The thin porridge she had drunk that morning was all vomited out. Chuntao felt so miserable that tears welled up in her eyes, her whole body weak as if boneless, unable even to stand steadily.
Yang Weiming quickly helped her sit on a chair, poured half a bowl of warm water, and handed it to her to rinse her mouth.
“Chuntao, are you ill?” His tone was filled with worry.
“It’s nothing…” Chuntao’s voice was barely a whisper, squeezing out two words through clenched teeth.
Afraid Yang Weiming might overthink, she added weakly, “I was so thirsty when I woke up this morning that I drank a bowl of cold water…”
Yang Weiming looked at her frail state, and suddenly recalled how his own wife used to retch and feel nauseous when she was pregnant.
Could Chuntao be carrying Zhou Zhijun’s child?
The more he thought about it, the more convinced he became—otherwise, why would Zhou Zhijun have hid her away in this remote mountain valley?
Pregnancy was both painful and precious; she should have been coddled and protected by her family.
Yet here Chuntao was, holed up in this desolate mountain hollow, and Yang Weiming’s heart felt as if something were twisting inside it, ache growing sharper.
Chuntao had always been timid, shy to the point of not daring to lift her head when meeting anyone—how could she have done something so reckless? He could hardly believe it.
“Tao, if it’s really bad, let me take you to the county hospital to see a doctor!”
“Honestly, it’s nothing!” Chuntao gritted her teeth and forced herself to endure, but her face betrayed her discomfort.
“Tao!”
Suddenly a familiar call came from outside the yard. Chuntao whipped her head around and saw Aunt Zhou already entering the yard, carrying a homespun cloth bundle, with Zhou Zhijun following behind.
Zhou Zhijun was pushing a bicycle, a blue cloth bag and a basket hanging from the handlebars, and a fertilizer sack tied to the back seat, stuffed full and bulging.
“Godmother!” Chuntao struggled to her feet, her steps unsteady as if treading on cotton.
Yang Weiming also stood up, his gaze falling on the mother and son as he quietly sized them up.
Zhou Zhijun caught sight of Yang Weiming at once, his eyes instantly darkening, his demeanor turning cold as ice.
The big yellow dog in the yard, seeing Aunt Zhou and Zhou Zhijun, didn’t bark but wagged its tail and stood up.
It rubbed against Zhou Zhijun’s trouser leg, then crouched beside him, watching him untie the things from the bike.
“Auntie,” Yang Weiming took the initiative to greet her.
But Aunt Zhou immediately grew wary. By his dress and appearance, this man was no mountain farmer—he looked like a state worker who ate from the public grain ration.
Who exactly was he?
Yang Weiming could read Aunt Zhou’s hesitation and said directly, “Auntie, I’m Yang Weiming from the county public security team. Chuntao and I are from the same village. I just happened to drop by to see her today. Don’t worry, there’s nothing else going on.”
Aunt Zhou’s brow furrowed almost imperceptibly. How did he know Chuntao was in Dongshan?
Though inwardly full of doubts, she smiled and said politely, “Thank you for going out of your way to come all this way. Please, sit down! I’ll pour you some water!”
“No need to trouble yourself, Auntie.”
Zhou Zhijun carried the fertilizer sack into the house, turned to Yang Weiming, and spoke with a politeness tinged with coldness, “Comrade Public Security Officer, you must be busy with official duties, yet you still found time to think of Chuntao. I appreciate your trouble coming all this way.
Chuntao is under my care now; she won’t suffer any more grievances. In the future, you needn’t trouble yourself.”
Yang Weiming sensed the hostility in Zhou Zhijun’s words and became all the more certain that his relationship with Chuntao was no ordinary one.
He knew in his heart that if Chuntao was pregnant with Zhou Zhijun’s child, without a marriage certificate and a birth permit, she couldn’t give birth.
Chuntao’s life had been bitter enough; such a situation, if true, was understandable.
A host of emotions churned in Yang Weiming’s mind. On a personal level, he had no right to meddle in Chuntao’s affairs.
Officially, he should report this matter, but for Chuntao’s sake, he couldn’t do that.
If Zhou Zhijun’s family could truly treat her well, he ought to be happy for Chuntao.
Seeing that it was nearly noon, Yang Weiming could only take his leave. “Chuntao, I’m leaving.”
Then to Aunt Zhou he said, “Auntie, you go ahead with your work. I’ll head back now.”
