Yu Hao stood stunned, not taking the phone.

Instructor Tang pushed the phone closer to her. Seeing Yu Hao’s lack of response, he gave her an impatient look, urging her repeatedly until Yu Hao finally reached out slowly to take the phone.

The cafeteria was crowded but quiet. Soldiers kept their heads down, eating attentively. Occasionally, one could hear Sun Kai teasing Zhao Dailin, with Instructor Tang joining in the laughter. Zhao Dailin shot them a deadly glare. Sun Kai patted the shoulder of the soldier beside him, saying Zhao Dailin couldn’t get married for a reason.

Zhao Dailin retorted sharply, saying it wasn’t surprising, considering even he could find a wife.

The young soldier caught in the middle pressed his chopsticks to his lips, looking bewildered, glancing back and forth, not daring to offend either side. He finally decided to keep quiet and earnestly lower his head to eat.

Sun Kai and Zhao Dailin continued as if they’d consumed gunpowder, exchanging words, giving as good as they got, their verbal sparring unrelenting.

All of this seemed unchanged.

It was as if she could see Lu Huaizheng sitting nearby, watching the two of them argue while shaking his head and silently mocking them.

She placed the phone against her ear.

Her heart pounded, an inexplicable nervousness making her voice slightly tense as if a thorn were stuck in her throat. Softly, she said: “Hello.”

The signal wasn’t good; she could only hear intermittently.

Yu Hao pulled the phone away to check—the call hadn’t dropped—then put it back to her ear, saying “hello” several times. There was still no response from the other end, only the occasional sound of background noise, but Lu Huaizheng wasn’t speaking. Yu Hao grew frustrated—was this truly a case of good things coming with difficulty? Just now Instructor Tang had no problems, but when it came to her, even saying a few words became an issue. As she was thinking this, the call disconnected…

Right after it dropped.

The phone beeped with an incoming text message.

“Just accidentally passed through a restricted network area, wait a bit.”

Yu Hao waited half an hour. Instructor Tang had finished his meal, but Lu Huaizheng still hadn’t called back.

In the afternoon.

The leaves hung low, and the wind howled, like a wolf’s cry in the deep mountains, rattling the windows with a clanging sound. The weather was getting colder and colder.

Yu Hao was in her office, reviewing Lu Huaizheng’s previous medical records and regular psychological monitoring data.

She realized that besides these medical data, she had almost nothing else related to him.

Sometimes she would look at these data for half a day.

Lu Huaizheng, male, 28, 184cm. Graduate of the Air Force Command Academy. All other information is classified.

Below that were his evaluation data from flight missions and post-battle assessments over the years, as well as treatment records from two years ago.

Beside it was attached a one-inch red-background photo of Lu Huaizheng in his light blue Air Force uniform, wearing a cap, meticulously dressed with a properly tied necktie and buttoned collar. His facial features were clear and clean, looking very serious as he gazed at the camera.

It must have been taken when he first enlisted. His face was particularly fair. Looking closely now, Yu Hao noticed a very faint mole at the corner of his eye, almost imperceptible. She hadn’t noticed it before. Compared to the past, she preferred how Lu Huaizheng looked now. In high school, he had been somewhat unruly, with a youthful temperament, often whining to her when slightly wronged—completely childish.

Now he was mature and composed, his appearance even more striking than before. Having shed his youthful immaturity, his eyes were deeper than in those years, yet intriguing, captivating to the bone. He never complained of hardship or fatigue, understood righteousness, recognized the ways of the world, and showed compassion for flowers and trees. He just made people want to care for him.

And he looked best in uniform.

Yu Hao stared at the one-inch photo, unable to resist gently stroking it with her hand.

“Bang!” The window was suddenly closed by someone.

Yu Hao looked up to see Zhao Dailin shutting the window and coming toward her. Startled, Yu Hao hastily began gathering the materials.

Zhao Dailin pressed them down with one hand.

“Don’t rush.”

“Huh?”

