Chapter 453: Heart of Home and Country: Iron Blood, Tender Feelings Warm the Old Robe

The sea breeze from Shenzhen Bay, slipping through the half-open window, brought the distinctive, slightly salty and damp feeling of early spring.

Li Ping'an stood before the floor-to-ceiling window of the study, gazing at the scattered fishing lights on the distant sea and the occasional outline of a large cargo ship gliding by.

His son's wedding had already been over a month.

The hustle and bustle faded, and life seemed to return to its original track, yet it was clearly somewhat different.

The house had become much quieter.

Lin Xueqing's adaptation to southern life went more smoothly than expected; she no longer needed to rush to the hospital every day, and the string that had been taut for half her life seemed to finally loosen.

She began learning to tend the plants on the balcony, following TV programs to learn how to make Cantonese soups, and occasionally she and the likewise southern-transplanted Ma Dongmei and Li Pingle would arrange to go stroll the newly opened international trade mall.

She smiled more often, and her sleep became sounder.

Li Ping'an felt relieved seeing his wife's change.

But accompanying this relief was a peculiar, faint sensation of weightlessness.

It was like a freighter that had long sailed fully loaded, suddenly shedding most of its cargo—the hull grew lighter, speed seemed to increase, yet the old captain gripping the wheel had to readjust to that lightness.

The children had established families and careers, each with a clear direction and responsibility.

Yaozong grew increasingly steady and capable at the Ping Shan Industrial Park, gradually able to stand on his own.

He Xiao threw himself into the Bao'an automobile and motorcycle project with boundless energy; though still impulsive, his enthusiasm and professionalism were beyond doubt.

An Bang's thoughts were meticulous in legal and foreign affairs, making him an indispensable steady link in the group.

Even their younger son Yaoyang, in his letters from Harbin Institute of Technology, was full of fascination with mechanical engineering and longing for the future.

They were no longer merely fledglings needing protection, but eagles eager to spread their wings, already beginning to lead the way.

As a father, he felt an unprecedented ease, even a hint of relief at 'mission accomplished'.

However, this sense of ease did not last long.

Something deeper began to churn beneath the surface of his heart.

In the stillness of late night, those images long buried deep in memory, nearly drowned by a busy life, would spontaneously rise before his eyes.

It was not the maneuvering in the marketplace.

Nor was it the strategizing at the negotiation table.

But rather, it was from earlier times.

It was the bitterly cold nights of the Northeast, the frost condensing in the tunnels, and the body heat of comrades huddled together for warmth.

It was the old rubber shoes on the march, worn thin, patched, worn again.

It was the brief lulls between the roar of guns and artillery, when silent longing for distant homeland and loved ones arose.

And there were those faces forever frozen in youth, never to return.

The names of most of them have blurred over the long years.

Yet the camaraderie of those who lived and died together, and the regret and pain of not being able to leave the battlefield side by side, are like a brand etched into the bone, never truly fading.

He and Xueqing were fortunate.

Having emerged from the hail of bullets, he witnessed the founding of New China, rode the wave of reform and opening-up, and with a bit of foresight and effort amassed wealth and achievements beyond ordinary imagination.

But what about those comrades who sacrificed?

What about those brothers disabled by injury, whose lives back home were hard?

What about families who lost their mainstay, with widows and orphans struggling to get by in the countryside?

The wheels of the era rolled forward, and most people focused on how to get rich, how to change their fate.

But who still remembers that a group of people once gave their blood and even lives selflessly for the birth and peace of the republic?

"We cannot let heroes bleed and then weep."

This saying, unknown when it first took root, grew ever clearer and heavier in his heart.

The business grew, the money multiplied—this was merely commercial success.

Taken from the people, can it ultimately be used for the people?

Besides creating profit and jobs, should entrepreneurs also bear more, an emotional and moral responsibility to this nation and this era?

This question had lingered in his mind for a long time.

Until he saw Xueqing on the balcony, carefully wiping a green leaf, that peaceful, satisfied profile.

He suddenly had a clear idea.

It was both to console the departed heroes and to help the struggling comrades still alive.

