Chapter 83: Too Comprehensive

“Dad, I want to get off!”

Seeing their good friend, Da Cai and Er Cai could no longer sit still and begged Gu Chenghuai to let them off the bike.

This small request, Gu Chenghuai naturally wouldn’t refuse; with a strong arm, he easily lifted both boys down to the ground.

“Thank you, Dad!”

The two little brothers politely thanked him, then sprinted off toward Tiechui; the three children tumbled together, chasing and racing home.

Children always have endless energy.

“These three have such good feelings—they’re like real brothers.” The usually stiff and serious officer softened considerably at home, his speech unconsciously echoing his wife’s—now even using endearing words like “little ones.”

Lin Zhao had unusually high tolerance for little Tiechui.

The little guy lived up to his title as a good friend: in the original story, he wholeheartedly helped the two boys—clumsy but deeply loyal, a truly good child.

“Children’s affection is precious; let them be.”

Gu Chenghuai nodded slightly, his gaze falling on the trio and two dogs ahead; his stern features softened slightly.

Ahead.

Da Cai ran fast, still bending to scoop up Hupo, his short legs pumping furiously as he dashed home like a streak.

“Da Huang, catch up!” Er Cai waved his arms, calling back.

Da Huang didn’t rush after them; instead, he circled his mistress’s bicycle several times, his fluffy tail wagging like a propeller, his big head nuzzling Lin Zhao’s leg affectionately, barking twice before bounding off after the little masters.

On the rear seat of the ladies’ bicycle, a child seat was securely fastened.

Si Cai sat inside, her tiny feet twitching nervously, bouncing up and down.

She gripped Lin Zhao’s skirt, her small voice urgent: “Mama, Da Huang! Da Huang!”

“You’re eager too,” Lin Zhao laughed, stroking her daughter’s cheek. “Don’t rush—we’ll be home soon.”

Si Cai repeated: “Eager, eager, I’m so eager～～”

“Zhaozhao, you go on ahead,” Gu Chenghuai braced one foot on the ground, turning to his wife. “I’ll return the bicycle.”

“Don’t delay—come back soon. Big sister is surely anxious to see you,” Lin Zhao reminded him.

“Alright.” Gu Chenghuai replied briefly, pushing off with his long leg; the bike shot forward two meters.

His military-green figure sped down the dirt road, wheels kicking up fine dust before vanishing around the bend.

“Mama, home,” Si Cai urged impatiently, her voice high and soft, like a freshly opened candy.

San Cai sat quietly in his mother’s arms, his pale, adorable face lightly pressed against Lin Zhao’s chest, eyes clear and bright, serene as a porcelain doll.

Lin Zhao pushed off with one foot, and the bicycle glided smoothly forward.

She glanced down at the quiet boy in her arms, her voice unconsciously softening: “San Cai, are you eager?”

San Cai blinked, his expression earnest. “Mm.”

“Your sister wants to play with Da Huang—what about you?” Lin Zhao smiled.

“Memorize the dictionary,” San Cai spoke clearly, his dark eyes holding a seriousness far beyond his years.

Memorize… the dictionary?!

How to put it.

This answer completely surprised Lin Zhao.

Her pedaling foot paused; the bicycle coasted forward several meters by inertia.

She softened her tone, using words a toddler could understand: “Little ones shouldn’t stare at dictionaries too long—it’s bad for the eyes. You’ll have trouble seeing things later.”

“Did you understand?”

A sudden ache swelled in Lin Zhao’s heart.

Raising a child was far harder than she’d imagined—especially when the child was smart enough that ordinary parenting methods failed.

She felt powerless.

And frightened.

Afraid she’d fail to live up to this gift of brilliance.

San Cai seemed to sense his mother’s emotion; his soft little face rubbed against her neck, his curled lashes brushing her skin—slightly ticklish, yet making her heart melt, softening into a puddle.

“Mm,” he puffed out his chubby cheeks, nodding seriously. “Eyes need rest. Cai will go play.”

“So smart,” Lin Zhao whispered, kissing his forehead.

