Chapter 2805 Visitor

Both were startled again. The woman signaled for him to stay silent and rose to check the bedroom herself. When she returned moments later, her expression was flustered, and she whispered urgently: "Stay in this room. Don't make a sound!"

The man's face went pale. He knew she was a bold woman by nature—whatever could frighten her was clearly no ordinary matter.

"Who is it?" he asked nervously.

"That's none of your concern." She fixed him with a stern look. "Just stay here and keep quiet."

He watched her hurried figure descend the stairs, his unease growing with each step. From below came the sound of the main door opening, followed by voices in conversation.

From what he could hear, several men had arrived. The man tensed. He crept silently to the doorway, where he could glimpse the scene in the main hall below.

Three men stood there: a middle-aged man in plain clothes, flanked by two soldiers in uniform.

The blood drained from his face. He didn't know what business these men were on, but such a combination looked exactly like an arrest party for someone accused of sabotaging a military marriage. If they knew about his affair—that he'd been here since last night—being beaten half to death would be the best outcome. Prison was certain.

His mind went blank, filled only with regret. What had possessed him to pursue this woman? He had a good life—why throw it away for a fling in this floating world of pleasure?

Yet he quickly steadied himself, his thoughts racing: this wasn't technically being "caught in bed," and he'd left no incriminating items in the bedroom. As long as the woman didn't betray him, even if questioned, he could maintain that he was simply a "normal friend" paying a visit to an "old classmate." There was room to maneuver. After all, his father sat on the County Advisory Council and could speak to the Senators...

The woman had been terrified when she opened the door, but standing in her own home, she forced herself to appear calm. "What brings you gentlemen here? Is this about my husband, Tan Haonan?"

So her husband was named Tan Haonan. This was the first time the man had heard the name; until now, they had both carefully avoided mentioning him.

"You are Tan Haonan's wife?"

"Yes, I am." She made no move to invite them in, leaning against the doorframe with an unfriendly air.

"Let's speak inside," the Paijia said. "It's not proper to talk standing at the door."

The woman had no intention of letting them in, but seeing curious onlookers gathering on the street, she reluctantly stepped aside. "Come in, then."

The two walked into the main hall. The interior gave the same impression as the exterior: clean, neat, simple yet elegant. Tan Haonan's home stood in the newly developed residential quarter of Bairen Town, houses built for middle-class earners who worked in factories and government offices. Many merchants had also purchased homes here, drawn by the private plumbing and modern conveniences.

Along the modest street, red brick two-and-a-half-story buildings stood in neat rows. Windows and doors followed a uniform style—clean and attractive. Flower pots adorned the small courtyards before each entrance.

Tan Haonan was a volunteer soldier, and those who volunteered typically came from good families. The moment Zhang Laicai walked onto this street, he knew Tan Haonan was a man of the town.

The woman who answered the door wore an Australian-style dress, more beautiful and elegant than the village girls he'd encountered along the way, the fabric obviously of higher quality. Her face and hands were pale and smooth.

"Please, sit. I'll make tea." Having regained her composure, she realized that rushing to send them away would only arouse suspicion. Better to play the gracious hostess.

"No need, no need," the Paijia waved his hand. "These two comrades have business to discuss. They'll leave once it's finished."

"It's no trouble at all." She disappeared into the kitchen and soon returned with three glass cups. "Herbal tea—please drink and cool yourselves."

She sat down gracefully, her mind churning. Why had the army suddenly sent someone? Wasn't Haonan with his unit? A vague unease threaded through her suspicion. Then her gaze fell upon the coat rack by the door.

On the rack hung the coat and shawl she usually wore when going out. But on the topmost hook sat a Panama hat—unmistakably a Panama hat. Such items were sold only at that single-bay shop in East Gate Market, the inconspicuous one with the number 82 plate. Anything from that establishment cost at least half a year's income for an ordinary person, sometimes several years' worth.

When the man arrived, he'd been wearing that hat. Out of habit, he must have hung it casually on the rack by the door.

What should she do? Panic seized her. From where the visitors sat, a simple sideways glance would reveal the hat.

A man's hat in the house could be explained away as Haonan's—but Haonan could never afford such a hat.

Through her mounting fear, she watched one of the soldiers rise, salute formally, and speak:

"We represent the Political Department of the Fubo Army General Staff to inform you that your husband, Volunteer Soldier Comrade Tan Haonan, fought bravely in the Liangguang Campaign and has made the ultimate sacrifice..."

Something seemed to explode inside her head. The Panama hat and her husband's death tumbled together in her mind, tangling into chaos. She fainted.