Aunt Zhou hurried to urge him to stay, “It’s almost noon—stay and eat before you go!”
“No need. I hitched a ride on a work vehicle, and the driver might already be waiting at the turnoff.”
With that, Yang Weiming stepped out, but Zhou Zhijun quickly caught up.
“Officer Yang!”
He caught up in two strides and came straight to the point. “Officer Yang, you didn’t just happen to pass by today, did you?”
Zhou Zhijun wasn’t stupid. He had long seen that Yang Weiming had feelings for Chuntao; why else would he go to the trouble of finding her in these deep mountains?
Yang Weiming didn’t try to hide it, admitting frankly, “I came today specifically to see Chuntao.”
No sooner had he spoken than Zhou Zhijun said, “The mountain roads are rough. Don’t bother in the future. I’ll take good care of her.”
Yang Weiming couldn’t very well ask Chuntao directly, but Zhou Zhijun was a man, and between men there was nothing that couldn’t be said openly.
He stopped walking, met Zhou Zhijun’s icy gaze, and sharpened his own eyes. “I have just one question. You must answer me truthfully!”
Zhou Zhijun replied tersely, “Speak!”
“Is Chuntao pregnant?”
Zhou Zhijun held Yang Weiming’s gaze and answered in a low voice, “Yes.”
His eyes locked on Yang Weiming’s face, waiting for his reaction.
Yang Weiming knew that he and Chuntao were never meant to be, but upon hearing this confirmation, his heart still ached uncontrollably.
As a public security officer with a military background, he had strong emotional control. Though waves surged within him, not a trace showed on his face.
“How far along?”
“Almost two months.”
“Aren’t you afraid I’ll report this to the family planning office?”
“You won’t,” Zhou Zhijun said with absolute certainty.
“Why?”
“Intuition.”
“And if your intuition is wrong?”
“I’ll take the fall.”
Yang Weiming had heard that Zhou Zhijun was an upright and honest man; now he saw it was true.
Yang Weiming looked at him and said gravely, “You take the fall. If something happens to you, what will become of Chuntao?”
This was precisely why Zhou Zhijun dared to be honest—he was certain Yang Weiming would never harm Chuntao.
“Take good care of her. I hope she’ll have a good life from now on, that she won’t have to suffer like before.”
Having said that, he turned and walked away, his back ramrod straight, but his eyes had secretly reddened.
That was the girl he had held in his heart since childhood—and now she was carrying another man’s child… The pain in his chest grew ever sharper.
He raised a hand to wipe the sweat from his brow, when behind him came Zhou Zhijun’s firm and powerful voice, “I’ll make sure she’s happy!”
Watching Yang Weiming’s retreating figure, a hint of relieved smile tugged at the corner of Zhou Zhijun’s mouth.
Chuntao belongs to me, Zhou Zhijun. I will protect her and cherish her for the rest of my life.
In the main room, Chuntao sat on her chair, but her heart was pounding with anxiety.
The way Zhou Zhijun had looked at Yang Weiming just now had been terrifyingly cold, raising goosebumps on her skin. What had he chased after him to say?
With that fiery temper of his, what if he got into a conflict with Yang Weiming?
“Tao? What are you thinking about?” Aunt Zhou came out of the kitchen carrying a winnowing basket of wood ash and poured it over the spot where Chuntao had vomited.
Then she handed over a bowl of hot water. “Drink some hot water to warm your stomach.”
Looking at Chuntao’s pale, bloodless face, Aunt Zhou’s heart ached with pity. She added, “Tao, I’m sorry you have to go through this.”
As she spoke, she pulled a handful of red dates from her cloth bag, picked one up, and held it to Chuntao's lips. "Taste it—it's sweet."
Chuntao had just emptied her stomach completely and was now feeling hungry, but the sight of the plump red dates did nothing to stir her appetite. She simply shook her head.
"Mother, Tao!" Zhou Zhijun strode into the room, sweat beading on his forehead.
His eyes swept over Chuntao's nervous, uncertain face before he turned to Aunt Zhou and said in a low voice, "Mother, could you step outside for a moment..."
Aunt Zhou was startled for a second, then a knowing smile crept into the corners of her eyes. She thought to herself, this boy is just like his father—impatient!
She pulled Zhou Zhijun into the yard, lowered her voice, and scolded him, half in jest, "No matter how eager you are, you can't just rush into things!"
