Ren Jingnian looked at Gu Shunhua, frowning. After a long pause, he finally said,
“Let’s eat first.”
With that, he turned and went back into the kitchen. Soon, the sound of a large iron spatula scraping against a wok rang out. The sweet scent of sugar beets filled the air—he was stir-frying them.
Gu Shunhua looked down at the children in her arms.
Duoduo lay against her, clinging tightly.
Manman, on the other hand, gazed up at her with hopeful eyes.
Those round, dark pupils—so clear, so open—were full of unspoken worry and longing.
A sharp pang shot through her nose. Of course he understands, she thought. He’s just a child, but he knows. He doesn’t want to be separated from his mother. And I… I completely ignored that.
She couldn’t understand how she’d lost her senses so completely—how she could have done something so cruel.
She raised her hand and gently stroked her son’s slightly wavy black hair.
“Let’s go inside.”
Inside, the room was exactly as she’d left it.
A clay-brick kang bed lined one wall, with a handmade red lacquer table at the head and two wooden chairs. On the left stood a plain, unpainted wardrobe. In the corner, a washbasin rack and an old thermos.
That was all she and Ren Jingnian owned.
Once, all of this had felt warm—like the nest she had painstakingly built with mud and twigs, piece by piece. It was the smell of home.
But now… it all seemed pitifully small.
She remembered how the novel had described it:
Chen Lu came to “help,” and Ren Jingnian, on his own, sold off everything to someone else.
Her thoughts were interrupted by a small voice.
“Mama… are you and Papa still getting divorced?”
She turned toward Manman in surprise.
That soft, childish voice had asked something she never expected to hear.
She looked at her son. His eyes were wide and earnest, full of anxious hope.
Even Duoduo, sensing something was off, looked up at her.
Gu Shunhua gave a small smile and pulled both children into her arms.
“Mama and Papa only filed for divorce so Mama could return to the capital. Didn’t I tell you before? Once Mama is in the capital, we can all leave this place, see new things, eat good food, and never be cold or get sand blown in our mouths again when the wind picks up.”
She ran her fingers gently through their soft black hair, her voice warm and gentle.
“But no matter whether we’re divorced or not, I’ll never leave you.
If we go to the capital, I’ll take you with me.
If we can’t go, I’ll stay here at the mine with you.
No matter what happens in this life—Mama will always be with you.”
She said it not just to her children here and now, but to the versions of them from that other life.
Especially her daughter—who had grown up lacking love, so consumed by jealousy over the child Chen Lu bore with Ren Jingnian that she’d done unspeakable things.
Now she understood: her daughter’s rebellion had all stemmed from love unmet.
Duoduo seemed to relax. Her little body calmed.
But Manman still had that worried glint in his young eyes.
Just then, Ren Jingnian opened the door.
With a sudden gust, the cold wind howled in, nearly tearing the heavy cotton curtain from its hooks.
He closed the door and looked at her.
“Dinner’s ready.”
Gu Shunhua let go of the children and nodded.
She followed him to help bring the food.
Life at the mine was harsh.
Even though they both had salaries, things were still difficult.
The main dish was cornmeal wowotou—steamed cornbread buns—barely mixed with a bit of white flour.
The stir-fried beets had one egg cracked into them, and the soup was made from cellared potatoes cooked down with soy sauce, topped with a sprinkle of scallion.
To the children, though, this was a feast.
They were used to eating potatoes and cabbage all year round.
Now that sugar beets were in season, a dish like this—especially with an egg—was a real treat.
Gu Shunhua and Ren Jingnian helped ladle soup and watched over them as they ate.
The children ate eagerly.
Duoduo chewed her cornbread bun with delight, her little face glowing with happiness.
“Mama, do they have sweet beets this good in the capital too?”
The question made Gu Shunhua’s heart twist.
Compared to this barren desert mine, the capital was a blooming paradise.
There was nothing it lacked.
And her children—born here, raised here—had never seen the world beyond a few chickens and vegetables in their yard. They were three now, and they treated a handful of beets like precious treasure.
She forced a smile.
“When Mama takes you to the capital, you’ll see.
In Dashilan, there are sticky rice cakes, yellow pea cakes, flaky sesame buns, milk curds, and even roast duck from Quanjude!”
The children’s eyes lit up.
They munched their corn buns with wonder, dreaming of foods they’d never heard of before.
Ren Jingnian simply lifted his eyes and gave Gu Shunhua a glance.
After dinner, night had fully fallen.
Ren Jingnian washed the dishes while Gu Shunhua bathed the children.
The desert winds made everything dirty in no time.
Once they were clean, she lit the stove, sealed the firebox, shook out the dusty bedding, and tucked them both in.
Naturally, the children wanted her to stay with them.
So she crawled into bed, one arm around each of them, and told them stories.
Only when they finally drifted off to sleep did she fall silent.
She rose quietly and went to the outer room.
Outside, the northern wind whistled.