Zhao Dailin sighed, crossed her arms, and leaned against the edge of the desk. “I just called Professor Han and reported about Lu Huaizheng. Professor Han said we shouldn’t report this to the leadership for now.”

“Why?”

Zhao Dailin explained: “Professor Han just objectively analyzed this with me. We still only understand part of the situation. Perhaps Di Yanni didn’t use the wrong medication; perhaps we’re overcompensating. Her paper that year did cause quite a stir in academic circles. Do you remember those professors who supported her? There was a famous foreign psychology PhD, Marcy Eddie, remember? He once replied to your email. He also replied to Di Yanni, and she showed it off on social media. Marcy Eddie expressed strong support for her viewpoint and admired her scientific attitude. In the email, he excitedly gave Di Yanni two ‘perfects.’ If we oppose this view, it means standing against half the academic community. Are you prepared for that? Do you want to push Professor Han into the spotlight?”

Marcy Eddie was indeed a professor who loved responding to emails.

Yu Hao said jokingly: “If science takes this attitude, how many people will become experimental sacrifices? Senior Zhao, I thought we were alike.” At this, Yu Hao turned away in disappointment.

Zhao Dailin sneered: “Academic issues are inherently controversial. It’s just that Di Yanni is too bold and radical in practice, and how many of those supporting voices are originally targeting Professor Han? Do you know?”

Academic discussions often involve confrontation. Han Zhichen had a straightforward personality and was difficult to deal with even in his youth. In old age, he became even more direct. His attitude toward science remained consistent, but he was a thorn in the side of certain people.

“I can publish a paper under my name.”

Zhao Dailin reminded her: “But you’re still in Professor Han’s laboratory.”

“Then I can leave Professor Han’s laboratory.” Yu Hao said stubbornly.

Zhao Dailin was completely stunned. She took a deep breath to calm herself, leaned against the desk, and tried to speak as calmly as possible: “I’m not saying we shouldn’t do anything. I just think this matter requires careful planning. We can’t be impulsive. I read the paper you wrote overnight yesterday—the language is intense and critical, not at all your usual style. Haven’t I warned you before? Even when you fall in love with someone, you shouldn’t lose yourself.”

“I haven’t lost myself,” Yu Hao smiled bitterly, turning her face away uncomfortably. “And I haven’t fallen in love with anyone yet.”

“Stop being stubborn. How many times have you checked your phone this afternoon? Should I remind you?”

Yu Hao remained silent.

Seeing her softened attitude, Zhao Dailin also moderated her tone. “I’m not saying we won’t fight this battle. Do you think Professor Han is afraid of trouble? Back then, he offended so many people for the anti-depression experiment; how could he be afraid of offending Di Yanni now? If you want to fight, we’ll fight alongside you. What does half the academic circle matter? But Lu Huaizheng can’t know about this.”

Yu Hao wasn’t stupid; she could figure it out.

If it were her, and she was suddenly told two years later that the treatment she had once received might have involved unauthorized use of high doses of medication, what would she feel as the person involved?

She wouldn’t let him bear this pressure.

She just felt sorry for him. She nodded almost imperceptibly.

Zhao Dailin added, “Regarding the leadership, Professor Han said to give him some time. We need more data to explain. Lu Huaizheng is also Li Hongwen’s favorite, and Professor Han is afraid Li Hongwen won’t accept it. So this matter can’t be rushed; both sides need time.”

“I understand.”

Zhao Dailin rubbed her head and went out to call Professor Han.

Yu Hao sat in the office all afternoon. The wind outside seemed to grow stronger. Beyond the tightly closed windows, a fierce gale blew, carrying sand and stones. As darkness fell, the north wind and tree shadows reflected on the glass window, like a wild beast trapped in place, frantically dancing on the windowpane with ferocious gestures.

The phone on the desk rang.

It was Lu Huaizheng.

She took a deep breath and answered.

The familiar voice from the other end of the phone made her want to cry after so long. “Yu Hao.”

