Zhou Zhennan and Zhou Huaian were outside, clearing the snow from the path once more.

Some spots had been trampled into ice by pedestrians, and they took turns breaking it up with a shovel. Afterward, they hauled all the snow out of the yard.

Zhou Zhennan looked surprised. "Does it always snow this much here in the winter?"

Zhou Huaian nodded. "Pretty much every year. Sometimes heavy snow blocks the mountain passes for weeks. Supplies have to be delivered ahead of time."

Zhou Zhennan frowned thoughtfully. "With this much snow, there shouldn't be a drought. When all this melts in spring, couldn't it irrigate the fields?"

"It's the soil," Zhou Huaian explained. "The mountains are mostly rock—they don't hold water. Spring is usually dry, so drought is common."

Zhou Zhennan rested his hands on the shovel handle and looked at his son. "I've always regretted not being there as you grew up. You could have had so much more."

Zhou Huaian didn't seem bothered. "I'm content with how things are. There's no changing the past. We're doing fine now—I'm happy."

He had his family, his wife, and a child on the way. That was enough.

It was the first time his son had spoken so openly with him. Zhou Zhennan felt a swell of emotion. There had always been something unspoken between them—a cautious distance, a reluctance to overstep. They treated each other politely, almost formally. Ironically, Zhou Huaian seemed more at ease with Lin Xiaoxiao's family.

Zhou Zhennan felt old, sentimental. His eyes grew moist. "You're right. We're doing well. Having the family together is what matters."

After a pause, Zhou Huaian said quietly, "If anything, I'm the one who made things harder for you."

Life here was nothing like Beijing. The housing was poor, winter meals were meager—little beyond potatoes, cabbage, and turnips. Even tofu was a luxury.

Zhou Zhennan waved it off. "It's fine. Your mother and I have lived through worse. This is more than enough. We're just glad to be here."

As they talked, Lin Zihao walked into the yard carrying a brown briefcase. He greeted Zhou Zhennan, then motioned for Zhou Huaian to step outside.

Inside, Lin Xiaoxiao was chatting cheerfully with Li Yunlan and Zhou Xiaoling when she heard Lin Zihao's voice. But when no one came in after a while, she stood and went to the window.

Zhou Huaian and Lin Zihao were standing on the roadside outside the compound. They looked serious. Lin Zihao held his briefcase in one hand and pulled out a document with the other,

pointing at something on the page. Zhou Huaian studied it, lips pressed tight.

After a short discussion, Zhou Huaian handed the file back and quickly returned inside. He told them he had to leave for a meeting.

As soon as he was gone, Lin Xiaoxiao felt uneasy. The last time he'd gone out with Lin Zihao, he'd come back injured. She prayed it wasn't another mission.

Noticing her distraction, Li Yunlan set down her knitting. "Let's make dumplings for lunch. We have some rendered lard from yesterday—we can use the cracklings with cabbage."

Zhou Xiaoling agreed and nudged Lin Xiaoxiao. "Don't worry. If they called a meeting, it might be about someone suspicious or a plan against the Institute. It doesn't mean my brother has to go."

But Lin Xiaoxiao couldn't shake her anxiety. "Every time Lin Zihao shows up, your brother gets hurt."

Last time, it was a trip to Beijing that left Zhou Huaian badly wounded. His scars were still fresh. She didn't want him going anywhere dangerous again.

Zhou Xiaoling shook her head. "Not every mission goes to him. The unit has other people—tasks are assigned in rotation. He only goes if it's urgent. Otherwise, someone else handles it."

Lin Xiaoxiao thought it over. Zhou Huaian wasn't the only capable person at the Institute. Besides, he'd just recovered— surely they wouldn't send him out again so soon. What kind of leader would do that?

The three women busied themselves making dumplings—kneading dough, chopping filling, wrapping—while Zhou Zhennan tended the fire.

Just as the dumplings were ready, Zhou Huaian returned with Lin Zihao. Everyone chatted easily since they were all familiar with each other. Only Zhou Xiaoling stayed quiet, sitting to the side like a shy little quail.

Lin Xiaoxiao almost felt frustrated for her. How is she ever going to get anywhere with him like this?

Lin Zihao left after eating, and Lin Xiaoxiao immediately asked Zhou Huaian, "You're not being sent away, are you?"

He shook his head. "No. Wang Wenju is leading a team this time. It's nothing major."

Relieved, Lin Xiaoxiao happily ate five more dumplings before heading to the bedroom for a nap.

Zhou Xiaoling went to work, Zhou Zhennan and Li Yunlan went back to their place, and Zhou Huaian——finally had a day off. The young couple had the house to themselves.

Lying on the bed, Lin Xiaoxiao rubbed her stomach. "Zhou Huaian, I think I ate too much. Come rub my stomach for me."

Zhou Huaian sat beside her and gently massaged her abdomen. "Maybe you should walk around a bit. Lying down right after eating isn't good."

"I don't want to move," she whined. "Don't make me go outside—I'll hate you if you do. And it's freezing. No way."

He kept rubbing her stomach until her breathing deepened into soft snores. Then he pulled the quilt over her, adjusted her pillow, and watched as her snoring quieted and her breathing grew long and even.

Lin Xiaoxiao began to dream—or was it real? Had she finally returned home?

She opened her eyes to a funeral hall. Wreaths and mourning scrolls filled the room. At the center hung a large black-and-white portrait.

Her blood ran cold. It was her brother, Sheng Cheng'an. How?

She stumbled back, refusing to believe it. Was this why her heart had been hurting so much?

Had her brother passed away? Tears streamed down her face.

She turned and saw her mother leaning against her father, weeping uncontrollably, too distraught to stand on her own.

Lin Xiaoxiao's heart ached. She wanted to hold her mother, but it was useless—her hands passed right through. All she could do was stand by and cry with them.

Her mother's voice was broken with grief. "Why? Cheng'an was so young... It should have been me, not him..."

Clutching her own suffocating chest, Lin Xiaoxiao couldn't understand—how did her brother die? What happened?