And to give his wife, who had toiled half her life and finally found leisure, a meaningful pursuit that could entrust her feelings and make use of her attentiveness and patience.

On a weekend morning, the sunshine was fine.

Li Ping'an and Lin Xueqing had breakfast at the stone table in their small courtyard.

Simple white congee with a few small dishes, made by Lin Xueqing herself, carried northern flavors while attempting to blend in southern lightness.

"Xueqing," Li Ping'an set down his chopsticks, his tone as ordinary as discussing the weather, "I have something I'd like to discuss with you."

"Huh?" Lin Xueqing looked up at him, still holding half a youtiao in her hand.

"I'm thinking of establishing a foundation. It would be dedicated to helping veterans in difficult circumstances, especially the families of those who sacrificed or were wounded in the War to Resist US Aggression and Aid Korea and the Self-Defense Counterattack against Vietnam."

Li Ping'an spoke slowly, each word clear.

Lin Xueqing froze.

She forgot to eat the youtiao in her hand, merely gazing at him as her eyes shifted from doubt to deep profundity, as if his words had carried her back to a distant past.

"These years, we could say we've caught a fortunate time and accumulated some family wealth."

Li Ping'an continued, his gaze candid, "Money is something you can't bring into life or take out of death. On the books it's just a number. I'm wondering whether we could take out a portion to do something concrete."

"You and I, both having come down from the battlefield, know how bitter it was then, and we know many comrades and their families later did not have an easy life. Some brothers who fell left behind elderly parents and children, lacking labor, making life hard. Some disabled veterans cannot do heavy work, and their lives are also strained."

He paused, his voice sinking a little.

Before, I lacked ability, only thinking about how to survive myself, how to keep my family fed and clothed. Later, when I had ability, I threw myself into business, always wanting to expand the stall, bigger and bigger. Now… the children have grown up, the burden on our shoulders has lightened—shouldn't we look back and do what we ought to have done long ago?

The courtyard was very quiet.

Only the rustling of wind through newly sprouted tender leaves and the faint sound of distant waves.

Lin Xueqing remained silent for a long time.

She lowered her head, gazing at the clear white porridge in the bowl, while her eye sockets gradually reddened.

Those scenes she thought she had forgotten surged forward before her eyes because of her husband's words.

In the field hospital, medicine and supplies were scarce; young soldiers bit on wooden sticks to endure the pain.

While transferring the wounded, the pale yet still youthful face on the stretcher.

And even earlier, in Dongbei, that little signalman who shoved the last mouthful of fried noodles into her mouth, then charged forward with an empty stomach and never returned…

Tears slid down silently, dropping into the porridge bowl and sending out tiny ripples.

"I… I agree." Lin Xueqing's voice was a little choked, yet unusually firm.

She lifted her head, looking at her husband through blurred tears; the gentleness of everyday was gone, replaced by an awakened, military-medic's steadiness and sense of duty.

"This should be done. It should have been done long ago."

She wiped her tears with the back of her hand, "You're right—we're fortunate, and we can't forget those brothers and sisters who aren't as fortunate. The foundation… having money isn't enough; we need someone who will sincerely manage it, understand each family's true difficulties, and deliver the money and aid to where it's needed most."

She leaned forward, her gaze burning.

"Ping'an, if you trust me with this matter, let me take charge. I served as a military medic; I know soldiers' temperaments and difficulties, and I have the patience to deal with people. I don't want a salary—just… to do my part for those comrades who never came back."

Li Ping'an looked at his wife, a warm surge and respect rising in his heart.

He knew that this decision not only ignited the spark within himself, but also rekindled the long-dormant yet never-extinguished fervor and sense of responsibility in Xueqing.

"Good." He took his wife's hand, warm and strong, "You'll head the foundation. List the people and funds you need, draw up a plan, and the group will fully support it. We seek neither fame nor profit, only peace of mind and to be worthy of the military uniform we once wore."

"However," he shifted tone, becoming pragmatic, "this must be done properly and sustainably; good intentions and money alone aren't enough. We need to liaise with the military, especially logistics and civil affairs systems, to obtain accurate lists of those needing help, understand policies, and avoid duplication or conflict. Moreover, the way aid is distributed must be careful—delivering timely help while respecting recipients' dignity."