San Cai froze for a moment, then slowly touched the spot she’d kissed, his lips curving into a tiny smile, eyes crinkling into crescent moons, sparkling with warmth as he gazed adoringly at his mother.

As they spoke, the bicycle stopped at the Gu family gate.

Bang Bang stepped forward, lifted Si Cai from the child seat, set the chubby little bundle on the ground, and said to Lin Zhao: “Third Aunt, I’ll push your bike for you—Big Aunt’s inside.”

Lin Zhao handed him the bike, untied the cloth straps, and set San Cai down, squatting to rub his legs to restore circulation.

“Can you ride yet?” she looked up at Bang Bang.

Bang Bang guessed her meaning; his eyes lit up instantly, gazing hopefully at Third Aunt. “Not yet.”

Third Aunt meant what he thought she meant, right? Right?!

Look at his sincere big eyes!

“Then go learn,” Lin Zhao said.

Without her prompting, the Gu children would never ask on their own.

“Thank you, Third Aunt!” Bang Bang jumped with joy.

Imagining himself riding past his classmates, he nearly laughed out loud with excitement.

What could you do? At his age, he was just eager to show off.

Lin Zhao waved him off, letting him fuss, then took the Long Fengtai home.

The Gu family courtyard.

All the adults were there.

Gu Chan and Wei Xiangdong sat in the corner, talking with Gu Mu.

Seeing Lin Zhao, Gu Chan stood to greet her: “Zhaozhao’s back.”

She walked over, picked up Si Cai, and admired the little girl’s outfit—she couldn’t help but love it.

Gu Chan beamed. “Whose little girl is this? So beautiful, even wearing a pink little dress.”

Si Cai remembered Big Aunt.

The clever little thing nestled contentedly in Gu Chan’s arms, understanding she’d been praised; her eyes curved, and she tilted her head slightly, presenting the hairpin fully to Big Aunt, blinking her clear, innocent eyes with bright, unmistakable anticipation.

Gu Chan understood. “Oh, and there’s a pretty…”

She didn’t know what it was, so she trailed off.

Si Cai chirped: “Hairpin.”

“Yes, hairpin—so pretty, very pretty,” Gu Chan picked up the praise, complimenting several times.

Si Cai kicked her feet happily, her voice bright with delight: “Dad bought it for Cai.”

“Your dad bought it?” Gu Chan was genuinely surprised. “Didn’t expect your dad had such taste. Clearly, having a little cotton-padded jacket makes all the difference.”

She knew her third brother too well—he was attentive and thoughtful only toward Zhaozhao, always thinking of her; with children, he was blunt and careless.

After praising the adorable niece, she glanced toward the gate, then quickly looked back at Lin Zhao. “Zhaozhao, where’s Chenghuai?”

“He’s returning the bicycle—he’ll be back soon,” Lin Zhao replied.

“Mama, water’s ready! Come wash up,” Er Cai called out.

As mothers were particular, the two boys had developed the habit of washing immediately after sweating; after washing themselves, they remembered to pour water for their mother.

“Coming!” Lin Zhao said, smiling at her sister-in-law.

She walked aside.

Da Cai held her towel in his hands, Er Cai carried the soap, and even Tiechui was drafted to help wash San Cai and Si Cai’s faces and hands.

They were too capable for five-year-olds.

Too thorough—there was no role left for the adult at all.

“Thank you, Da Cai, Er Cai, and Tiechui—you’re all so capable,” Lin Zhao cooed gently.

The three children, flattered into bliss, grinned and became even more eager.

“Mama, can you reward the capable kids with a twisted doughnut? We’ll share it,” Er Cai tugged her skirt, looking up with a pleading face.

“Didn’t you just eat? Already hungry again?” If her hands weren’t wet, Lin Zhao would’ve patted his little belly.

“My grandma says, half-grown boys eat their fathers poor. Me, my brother, and Tiechui are all half-grown boys—we get hungry fast,” Er Cai argued confidently.

He had an answer for everything.

“You’re not quite there yet,” Lin Zhao smiled. “Besides, don’t worry—even if you eat nonstop, you won’t drain me and your dad.”

Their savings were full.

Just her husband’s allowance passbook held nearly 4,000 yuan; his bonus savings were even higher, not to mention the little yellow gold bars her father gave her.

