Chapter 32

Shen Siyuan had assumed the generational gap mentioned by Shen Jianjun and his wife was merely a matter of age.

But he hadn’t expected it to go far beyond that.

It turned out that when Yu Youcai was on the battlefield, a comrade had died, entrusting his wife and daughter to him on his deathbed.

They were fellow villagers, and the older brother had treated him with great care, so Yu Youcai felt morally and emotionally bound to honor the request.

After his discharge, he kept his promise, dutifully caring for his comrade’s wife and daughter.

Because of this bond between the two brothers-in-arms, the two families visited each other frequently.

Back then, people were simpler, and their feelings were genuine.

“Uh, could it be that the fallen comrade’s widow fell for Uncle Yu? But that’s not so bad, really?”

A widower marrying a widow—that’s a match made by heaven.

“Not the widow,” said his mother Huang Huijuan. “It’s the comrade’s daughter who fell for your Uncle Yu.”

Shen Siyuan was surprised. He’d assumed the comrade was roughly the same age as Uncle Yu; if so, the daughter would be ten or twenty years younger.

But Shen Jianjun said: “That comrade was older. When he died, his daughter was already thirteen or fourteen. By the time your Aunt passed away, she was already a grown young woman.”

“If that’s the case, then if Uncle Yu had married her, it wouldn’t have been so bad—even if people talked, as long as they were happy.”

“Isn’t that true? I thought the same thing. Your Uncle Yu just overthought everything.”

Hearing this, his mother beamed with excitement—she was simply thrilled that Shen Siyuan agreed with her.

But Shen Jianjun shook his head: “It wasn’t that simple. The times were complicated back then, and your Uncle Yu wasn’t the only comrade involved. If he’d married the girl, how could he ever face the others? And plenty would’ve gossiped.”

“Let them gossip. It’s just that your uncle wasn’t brave enough.”

His mother strongly disagreed. If both sides truly cared for each other, they should overcome all obstacles—hesitation and fear had no place in love.

“They’re both dead now. What’s the point of talking about this anymore?”

Shen Jianjun sighed helplessly, mourning the tragedy of Uncle Yu’s life.

“So… what happened to Grandma later?”

Shen Siyuan didn’t know how to address her; since she was probably about the same age as his own grandmother, calling her “Grandma” seemed most appropriate.

“Later? She got married and had kids, of course.”

His mother spoke with a hint of resentment—after all, Uncle Yu had caused a scandal for her sake, never remarried afterward, yet she had married, borne children, and lived a happy life.

“Did they never contact each other again after that? Is she still alive?” Shen Siyuan pressed.

He suspected Uncle Yu’s lingering presence in the world stemmed from this very reason.

“We don’t know for sure, but when your Uncle Yu passed away, she came to pay her respects.”

“Why don’t I remember that?”

“You were too young then, and there were so many people—you wouldn’t have noticed.”

With that, Shen Siyuan had no more questions. He took Uncle Yu’s belongings back to his room on the second floor.

“Why did he suddenly become interested in Uncle Yu’s story?”

Seeing him go upstairs, Huang Huijuan asked Shen Jianjun in confusion.

Shen Jianjun shook his head: “How would I know? Maybe he’s just feeling nostalgic over the things.”

“I don’t think so. And haven’t you noticed? Siyuan’s different this time he came back.”

“Different? How?”

“I can’t quite put my finger on it, but there’s just something… different,” Huang Huijuan whispered.

“Is it good or bad?”

“I think it’s good,” Huang Huijuan mused.

This time, Shen Siyuan returned with bright eyes—sign of abundant vital energy—and his appetite had increased, indicating strong physical health—all positive signs.

“If it’s good, why overthink it? Go to bed.”

Shen Jianjun pulled her upstairs to their room.

Shen Siyuan, unaware his parents were discussing him, returned to his room and took out the envelopes from the iron box, one by one, to read them.

One had to admit, people back then may not have been highly educated, but their handwriting was truly beautiful.

Even the less refined writing was deliberate, stroke by stroke, clear and legible—clearly written with great care.

Thinking of himself, he realized that after years of using computers, he’d nearly forgotten how to write. Pick up a pen, and his handwriting crawled like a turtle—he’d lost all sense of how to control the brush’s pressure.

Most were letters exchanged with comrades, filled with mundane daily matters: asking about work, harvests, the health of wives and children—all expressions of longing.

Shen Siyuan skimmed most of these letters at a glance, so he read quickly.

Until he came across a letter with elegant handwriting—he stopped and read it carefully.

The writer’s name was Qiaozhen; her surname was unknown, as the letter ended with only those two characters.

Shen Siyuan pulled out all other letters with the same handwriting and examined them one by one.

In them, she called Uncle Yu “Brother Yu.” Though the content was still mundane daily life, he could sense a young girl’s yearning and hope for life.

As time passed, the letters shifted from daily matters to concern for Uncle Yu’s well-being: urging him to take care of his health, telling him not to bring too many gifts when he next visited her and her mother—a quiet affection shimmered on the page.

Later still, they became more direct: she told Uncle Yu she truly loved him, didn’t care about gossip, and hoped he would cherish her feelings and walk beside her into the future…

He didn’t know how Uncle Yu replied, but the final letter was clearly soaked in tears.

It said a relative had introduced her to a young man from Guangda Village—a good, honest fellow, and even the village production team leader…

The letter praised the young man endlessly, yet every word carried the ache of a broken heart.

After reading all the letters from start to finish, Shen Siyuan felt only one thing: frustration. He wanted to jump up and punch Uncle Yu.

How could he let go of such a wonderful girl?

He also sensed from the writing that Qiaozhen had been educated—not just because her handwriting was beautiful, but because her letters were logically structured, with elegant phrasing that felt pleasant to read.

From this, one could infer she came from a good family—but in that era, a good background wasn’t necessarily an advantage.

But the past was gone with the wind. Shen Siyuan neatly reorganized the letters, took out fresh clothes, and went to the bathroom for a cold shower.

Though it was night and the sun had set, the air remained hot and oppressive, leaving him restless and uncomfortable.

When he stepped out, he picked up his phone and found a WeChat message he hadn’t noticed before—it was from Jiang Tingyu.

“Asleep? What are you doing?”

Shen Siyuan stared at the message, dumbfounded.

Wait, was this girl really planning to keep him like a pet fish?

She’d said she didn’t want to date—so why send this? Was she trying to hook him into a crush?

But since he had nothing better to do, he decided to play along—who was really fishing for whom?

As long as he didn’t let his heart be moved, he couldn’t lose.