Lin Xueqing nodded, she understood her husband's concerns.

Doing good deeds also cannot rely solely on fervor and brute force.

"In this regard, I still have some old connections in the medical system; I can try asking. But on the military side, especially high command and logistics, I can't reach them." She frowned slightly.

"There's someone who should be able to help." Li Ping'an mused.

"Who?"

"Zhou Zhengwei."

Li Ping'an's gaze was deep and far-reaching.

Zhou Zhengwei was his former leader and also a guide and supporter at many critical moments in his career; though he usually stayed behind the scenes, his energy and vision were extraordinary.

More importantly, Zhou Zhengwei is likewise an old revolutionary who lived through the war years, with deep and profound feelings for the troops and comrades.

Turning to him for this matter could not be more appropriate.

A few days later, an encrypted dedicated line call was placed from Shenzhen to Beijing.

On the other end of the line, Zhou Zhengwei's voice remained steady, with no detectable emotional fluctuation.

Li Ping'an didn't beat around the bush; he reported his own thoughts, the results of his discussion with Xueqing, and the difficulties he'd encountered, in full detail.

On the phone, there was a moment of silence.

Only the faint sizzle of the current could be heard.

"Ping'an," Zhou Zhengwei finally said, his voice somewhat heavy, "you have this heart—very good. Comrade Xueqing's willingness to take up this burden is even better. It shows you two haven't forgotten your roots, haven't lost your souls."

His tone carried a deep sense of lament.

"This matter is of great significance. It's not just about helping a few people or solving a few families' difficulties; it's about making up for historical debts, warming the hearts of all soldiers, and telling society that those who sacrificed for the country will not be forgotten by the nation and the people. This is crucial for uniting hearts."

"I'll handle the procedures and the lists."

Zhou Zhengwei spoke bluntly: "We'll assign a dedicated person to liaise with Comrade Xueqing. The principles are: voluntary, precise, long-lasting, low-key. No campaign-style moves, no superficial shows—it should be like spring rain, silently nourishing. As for the specifics, you're professionals; follow business and charity practices, but stay compliant and transparent."

"As for funds, your initial investment reflects the social responsibility of entrepreneurs. Later, we can explore mobilizing more social forces. As for the name… I think we should call it the 'Iron Blood Glory' Aid Fund. 'Iron blood' is the essence of soldiers; 'glory' is the dignity and security they deserve."

Li Ping'an listened carefully, his mind set at ease.

With Zhou Zhengwei's words, the toughest policy and channel barriers were as good as cleared.

"Thank you, Commissioner! We'll surely see this through, never betraying your trust, let alone failing those comrades who sacrificed and devoted themselves."

After hanging up, Li Ping'an walked to the small balcony outside the study.

Lin Xueqing was there, scribbling and sketching in a small notebook, her expression focused.

Sunlight fell on her temples, already streaked with silver, yet it made her whole person appear full of vitality.

"It's settled." Li Ping'an said softly.

Lin Xueqing lifted her head, her eyes shining bright, like a new recruit who's just received an important mission.

"Commissioner Zhou is very supportive; he'll help us clear the way. He proposed the foundation's name be 'Iron Blood Glory'."

"Iron Blood Glory…" Lin Xueqing murmured, nodding, "A good name."

She closed the notebook, gazing toward the far horizon where sea meets sky, her eyes firm and warm.

"Ping'an, I feel I've found the feeling of going to work again. No, it's even more meaningful than a job. This time, I'm not rescuing individual wounded bodies; I'm safeguarding sacrifices and honors that shouldn't be forgotten, warming the gradually cooling kang beds and old houses."

Li Ping'an put his arm around his wife's shoulders.

"Together."

The sea breeze brushed past, carrying the scent of spring.

Having eased part of the family burden, Li Ping'an felt as if he were shouldering another mission—heavier, yet also more glorious.

This mission links the smoke-filled past and illuminates a future rich in human feeling.

An entrepreneur's responsibility extends beyond the marketplace.

More importantly, it lies in giving deep feedback and assuming responsibility toward this land and its people.