A couple of weeks later, on a morning, winter had gotten very cold in Beijing. Snowflakes drifted from the sky, shrouding the earth in a gray haze, and the whole city was dimly lit with low visibility. There were few people on the streets due to the cold, and even fewer cars cautiously moved along. Inside, the room felt as warm as spring; the heating was so effective that a healthy person only needed a single garment.
Within an upscale apartment complex, children frolicked in the garden while adults watched them from sheltered spots with smiles of happiness on their faces. Inside one home, laughter filled the air, led by a radiant young man. Though slightly emaciated, with a hint of fatigue, he was spirited, dressed casually, and sported a buzz cut. He sat straight with sword-like eyebrows and starry eyes, wisdom gleaming in his calm gaze—it was none other than Luo Zheng, back from the front lines.
