Chapter 229: Welcome Home

After enduring the "flag-raising baptism," Qiang was desperate to finish his work and return to Hong Kong.

For years, all the information Qiang had encountered about the mainland had been biased and demonized.

Now, looking around at the people, he felt they were all those fanatical red believers from the legends.

So during the entire flag-raising ceremony, Qiang pretended to be mute, terrified that someone would discover he was a "dog of xxism" and swarm him with red-eyed fury—he, with his puny arms and legs, couldn't possibly resist.

But just as feared, after everyone finished watching the flag-raising, when Zou Zhiguo invited Qiang to have breakfast, everyone turned to stare at Qiang—the collective gaze terrified him.

Qiang had once been a tough guy who waved a watermelon knife in Tung Lo Wan, but now he clung to Zou Zhiguo's arm like a kindergarten child clinging to his teacher.

He truly didn't understand: they all had black hair and yellow skin, he hadn't spoken a word, hadn't glanced around, so how had they "discovered" him?

Just as Qiang was trembling with anxiety, an elderly man with white hair asked Zou Zhiguo: "Is this a foreign guest? Japanese? Or Korean?"

The taciturn Zou Zhiguo replied: "He's not a foreign guest—he's a compatriot from Hong Kong. Don't stare at him like that; you'll scare him."

"."

"Hahahahaha~"

The square fell silent for a moment, then erupted in laughter.

"He's a compatriot from Hong Kong! Then why's he scared?"

"Exactly! We're all family—no need to be afraid."

"."

The elderly man who had spoken first patted Qiang on the shoulder and said: "I see you've got luggage—you just got off the train and haven't eaten yet, right? I know a great breakfast place. Come on, let me take you there."

"No, we can manage on our own."

"What do you mean no? You're already at home—how can we not treat you to a meal? Come on, come on."

The old man reached out and picked up Qiang's luggage, leading the way.

Thus, dazed and confused, Qiang was pulled away from the flag-raising square.

Only then did he cautiously ask Zou Zhiguo: "How did they know I was different?"

Zou Zhiguo muttered: "Because your clothes and gear are different from everyone else's."

"."

Qiang froze, then noticed his trendy sportswear and brand-new Nike shoes—completely out of place amid the surroundings.

Ever since Pei Wencong got rich, Qiang's standard of living had skyrocketed. As a bachelor, he couldn't even spend his 3, 00 Hong Kong dollars a month—he was always dressed head to toe in fashionable brands.

It didn't matter at night, but now that it was daylight, he stood out like a sore thumb in the crowd.

"Then why did they suddenly become so warm?"

What struck Qiang most was the sudden shift in people's attitude toward him.

At first, they looked at him as if he were a "monster," but after the laughter, everything changed—they radiated genuine warmth he had never felt before.

Zou Zhiguo still muttered: "Because you're not a foreign guest—you're a compatriot, one of us."

"One of us?"

Qiang felt uncertain—he wasn't sure if he was "one of us," but he remembered back when he ran the streets: if a boss offered to protect you, and you refused, well, hehehe.

【Forget it—Hong Kong didn't treat me as one of them either.】

Inside the breakfast shop, the old man's loud voice rang out.

"This is a compatriot from Hong Kong—he just got off the train and went straight to the square to watch the flag-raising, hasn't eaten yet."

"."

"Come, come, sit over here."

"What would you like to eat? My treat!"

"Try mine first—it's fresh out of the pot."

Qiang experienced again that brief silence, then was overwhelmed by "epic-level" warmth.

The best seats were given up for him.

Before the staff could even greet them, every dish on the menu was piled onto the table—double portions.

The shop's manager came out personally to ask Qiang if he had any special requests.

Qiang was utterly bewildered.

He had no idea—he was just a nobody in Hong Kong, neither loved nor cared for, what merit did he have to receive such treatment?

Because Qiang had no idea what the flag-raising meant to the Chinese people.

A prodigal son returning from Hong Kong, stepping off the train without rest, skipping breakfast to watch the flag-raising—what kind of act was this?

"Eat, eat! Try it—how's the flavor?"

Many people laughed as they watched Qiang, making him deeply uncomfortable.

Northern food was salty—he wasn't used to it, but he ate quietly, savoring an indescribable warmth within the saltiness.

Qiang couldn't remember which year it was—maybe his second or third year after leaving the welfare home—when an older brother gave him warmth, took him to eat, to dance, to fight.

Qiang had thought that was what the books called familial warmth.

But one day, that brother asked him to take the blame for a crime—five years in a labor camp.

Just as Qiang gritted his teeth, ready to take the fall for loyalty, he met Pei Wencong—and became who he is today.

Pei Wencong was decent, but stingy. After what happened with that brother, Qiang became hardened, believing the world was one of wolves devouring each other—how could warmth still exist?

