Chapter 8 — My Own Spring

"I know I was wrong. Give me a chance, just once, okay?" "I've given you the chance." Luc Sanh looked at him. "That day outside the barracks gate, I gave you the last chance." "It was you who chose to leave." "Pho Nghien Tu, as soon as you turned around that day, we were over." The wind that day, the car that day, his back turned and left without hesitation that day, his whole life. She won't forget this either. That was the last straw that crushed her, and the moment she completely lost hope. Pho Nghien Tu was speechless. He knew she was right. It was he who gave up the last chance, it was he who pushed her further and further away. That day, he stayed at the craft workshop until very late. Luc Sanh did not fire him, just worked on his own, occasionally answering a sentence or two, politely but aloof. When the door closed, Luc Sanh said: "Go back and rest early, don't come again in the future." Pho Nghien Tu did not leave. He rented a house near the craft workshop and came every day. He didn't step in to bother, just stood at the beginning of the alley watching. Sometimes when Luc Sanh delivers goods, he will quietly step forward to help. If the light bulb is broken, I'll fix the light bulb. If the water pipe is broken, I'll replace it. The flowers in the yard needed watering, so he conveniently watered them. Luc Sanh did not refuse his help, but his attitude never softened. Every time he mentioned remarriage, she firmly refused, saying it was impossible. One time, Luc Sanh had a very severe fever, the neighbor called Pho Nghien Tu. In the middle of the night, he immediately ran over, took her to the hospital, guarded her all night, helped her cool down with physical methods, and gave her water to drink. The next day, Luc Sanh woke up, looked at his bloodshot eyes from staying up all night, just said "thank you", then transferred the hospital fees back to him. Divide clearly and clearly, don't want to owe even a little favor. Pho Nghien Tu clearly understood in her heart that she had truly given up. Days passed, and in the blink of an eye, winter came. Winter in Dung Thanh is not cold, there is only occasional light rain. Deputy Nghien Tu received a call from the unit, with an urgent mission, asking him to return immediately. One day before leaving, he went to the craft workshop again. Luc Sanh was drying the blanket in the yard, jade orchid petals fell on the blanket, emitting a fragrance. "You have to return to the unit." Pho Nghien Tu stood outside the yard door and said softly. Luc Sanh turned his head to look at him and nodded. "Have a safe journey." "Divorce procedures, wait until I get back to do it." He took a bank card from his pocket and placed it on the stone table. "The money in here is the money I have accumulated over the years along with the military allowance. Take it, as my compensation for you." Luc Sanh walked over and pushed the bank card back. "No need." "I have money, enough. use." "Fu Yantu, what I wanted was never money." She looked at him, her eyes clear. "Before, I wanted to have your sincerity, wanted you to put me in your heart, wanted a warm home." "I used to give those things to you, but you don't need them." "Now I don't need them anymore, I can give them to myself." "In the future, protect your country well, and I will live my life truly." good." "We don't owe anyone anything, everyone is safe." Pho Nghien Tu looked at her, still speechless for a long time. Finally, he picked up the bank card and nodded slightly. "Okay." He turned and left. After taking a few steps, he turned around again. Luc Sanh turned around to collect the blanket, his back straight and leisurely. In the end, he still didn't say anything, turned around and left the alley. When returning to the station in the Northwest, heavy snow filled the sky. The wind on Con Luan Pass is still there

So strong, blowing on my face hurts. Pho Nghien Tu stood on the observation deck of the guard post, looking to the South, in his hand clutching the cover of the training diary that Luc Sanh hand-sewn. The cover is a bit old, the stitching is crooked, but he has preserved it very carefully. In the diary, there is no longer the name Tham Chi Dao. Each page is written about his nostalgia for Luc Sanh and his regret. He finally understood that what Luc Sanh had been waiting for that year was never being able to join the army, it was not souvenirs, nor was it a light promise. What she was waiting for was his favoritism, his steadfast choice, the fact that he considered her as his only wife, cherishing and loving her. But he understood too late. Thousands of miles away in Dung Thanh, the roses in the small yard were blooming. Luc Sanh sat on a rattan chair, covered with a thin blanket, reading a book, the sunlight falling on the paper, warm and comfortable. The wind blew, magnolia petals falling in her hair. She raised her hand to brush it away, the corners of her lips carrying a faint smile. She no longer has to stay up late waiting for one day to return, she doesn't need to talk to an empty house, and she doesn't need to be a supporting role in someone else's story. Before, she always waited for spring to return with him. Now she knows, spring never needs to wait.