Chapter 317: The Children Chasing Butterflies in the Cemetery

Chapter 317: Chapter 317: The Children Chasing Butterflies in the Cemetery

The next morning, after breakfast.

The family prepared their offerings and went to the Malipo Martyr’s Cemetery together.

After several years of construction, the martyr’s cemetery here was mostly complete.

It was solemn and dignified, but not oppressive. Instead, it gave one a sense of open-heartedness, an impression of enduring heroic spirit.

Even Ye Chen, who was usually mischievous and unruly, wore a solemn expression on his little face in such a setting.

Wu Jiao and Wu Yao found their eldest brother Wu Yong’s headstone. When they saw his photo in the corner of the stone, they let out a wail and burst into tears before it.

"Big Brother, are you okay over there?"

"Big Brother, I miss you so much. Dad passed away. Have you seen him? Mom misses you too, and so do our younger siblings."

"Big Brother, don’t worry about the family. We can take good care of everyone. May you rest in peace."

...

When Pingping and An’an saw them crying, they were startled. "Mommy, Jiaojiao is crying."

After Han Xiaorui and Ye Feng bowed, she crouched down and said to Pingping and An’an, "They miss their loved one. It’s just like when you miss Mommy."

Pingping and An’an hugged their mother’s neck, seeming to understand, yet not quite.

Ye Feng took out a handkerchief and wiped the headstone. Even though it was already clean, he did it anyway.

It was as if these headstones were the embodiments of his fallen comrades.

Ye Feng’s eyes turned red, and he fought to hold back a sob.

Ye Ling and Ye Chen looked at Wu Yong’s name on the headstone, then looked up at their eldest brother. "Is this the savior who carried you off the battlefield?"

"Yes," Ye Feng replied, never shying away from the fact.

He was just luckier, having managed to survive.

But Wu Yong had made the ultimate sacrifice.

The sorrow and pain of watching a comrade die before your very eyes were beyond words.

Even now, Ye Feng still hadn’t been able to move on.

Ye Ling and Ye Chen bowed. "We never met, yet we are indebted to your kindness. Thank you."

Ye Feng was surprised. He hadn’t expected his two younger brothers to bow to the martyr for his sake.

In that moment, he felt that his two younger brothers weren’t so bad after all.

Han Xiaorui patted Ye Feng’s arm. "You go talk with your comrade alone. I’ll take the children for a walk and tell them stories of the heroes."

"Thank you." The tip of Ye Feng’s nose reddened, and he could barely hold back his tears.

Holding a bottle of liquor, Ye Feng went from one headstone to the next, pouring a drink for each and speaking to his comrades, wanting to tell them about his life now.

After paying their respects to Ye Feng’s comrade, Han Xiaoqing and Qi Wenxuan began to walk through the rest of the Malipo Martyr’s Cemetery to honor the fallen.

Qi Wenxuan was deeply moved, a lump forming in his throat. "Xiao Jing, you were right. No matter what, we have to come back and help build our country. So many people shed their blood and laid down their lives for this beautiful, fertile land, all to create the nation we have today."

"As intellectuals who enjoy the peace and protection of our nation, we should also be like soldiers, forging ahead bravely to win the war of industrial technology and make our country even stronger."

Han Xiaoqing nodded, looking at Qi Wenxuan with admiration. "That’s right. You and I are both soldiers. We aren’t fighting on a literal battlefield filled with gunpowder smoke, but we are ’fighting’ in other fields. Right now, there are too many areas where foreign countries have us by the throat. If we want to surpass them, we have to work even harder."

"Science may know no borders, but scientists have a homeland. Wenxuan, you’re so brilliant. Once you’ve completed your studies, you have to come back. We must be like soldiers, building and protecting our nation."

Like her older sister, Han Xiaoqing loved this fertile land and its lovely, hardworking people. They were worth protecting.

Han Xiaorui explained the stories of these heroes to the children, and Pingping and An’an listened intently.

However, children have limited patience. After listening for a short while, they lost interest.

They saw a brightly colored butterfly land on a headstone. "Mommy, a butterfly!"

With that, they ran off to chase it, their giggling laughter carrying far into the distance.

Han Xiaorui worried they might disturb the spirits of the heroes. ’Besides, how can they laugh and play in a place as solemn and dignified as a martyr’s cemetery?’ she thought.

"Pingping, An’an, don’t run around! We have to respect the heroes. No shouting."

Han Xiaoqing was also worried. It was too disrespectful. She was about to rush over and grab her nieces.

Just then, an elderly man tending to the graves, with graying hair and a kind gaze, smiled and stopped Han Xiaorui and Han Xiaoqing.

"Let the children play. Isn’t their laughter exactly what these martyrs fought for?"

"They went to battle and fought without regard for their own lives, all so the people they left behind could live in happiness and peace, and so children could grow up healthy and happy."

"If they were still alive, perhaps they would have married and had children of their own, children who would be this age now, old enough to run around and laugh freely. Don’t stop them. This is just how it should be."

The old man’s words brought tears to Han Xiaorui and Han Xiaoqing’s eyes.

His gaze followed the children chasing butterflies through the cemetery.

If his own son were still alive, he too would be married with children by now—children who would cheerfully call him "Dad," and call the old man "Grandpa."

Wei Jianjun happened to be passing by. Hearing the old man’s words, he captured a photo of Pingping and An’an chasing butterflies in the martyr’s cemetery.

He then wrote a special article about it titled "The Children Chasing Butterflies in the Martyr’s Cemetery," which once again caused a great sensation.

This visit made Han Xiaorui’s patriotism grow even stronger, a love she would give her life for.

Because the motherland was worth it.

Ye Feng offered a drink to all 967 martyrs buried there. He might not remember all their names, but they had once fought on the same battlefield.

Since he was here, he had to pay his respects to every single one of them.

Men liked their cigarettes and liquor; a smoke and a drink were the marks of a good friend, a good comrade.

By the time they finished paying their respects, it was already one o’clock in the afternoon.

Pingping, An’an, Ye Ling, and Ye Chen were hungry, so Han Xiaorui took some flower cakes out of her bag for them to snack on.

"Ye Feng, come now, don’t leave for lunch. Stay and have a meal at my place. Keep an old man like me company," said Uncle Zhang, the man who had been tending the graves, smiling warmly. "My wife has already finished cooking. You can’t just leave."

Ye Feng looked at the large family he had brought with him. "But there are so many of us..."

Uncle Zhang waved his hand dismissively. "This is nothing! Don’t worry about eating us out of house and home. Around here, we can eat anything, and it tastes pretty good too."

"Besides, every time you visit, you bring me so many things. What’s wrong with having one meal at my place?"

Aunt Zhang and Uncle Zhang insisted they stay for lunch.

Although some of the ingredients looked a bit frightening, if you closed your eyes and took a bite, they were actually delicious. For example, the crispy fried insects were especially fragrant.

At first, the children refused to eat them, but after trying one, they started clamoring for more.

Through their conversation, Han Xiaorui learned that the old couple were retirees from the local finance department.

Three years ago, they had volunteered to come here and tend to the cemetery.

Their daughter was already married and had a career of her own, so they had taken the initiative to come here to be with their son. It was as if being closer to his headstone was like having him by their side.

Aunt Zhang, who had once nearly cried herself blind, was now able to face it all with composure. Every morning and every evening, she would come to talk to her son.

They were always happy to see visitors, as it proved that many people still remembered the sacrifices of their son and his comrades. It proved that their son had not died in vain.