They truly weren’t short on money.

“If you want, go get some—take some biscuits and soda too, and share them with Gu Dun and the others.”

Er Cai threw his arms around Lin Zhao. “Mama, you’re the best.”

Gu Chenghuai’s tall figure appeared at the gate, instantly spotting his second son clinging to his wife.

He began wondering if he could trick this clingy little brat into sleeping in his grandparents’ room tonight.

Gu Chenghuai quickly shifted his gaze to his sister and Wei Xiangdong, his voice low: “Sister, Brother-in-law.”

He was tall, straight as a pine, with strikingly handsome features—sharp brows, starlit eyes, imposing and noble.

She’d seen him many times, yet no matter how often, Gu Chan still felt genuine pride in her heart.

“Chenghuai, you’re finally home. How’s life in the army? Everything going well?”

Gu Chenghuai smiled. “Mm. And you, sister?”

“I’m fine, everywhere’s fine.” Gu Chan’s smile deepened; hearing her brother’s voice, the initial strangeness of their reunion vanished, leaving only closeness.

“How long are you staying?” she asked, pouring him a bowl of water.

Gu Chenghuai took it, drank a few sips to moisten his throat, and said calmly, “More than a month. I planned to visit you and your husband tomorrow, but I didn’t expect you to come here.”

He still didn’t know Lin Zhao had given her sister the task of gluing matchboxes.

He thought Gu Chan had returned home by coincidence.

“Why would you need to make a special trip? Just rest when you get back. Send me a message—I can come right away, even if I have to take half a day off.”

Gu Chenghuai smiled but said nothing.

…

Lin Zhao washed off the dust from her journey, turned back into the house, and came out again holding ointment.

She stood in the courtyard and called to Erzai: “Erzai, come here. Mama’s going to put ointment on you.”

She applied it often enough that the tooth marks on the boy’s hand were no longer as ugly as when he’d first been bitten—but they hadn’t vanished completely. She kept applying it, hoping not a trace would remain.

Erzai was sitting in a circle with his siblings, enthusiastically playing with a tin frog, munching candy, not even lifting his head.

Suddenly called, his little face fell—but he didn’t throw a tantrum.

He crouched like a frog, turned his head, and looked up at his mother with pleading eyes, softening his voice: “Can I put it on later? I want to play.”

“Put it on now, and I’ll give you something even more fun afterward,” Lin Zhao said with a smile.

Erzai’s eyes lit up instantly. He leapt to his feet and ran over, full of anticipation. “Mama, what are you giving me? Is it a toy?”

“A toy.”

Lin Zhao had barely answered when a long, strong hand reached out before her, palm up, holding an unfamiliar ointment.

“Use this,” Gu Chenghuai said gently. “I asked the doctor—Erzai’s hand won’t leave a scar.”

Though he didn’t understand why Zhaozhao was so concerned about scars on Erzai’s hand, he’d gone specifically to consult a doctor.

Lin Zhao paused, took the ointment, and frowned slightly. “Did the county hospital doctor say that? The doctor at the clinic told me something different. When I bought medicine, I asked him too—he said based on my description, there’s a high chance of scarring.”

Had she exaggerated?

But when Erzai was first bitten, the tooth marks were dark purple and red, with streaks of blood—clearly serious.

If it hadn’t been that bad, how could she have been hoping every day to draw a scar-removing ointment?

Gu Chenghuai’s lips curved slightly as he gazed softly at his wife.

“Because you care so much and apply the ointment regularly, the wound heals faster. The county hospital doctor concluded that based on this—you’ve taken excellent care of him. You’ve worked hard.”

“Apply this ointment a few more days—it won’t scar. Don’t worry.”

He’d heard Dazai describe how Erzai’s wound looked when first bitten—it was indeed severe for a child.

He’d also heard Erzai had secretly cried and whimpered like a little train, afraid his mother would laugh at him for being cowardly—he never cried out in pain in front of Zhaozhao, only whined to his older brother.

Lin Zhao bent to apply the ointment, and upon hearing this, felt a deep warmth spread through her, a smile blooming on her lips.

