, Mother became more and more silent and thin. Once I heard Mother talking to Father. She said: “You must be pretending to be unconscious to trick me again, just like that other time. Wake up quickly, or I’ll really get angry!”

As she spoke, she deliberately put on a stern expression, but she waited a long time and Father didn’t wake up to coax her like before. I watched her face change gradually from hope to despair, and then her whole person just collapsed. That wasn’t the mother I knew at all – it was as if her very soul had drained away with Father’s.

After several more days, Mother called my siblings and me to her side and very calmly explained all of Father’s properties. She even smiled and stroked our heads, saying: “You’ve all grown up and have your own families and careers. I can rest easy now.” At that moment I suddenly felt very frightened, because I clearly realized that if Father really passed away, Mother probably wouldn’t survive either.

A few days later, little sister ran to me in panic, saying Mother had disappeared. I suddenly thought of where Mother might go. So I ran to the back mountain, and sure enough, when I climbed to the summit, I saw Mother sitting on a rock, gazing blankly at the setting sun in the distance. Under the brilliant sunset clouds, her silhouette looked so lonely and desolate. I finally heard her crying – I had never seen Mother cry so heartbrokenly. Her voice sounded broken and fragmented in the wind: “I’m sorry, A’Du. I promised you that even if you weren’t here, I would live well, but now I’ve discovered I simply cannot do it. I’m sorry…”

My heart panicked, so I rushed up and hugged her tightly, telling her that Father would definitely wake up and wouldn’t leave us. After a long time, Mother finally calmed down. She tidied her hair that had been blown about by the breeze and showed a resilient expression again: “Yes, he surely can’t bear to see us sad for him, and can’t abandon those people. He will definitely wake up!”

Only later did I learn that during that period, the people of several states were all praying for Father’s recovery. They flocked to temples and set up longevity tablets at home, praying that heaven would let the Loyal and Brave King wake up soon. Looking at those devout people, I suddenly felt proud of Father. He often told me that no matter when, we must remember to put the people’s hearts first. And now, his people hadn’t forgotten him and constantly remembered everything he had done for them.

Perhaps those prayers really worked, or perhaps he heard Mother’s ceaseless day and night calls. After being unconscious for half a month, Father finally woke up. The moment he opened his eyes, Mother seemed to come alive again too. Father reached out to touch her face and asked why she had become so thin – those were the first words he spoke after his coma. But Mother just gripped his hand and asked softly: “Have I become very ugly?”

I saw Father smile and say: “Not ugly. You’ll never be ugly.”

After Father could walk again, they resumed going to the mountain to watch sunsets. Worried about Father’s health, I secretly followed behind them. When climbing the mountain, Father insisted on carrying Mother, but Mother smiled and shook her head, saying: “From now on, I’ll help you walk.” Looking at their tightly clasped hands, I suddenly understood something: their lives had always been tightly intertwined, gaining color because of each other. They would continue walking together like this – even death couldn’t separate them.

Later Wanrou and I stayed with my parents for a long time, until Wanrou’s child was born. It was a boy, white and chubby and very adorable. I asked Mother to give him a name, but she smiled and shook her head, saying this should be decided by us.

Oh yes, my name was chosen by Mother. That year at Pingdu Pass I forgot what my parents looked like and forgot my original name. Mother said since my adoptive father saved me with his life, I should take his surname Luo.

My name is: Luo Huai’en.