Chapter 7 — Three Thousand Miles Away From Family

I only answered one word and ended the video call. Trinh Han walked over, didn't ask anything, just gently patted my back. I raised my head to look at the glass ceiling at the top of the shopping center and blinked a few times. The eye sockets only heated up for a moment, but quickly cooled down. During winter break I did not return home. The date of receiving the notice to enter the barracks to participate in the special forces reserve selection was the twenty-sixth of December. Trinh Han had already dragged her luggage back to her hometown, and I was alone in the dormitory. The military uniform is neatly folded in the closet, starting tomorrow it will be replaced with a heavier one. The phone lights up. It was An An's message. "Sister, this year's New Year's Eve dinner, mom made your favorite sweet and sour ribs, and left some in the refrigerator. Every day when I come home, I will warm it up for you to eat." Below is a photo. On the dining table, place four sets of bowls and chopsticks. The fourth set is placed near the window, next to it is a folded paper name card, with the two words: Tich Nguyet written crookedly on it. It is An An's writing. I enlarged the photo. In the bowl next to the name card are full of ribs, and the chopsticks are the bamboo chopsticks I have used since childhood. On the chopsticks is engraved the word "Moon". When I was a child, my mother was afraid that my chopsticks and An An's would be mixed up, so she carved the last letter of each person's name. I thought those chopsticks had been thrown away a long time ago. I looked at the photo for a long time, until the screen automatically turned off over and over again. In the chat group "Dear Family", my mother posted a post. "My eldest daughter celebrates the new year in the military academy, I miss you." The attached photo is a photo of me participating in a high school sports festival, the moment I ran eight hundred meters across the finish line, sweat covered my head, smiling until all my teeth were exposed. I don't remember who took the photo. But she still keeps it. Turns out she always kept it. I didn't look carefully at the comments from the relatives below, I only saw the eldest aunt say one sentence: "This child Tich Nguyet has understood things since childhood, passed the entrance exam to such a good school, the two of you make her parents feel proud." Mother replied with one word: "Yes." There was also a long series of dots behind it... On the evening of the twenty-ninth of December, red lanterns were hung in the barracks. I jogged alone on the training field. After running ten laps, I stopped, bent over, put my hands on my knees and panted, when my phone vibrated in my pocket. It's a text message, the sender is dad. Not an app message, but a regular phone message. Perhaps afraid that I wouldn't see, he deliberately chose the most classic method. The message had only one sentence. "Tich Nguyet, this year I have prepared lucky money for you. I cannot transfer it to the app because the military school's account is restricted. When you return, I will personally give it to you." After a pause, there was a small line of text below. "Many lucky money from An An." An An's diploma. I've been waiting for these words for eighteen years. Looking up, the sky above the barracks was very clear, the winter stars were both bright and dense. On the running route, I was the only shadow stretched by the streetlights. In the distance, music from a New Year's program could be heard on TV, and in the nearby barracks, someone was laughing. I stood there, read the message twice, and did not reply. But the corners of his mouth curled up uncontrollably. The wind blew from the other side of the training ground, cold as if it were cutting into my face. Military boots stepped on the running track. The eleventh round begins. Full text complete.