Commander Gu really knew how to speak.

She felt the same way!

“There’s a wooden spinning top in the drawer of the desk inside. Bring it out—your son wants to play.”

Without a word, Gu Chenghuai turned and went inside.

Less than two minutes later, he emerged holding a finely crafted wooden top.

Shaped like an inverted cone, flat on top, pointed at the bottom, its surface smooth and flowing, painted with concentric rings of rainbow colors—vivid and bright.

“Did you buy this top? And painted it too? Quite refined.” He examined it, commenting casually.

Lin Zhao smiled but said nothing.

She’d drawn it in a lottery—no choice.

Erzai spotted the top, and stars seemed to sparkle in his eyes. He urged eagerly: “Dad, how do you play with this? Teach me.”

Gu Yucheng walked over, took the top from his third brother, and smiled. “I’ll teach you. Let your dad talk with your aunt and the others.”

Erzai had no objections—he bounced off happily with his second uncle.

Lin Zhao called after him: “Wait until the ointment dries before you play.”

“Got it!” Erzai waved his hand carelessly, his small back retreating with effortless grace.

Dazai, seeing this, volunteered: “Mama, I’ll watch over my brother.”

“Then thank you, Dazai.”

Only then did Lin Zhao relax, sitting beside Gu Chenghuai.

The man had somehow acquired a palm-leaf fan, gently swaying it, sending faint cool breezes through the air.

Gu Chan watched this scene and was truly delighted, her smile never fading.

“Zhaozhao, Xiang Dong and I came today to deliver the glued matchboxes. We finished all the ones you gave us last time.”

“So fast?!” Lin Zhao exclaimed.

Five hundred matchboxes—even a skilled worker would take two or three days to finish.

Her eldest sister had never done this before—and she’d finished so quickly?!

“Did you stay up late?” she frowned slightly.

Gu Chan hurried to explain, afraid Lin Zhao would be angry: “We only stayed up the first night. After that, we glued them in the morning and afternoon—we didn’t do much at night. Xiang Dong said it strains the eyes.”

Lin Zhao didn’t want her sister to ruin her health. She looked her straight in the eye and said seriously: “Your husband’s right. Don’t glue them at night—it’s bad for your body.”

“I know,” Gu Chan smiled. “I just wanted to finish quickly since it was my first job—I didn’t want to delay turning it in.”

Only after they finished speaking did Gu Chenghuai speak, his deep voice tinged with surprise: “What matchboxes?”

“Chenghuai doesn’t know?” Gu Chan’s tone lifted in mild disbelief, then she beamed. “Zhaozhao helped Xiang Dong and me find a job gluing matchboxes.”

Her sister-in-laws sat nearby; she couldn’t mention how much money they made, so she could only give her sister-in-law an apologetic glance.

Gu Chenghuai turned to his wife, and deep in his dark eyes, emotion flickered.

Lin Zhao spoke casually: “It’s through Fenjie’s connections. She asked if anyone wanted the work—I said yes, of course.”

Gu Chenghuai still felt Zhaozhao had gone out of her way.

Gu Chan patted the cloth sack filled with matchboxes. “Zhaozhao, all the glued ones are here. Xiang Dong and I checked them—there shouldn’t be any defective ones. Tomorrow, you take them back.”

“Alright,” Lin Zhao replied.

Xiang Dong nudged his wife with his elbow, signaling she’d forgotten something.

Gu Chan suddenly remembered—the other thing she’d brought.

She stood, walked over, bent down, and picked up the bamboo basket she’d carried all the way, then returned to Lin Zhao with a smile: “Zhaozhao, inside are two rabbits and a wild chicken. Xiang Dong caught them just now at noon. Take them.”

She’d originally planned to return to her parents’ home tomorrow, but these wild meats had prompted her to come early—while they were still fresh.

“We don’t lack meat at home,” Lin Zhao said disapprovingly. “You should keep them for the two stones.”

“They’ve got plenty!” Gu Chan laughed. “Their father hunts—do you think they’ll go hungry?”

“We’ve split the household—we moved out too. Eating meat’s much easier now. Don’t worry—they won’t be shortchanged.”