The morning mist hung low over the compound, wrapping the familiar rows of brick houses in a damp shroud. A small truck idled at the gate, its engine coughing smoke into the cold air. The back was loaded with a single trunk, a few bundles tied with rope, and a battered schoolbag — all that remained of sixteen years of life.
Li Xueqing stood beside it, her braid neatly tied, her hands clenched tightly at her sides. Her pale face was calm, but her heart beat so hard it ached.
The courtyard was crowded. Nearly every neighbor had come to see her off. These were the people who had watched her grow from a toddler clinging to her mother's skirt into a tall, quiet girl. Now their eyes were red with grief, as though sending away their own child.
Auntie Zhang, the canteen cook, pressed a bundle wrapped in cloth into her hands. The warmth of steamed buns seeped through the fabric. "For the road, girl. You'll need strength. Promise me you'll eat them." Her voice cracked, tears spilling freely down her cheeks.
Uncle Liu, stooped but steady, tied down her trunk on the truck bed. "Your father was a man of honor, your mother a healer to us all. Don't let anyone in that city trample you. Keep your head high. Remember whose daughter you are."
Xueqing bowed deeply, her voice soft but firm. "Uncle Liu, Auntie Zhang… thank you. I'll remember."
One by one, others stepped forward. A soldier whose arm Dr. Chen had once patched pressed a small pouch into her palm. "Salt. Hard to get these days. Take it, little sister." A factory worker who had borrowed tools from her father left a parcel wrapped in paper — drafting pencils, once loaned, now returned. "Your father told me to draw straight lines. I still can't, but maybe you will."
The courtyard filled with voices: blessings, sobs, words of worry. Yet not every word was kind.
From the back, a woman muttered, "Eight hundred yuan and a city house… more than some families see in a lifetime."
Another whispered, "Still, she's only sixteen. Let's see how long she lasts on her own."
The envy pricked, but Xueqing did not flinch. She lowered her gaze, thanking those who offered kindness, ignoring those who did not.
Then a man stepped forward from the crowd. Broad-shouldered, his hair streaked with gray, his uniform long replaced by a worn civilian jacket. His gaze was steady, filled with sorrow and pride.
"I am Wang Weimin," he said, his voice deep. "Your father and I served together. He was my brother in arms. After retiring, I was sent to a factory in the city. If you ever need anything… remember my name. Come to me."
Xueqing's breath caught. She bowed low. "Uncle Wang."
He placed a heavy hand on her shoulder. "Your father was proud of you. Don't let the world see you bow your head. The times are hard, but you are stronger. Remember that."
The commissar, standing at the side, raised his voice. "Comrades, let us remember that Li Zhenhua and Chen Yuying were martyrs. Their daughter carries their spirit forward. Stand tall, girl. The unit will not forget them, and neither should you."
The driver honked impatiently. The truck's engine growled, ready to depart.
Xueqing climbed onto the truck bed. She sat among her bundles, clutching the red notebook that held the house papers and household registration. Her eyes swept across the courtyard — Auntie Zhang still weeping, Uncle Liu standing stiff with pride, children waving with small hands, soldiers saluting quietly.
She raised her hand in farewell. No words came, only the silent gesture.
The truck lurched forward. The compound gates creaked open.
As it rolled away, voices followed her:
"Take care, child!"
"Eat properly!"
"Don't forget us!"
Through the mist, the place she had called home faded. The courtyard where she had learned to walk, the neighbors who had scolded and spoiled her, the walls that had kept her safe — all slipped behind her like a dream.
She tightened her grip on the notebook, biting her lip hard to hold back tears.
For the first time in her life, she was leaving the embrace of the only family she had ever known.
Ahead lay a city she barely remembered, a house that would be hers alone, and a life she would have to carve out step by step.
The road stretched forward, uncertain and cold.
But Li Xueqing sat tall, her back straight, her resolve firm.
Her parents had taught her: Stand tall. Endure. Live well.
She would not forget.