When she came to, she had been helped into an armchair. Her philtrum throbbed with pain. Sister-in-law Meitang was looking down at her with concern.

"She's awake! She's awake!" the woman cried happily, then asked gently, "Would you like some water?"

The woman waved weakly. "No need, no need." She struggled to sit upright, her entire body terribly weak. An unreal, dreamlike sensation swirled around her. She stared vaguely at the floor, wanting to grasp something, yet not knowing what.

"Sister-in-law Meitang," she whispered, "do you have any shochu at home? Please pour me a little."

"Of course! Of course!" Sister-in-law Meitang hurried off.

"Sister-in-law, are you alright?" Zhang Youcai watched her tremble all over and rushed to ask, afraid she might collapse again.

"I'm fine, I'm fine." The woman shook her head. "Please continue."

Tan Shuangxi quickly retrieved the kraft paper bag from his satchel and read aloud, adhering strictly to the official text. Then he handed over the death notification, a check, several medals, and a package marked "personal effects."

The woman opened the package. Inside lay a pair of half-finger gloves she had sewn herself, along with a badly worn sheepskin notebook—another gift she'd given her husband.

She stroked the threadbare gloves and turned the pages of the battered notebook, lost in thought. At last, she released a faint sigh.

Zhang Laicai said: "Tan Haonan was an excellent soldier—hardworking and brave. He was a good man." He emphasized those final words—"a good man"—as though sighing, yet also somehow accusing.

Sister-in-law Meitang returned with half a bottle of Haikang Cane Shochu. The woman poured herself a cup, threw back her head, and drained it. Then she did so twice more. Under the gaze of everyone present, the room fell into heavy silence.

"His larger personal effects will be sent by mail," Tan Shuangxi said quietly. "If you have any requests, you may also report them to the Military Affairs Section or directly to the unit." He had been close with Tan Haonan during their service. Though one was a local and the other an outsider, they shared the surname "Tan," and that bond had made them look out for each other.

She nodded and finally began to sob, drawing a handkerchief from her bodice to cover her face. Her tears seemed to soften Zhang Laicai's gaze.

"Did he have any words for me?"

Tan Shuangxi said: "He spoke at the end. He said he was sorry—that he could no longer take care of you—and asked that you find another good man, someone reliable."

She shook her head gently, drew her legs up onto the chair, and rested her face against her knees, curling into a ball. Fortunately, it was a chair with a backrest; such furniture was rare in the countryside. The furnishings in this home were not those of an ordinary family.

Tan Shuangxi knew that before enlisting, Tan Haonan had worked as an employee at a large trading firm dealing in local goods. Though not a naturalized cadre, his income was no less than theirs—not to mention that his father-in-law was a wealthy merchant.

He had been handsome, literate, and numerate. His calligraphy was excellent, his speech pleasant—refined, giving the impression of a particularly learned man. He'd often written letters for the soldiers in his company.

Rich, cultured, with a beautiful wife and a bright future... and now he was dead.

The thought left Tan Shuangxi with a weight in his chest.

"Haonan's final words were, 'The moon tonight is truly beautiful.'" Tan Shuangxi let the memory unspool slowly. "The battle happened at night. After we wiped out the raiders and found Haonan lying on the ground, he was already fading. He said what I've told you—and then he said the moon was beautiful. Those were his last words."

Tan Haonan's wife wept again. She murmured to herself: "The moon tonight is truly beautiful..."

But those were not Tan Haonan's last words. The survivors of that chaotic night remembered clearly—they would never forget as long as they lived—his final utterance was "Pain—" The last sound had sprayed out with the blood foam.

Tan Haonan's death was senseless, utterly senseless. After finishing his second watch, he'd probably wanted to find something to eat at the cooking squad. Instead of returning with the soldier from his shift, he'd taken a shortcut through the woods—and stumbled into a lurking sentry. The sentry called out the password. Either Tan Haonan forgot the countersign or momentarily panicked; either way, he didn't answer. If he had simply shouted, "It's me, So-and-so!" there probably would have been no problem. After months together, over a hundred men would at least recognize a voice. At worst, he'd have faced a reprimand later. But he said nothing. He kept walking forward. The sentry opened fire.

"He missed you," Tan Shuangxi said simply. "He always looked at the moon at night, always said it was beautiful. He would tell me, 'Though miles apart, we share the beauty due; she and I are looking at the same moon.'" This wasn't invented—because of their shared surname, Tan Shuangxi and Tan Haonan had been close, often chatting about family matters.

(End of Chapter)