Plastic sheeting flapped against the windows.
Inside, a kerosene lamp flickered, casting a small yellow glow.
Ren Jingnian sat reading a thick book beneath the light.
When he heard her, he looked up.
Gu Shunhua said nothing.
The man who once stood by her through hardship, who once shared in her every burden—now twisted in her mind with the image of the cold, unfeeling man from the novel. The man who doted on Chen Lu while neglecting their children. Two utterly different versions of him tangled in her heart, and she no longer knew how to see him.
Since she first brought up divorce to return to the capital, they had argued, sulked, and fallen into cold silence. In the end, it was Ren Jingnian who persuaded her.
Marriage was said to be sacred.
But for the sake of a return permit, for a household registration in the capital, they had treated that sacred bond like a bargaining chip—and signed it away on a sheet of paper.
A divorce agreement in black and white. Weak, hollow words of comfort:
“We’ll work hard and be together again.”
“I’ll come to Beijing too.”
But they both knew the truth. The world was full of uncertainty, and they were so small within it. How many tears and how much struggle would it take for them to be reunited?
When they said goodbye at Liuzhao Station, there had been a strange and hopeless understanding between them:
This really might be the end.
And yet—here she was.
Back again.
But returning made everything even harder to face.
Especially now that she knew the contents of that cursed book—knew what was coming.
Ren Jingnian’s Adam’s apple shifted. He was the first to speak.
“Shunhua… what happened?”
Gu Shunhua gave a soft laugh and shook her head.
“Nothing, really. I just didn’t want to leave the children behind anymore.”
Ren Jingnian fell silent.
Outside, the wind of the northern frontier howled against the windows.
The old coal stove, built from packed earth, glowed faintly red.
Steam rose from the iron kettle on top.
The kerosene lamp flickered under its glass cover, casting wavering light across his face.
Gu Shunhua watched this man—this man she once believed she knew so well.
He had come to the Corps at sixteen, a boy with a trace of childishness still on his face.
Eight years in the wilds had shaped him into a strong, upright man—steady and full of ideals.
In the dim glow of the lamp, Gu Shunhua looked at him, and a passage from the book surfaced in her mind:
“His nose was straight as a ridge, his eyes deep and thoughtful, his lips pressed into a firm line. The years of hardship in the Corps had carved strength into his very bones, lending every movement a quiet steadiness.”
Quite the line, she thought.
And not inaccurate.
Ren Jingnian noticed the way she looked at him—something distant, almost evaluative.
After a moment, he asked,
“Shunhua… what do you plan to do?”
Gu Shunhua replied plainly,
“What else? I’ll go talk to Director Feng. We’ll rewrite the divorce agreement. The children will go to me. I’ll take the divorce papers and my return permit back to the capital and try to get their household registrations transferred.”
Ren Jingnian fixed his eyes on her, speaking slowly and clearly.
“With the children… no one will accept you. You won’t be able to go back.”
Gu Shunhua smiled.
“So what? Then I won’t go back. I’ll stay. These are my children—I gave birth to them. They’ll always be mine. I’m responsible for them. If I can’t return, I’ll stay here with them. If they can’t go back to the capital, I will stay with them in the desert until they grow old and die. It’s not like people can’t survive in this desert.”
Ren Jingnian clenched his jaw.
“Are you crazy? Do you even know what you’re saying?”
Tears fell from her eyes.
“I know. Of course I know. I’ve never been more clear. I know exactly what I want— I want to be with my children. Is that so wrong?”
She choked on her words.
“They’re mine. When I gave birth to them, I nearly lost my life. Why should I be the one to let them go?”
Her voice trembled as she spoke.
Ren Jingnian exhaled, long and weary.
“Shunhua… who told you all this? What are you thinking? These years at the mine—we’ve suffered, yes, but that’s not the point. It was for the country, and we bore it willingly. But the children—think of their future. If you don’t go first, they’ll never have a chance.”
Gu Shunhua shook her head.
“You’re wrong. If I go back alone, then they’ll never have a chance. I don’t care anymore if they grow up in the capital or in Bayannur. I only care whether they grow up with me.”
A trace of moisture flickered in Ren Jingnian’s eyes. He sat in silence for a long time. Then finally, he reached out and took her hand.
“Shunhua… If that’s how you feel, then let’s try.
Let’s try bringing the children back to the capital together. If we can’t… then we’ll stay here. Together.”
From the capital to Bayannur, Gu Shunhua had braved the wind, the cold, and exhaustion.
And now—her husband’s hand, dry and steady, wrapped around hers, offering warmth.
For just one moment, her heart softened.
She felt as if she could rely on him again.
But only for a moment.
This man—maybe he hadn’t changed yet. Maybe he really had urged her to divorce only for her sake. But in the future… who could say?
So yes, she could trust him for now.
But she must stay alert.
She must never again rely on anyone completely.
She lowered her eyes.
Her face softened.
And in a quiet voice, she said,
“…Alright.”