Her toes aimlessly rubbed against the floor. Yu Hao quietly sniffled, slightly raised her head to force back tears, and holding the phone, gave a soft “Mm.”

There was a pause from the other end.

“Are you crying?”

“…”

Did he have to be so sensitive?

Yu Hao didn’t speak.

“Say something.” He sounded urgent.

“Why are you being fierce?” Yu Hao muttered softly.

She thought he would tease her again, but unexpectedly, he gave a gentle laugh, then sincerely apologized to her: “I’m sorry, I’ve gotten used to shouting at people these past few years.”

Yu Hao lowered her head and said, “You don’t need to apologize to me.”

There was a moment of silence.

“Then why are you crying?”

“Because I miss you,” she said, half-truthfully.

Lu Huaizheng hadn’t expected Yu Hao to be so straightforward. He suddenly didn’t know how to respond, pressing his lips together in a smile, and finally managed to squeeze out the words, “I don’t believe you.”

“You said you’d call me, so I waited all afternoon. See, didn’t I answer as soon as the phone rang once?”

She had answered before the ring even finished.

After the signal cut out, he had been dragged away by Li Hongwen to investigate local conditions in a nearby village. The villagers were enthusiastic, insisting they stay for a meal before letting them leave. Li Hongwen was unpretentious; he liked to take off his jacket, sit at people’s doorsteps, and chat about anything—this year’s harvest, livestock breeding—while Lu Huaizheng accompanied him. They visited one home after another, discussing everything. The villagers were hospitable, insisting on slaughtering a chicken for Li Hongwen as a drinking snack. Li Hongwen said not to trouble themselves and happily ate some pickled vegetables and radishes. The grandmother, seeing Lu Huaizheng in his training uniform, a strong young man, insisted her husband butcher the chicken, saying this child couldn’t possibly be satisfied with just pickled vegetables and radishes. Lu Huaizheng spent a long time persuading her before she finally spared the chicken.

By the time they left the village, it was nearly six o’clock.

Only then did he immediately take out his phone to call her.

“The leader took me on an unscheduled visit.”

“Oh.”

Lu Huaizheng stood outside the building, one hand holding the phone, one foot resting on the steps, head lowered as he coaxed her: “Are you angry?”

“When did you make that colored sand?” Yu Hao asked instead.

Lu Huaizheng put his other hand in his pocket, and tilted his head to look at the sky, narrowing his eyes as he earnestly recalled.

On the day of her competition, Lu Huaizheng truly hadn’t finished making it yet. At first, he didn’t realize how difficult it would be to color sand. After using ordinary colored markers, he found the coloring wasn’t uniform, and it faded after just two washes.

Later, he specifically followed a glazing master to learn and discovered how complex the process was.

The sand had to be thoroughly soaked, then colored with a flat brush, repeatedly soaked in clean water, coated with clear varnish, dried, and then repeatedly moistened with clean water again. The entire process was very complicated. By the time he finished, Yu Hao’s competition was already over. He felt quite embarrassed at the time, so he didn’t give it to her.

But over the years, he always remembered how he felt when making that sand for her.

At that time, he truly felt that, in the whole world, something unique, he had to give it to her—not to anyone else, no one else could have it.

But these feelings, there was no need for her to know now.

“After your competition ended.”

Yu Hao gave another long “Oh.”

Neither of them spoke again.

Yu Hao tested the waters: “Should I hang up then?”

She heard him laugh softly from the other end, his voice mysteriously alluring: “Do you miss me, Yu Hao?”

“Have I ever lied to you?”

“No, you haven’t.” He exhaled, seemingly smoking. She could imagine the look in his eyes when he smoked.

Lu Huaizheng put out his cigarette, withdrew the foot he had placed on the step, and ground out the cigarette butt.

Yu Hao heard his voice, Accompanied by the howling wind, yet exceptionally clear, as if piercing through clouds and moon, along with the surging flow of past years, completely penetrating her ears.

“I miss you too. Very, very much.”

“I’m not talking about today, but every day of these past twelve years.”

He added.