But now, facing the eyes of so many around him, he couldn't help feeling… this was a different world.

"Cough, cough, cough~"

Maybe because he was lost in thought, or maybe because he ate too fast, Qiang suddenly choked, coughing violently.

A little girl, seven or eight years old, sitting next to him, quickly offered him her bowl of millet porridge.

"Uncle, drink mine—I haven't touched it."

Qiang, choking desperately, took it and drank—finally swallowing the food stuck in his throat.

Then, urged by her family, the girl timidly spoke:

"Uncle, welcome home!"

Qiang: "."

Though the girl's expression wasn't natural—stiff, timid—her careful gaze shattered Qiang completely.

"Have I come home?"

"I don't have a home."

How could a child raised in a welfare home have a home?

Qiang wasn't a calculating person—otherwise he wouldn't have dared to defy his boss Pei Wencong. Overcome with emotion, tears instantly slipped down his cheeks.

"W-what's going on?"

"What did he just say?"

Since Qiang spoke Cantonese, no one around understood—but seeing him cry, everyone grew tense.

Zou Zhiguo had to explain: "He said he has no home. Please don't be too warm—he's just arrived on the mainland and may not be used to it."

Qiang's official records listed him as an orphan, so Zou Zhiguo knew—but out of respect for his feelings, he hadn't explained to the crowd.

The white-haired old man quickly called out: "Everyone, make some space—don't scare the boy."

Everyone immediately stood up, clearing a wide area around Qiang.

The little girl thought she'd made him cry—she bit her lip, huddled beside her family, tears welling in her eyes.

After a moment, Qiang wiped his tears, stood up, bowed to everyone, and spoke in broken Mandarin: "Sorry, thank you all—it was my own fault, I caused this misunderstanding."

"What misunderstanding? Just eat, finish your meal."

"I've already eaten."

Qiang looked around for his luggage, opened one of his suitcases, and pulled out a portable cassette player.

He walked over to the little girl, knelt down, and handed it to her.

"Thank you, little sister—this is a gift from your uncle."

"I-I can't take it."

The girl looked panicked and quickly hid behind her family.

Her mother also pushed back: "No, no, we can't accept this—please don't be so polite."

Qiang felt awkward, but insisted: "If I've come home, I must bring a gift for my family."

"."

"Sister, take it! This kindness—we Beijing men guarantee we'll repay it."

"Exactly! My tricycle's outside—I'll take him anywhere for free!"

The girl's mother hesitated, then reluctantly accepted the cassette player, embarrassed.

"Clap, clap, clap, clap~"

The enthusiastic applause made Qiang uncomfortable, but the smiles on everyone's faces warmed his heart.

"Click~"

A young man in the corner took a photo.

Then she walked over and said: "Hello, I'm Pan Xiaoqing from the Beijing Youth Daily—here's my press card. May I interview you?"

"Interview?" Qiang thought for a moment and shook his head: "Not convenient—I have work to do, I'm in a hurry."

Pan Xiaoqing immediately asked: "You came to Beijing for work? Can you tell us what kind of work?"

Qiang paused, then looked at Zou Zhiguo.

Zou Zhiguo, seeing the curious stares around him, frowned and said: "Show them your letter of introduction."

In 1983, a Hong Konger appearing in Jingcheng, if asked by a reporter, might face trouble if he didn't give a clear answer.

Ah Qiang took out the letter of introduction from Lanhai Publishing House again.

Pan Xiaoqing immediately sensed she had found her news material.

"Mr. Hu Renqiang has been invited to Jingcheng to discuss literary collaboration with the Lone Army Literature Society at Jingda; he is a cultural figure here for exchange."

"So he's a cultural person! So young—truly accomplished for his age."

"Ah~ you can't judge a person by age; those with knowledge are simply different."

"."

Ah Qiang was utterly embarrassed.

If you called him a good-looking guy, he could accept it; if you called him a cultural figure, he could barely accept it too—after all, comic artists were cultural people, weren't they?

But to say he was young and accomplished made him somewhat uncomfortable.

To say he had knowledge—

I'm so ashamed! I didn't even finish junior high!

After leaving the breakfast shop, the rickshaw driver stubbornly refused payment and insisted on giving them a free ride; Ah Qiang and Zou Zhiguo had no choice but to get in.

The reporter Pan Xiaoqing mounted her bicycle and followed behind.

Ah Qiang kept turning back from the rickshaw, and finally asked Zou Zhiguo in Cantonese: "Mr. Zou, that reporter's been following us—could this cause trouble?"

In Hong Kong, wherever reporters appeared, some kind of "situation" inevitably followed, so Ah Qiang was very worried.

Zou Zhiguo said: "Don't worry—it's just a matter of becoming famous."

Ah Qiang asked in surprise: "Famous? Who's going to be famous?"

Zou Zhiguo said: "Who else? You, of course!"

"."

(End of Chapter)