An 80s female translator was spoiled rotten by a rough and jealous man.

Chapter 253 Reunion (Part )
The rain stopped. The subtropical jungle was hot and humid in the dead of night, and mosquitoes buzzed and hovered in the low-lying areas.

Huo Qingshan knelt on one knee, his right hand on the pistol at his waist, and his left hand parting the drooping vines in front of him. The camouflage checkpoint of the emergency medical station was less than a hundred meters ahead.

From a distance, it appears to be just an ordinary thicket of shrubs, with vines and banana leaves intertwined and hanging down, blending seamlessly with the surrounding vegetation. But upon closer inspection, one can see several thin wires cleverly securing camouflage netting, the mesh of which is filled with branches and leaves, making it difficult for even infrared reconnaissance to detect anything unusual.

Huo Qingshan continued forward, but after taking only two steps, he heard a deep command from his right: "Stop!" The voice was so low that it almost blended into the sound of the wind in the jungle.

Huo Qingshan didn't move, but slowly raised his hands, palms facing forward, fingers spread.

In the shadows, two sentries appeared silently, one on the left and one on the right, their faces painted with alternating blue and black greasepaint. They pointed their Type 56 assault rifles at the man, their index fingers resting on the trigger guards.

"Password," the sentry on the right asked.

Huo Qingshan, the "Red Star," replied.

"Return the order."

"lightning."

The sentry tapped the tip of his bayonet against his waist: "Hand over your weapon," he gave the extremely brief instruction.

Huo Qingshan slowly lowered his hands, his right thumb releasing the quick-draw holster pull, his left hand gripping the Type 54 pistol's handle, his index finger remaining pressed against the outside of the guard. He slowly pulled the gun out, muzzle pointing downwards, precisely aiming at the ground two inches in front of his left toes.

"Remove the box."

The man pressed the magazine release button with his thumb, and the metal magazine fell onto a banana leaf on the ground.

The sentry didn't reach for the gun; instead, he used his bayonet to lift Huo Qingshan's collar insignia. Inside the insignia was a dark green metal plate, its edges badly worn, but the stamp "15th Army Reconnaissance" was still clearly visible.

"Certificate."

Huo Qingshan pulled out a plastic-sealed officer's ID card from the inner pocket.

A few seconds later, the sentry handed back his officer's badge. At the same time, the sentry took a tin can from his waist, went behind him, grabbed a handful of lime powder, and slapped it onto the back of the man's combat uniform. The powder slid down the sweat-soaked fabric, accumulating into small white marks at the hem.

After a rough disinfection process, Huo Qingshan was finally allowed to pass.

This first aid station was a semi-underground fortification. The moment the camouflage netting covering the roof was lifted, the stench of blood mixed with the putrid smell of alcohol rushed out. The entrance and exit ramp was about 22 degrees and was covered with bamboo strips soaked in blood; stepping on it felt like stepping into the cavity of some living creature.

The round wooden support pillars are engraved with rows of "正" (zhèng) characters, the newest one being written on its third stroke, with black blood congealed in the knife marks.

The cotton curtain hung at the far end, and a dagger scratch in the lower right corner was gleaming. Huo Qingshan reached out to lift it, but the sticky dampness clung to his wrist first—the waterlogged quilt felt as heavy as a corpse.

A sudden burst of light pierced the pupil.

Three kerosene lamps hung overhead, and the entire underground space was laid out in the shape of the Chinese character "丰" (feng), with the central main tunnel being about two meters wide.

Looking around, the debridement area on the left is a semi-enclosed space enclosed by ammunition boxes, with three folding stretchers placed on empty shell casings.

Two medics were gathered there, surrounding a man lying on a stretcher whose facial muscles were twitching and who was frantically scratching his throat.

The operating area on the right was even more rudimentary—two empty oil drums were supported by door panels, serving as operating tables, with a makeshift IV stand standing beside them. A man was also lying on the door panel bed, and a military doctor in a white coat was bending over to perform the procedure, while a medic stood beside him to assist.

Not wanting to disturb them, Huo Qingshan stepped deeper into the area, intending to find a third person.

As he peered past the operating room enclosure, he looked towards the "patient bed area" behind him.

The man's gaze froze instantly. Huo Qingshan never imagined that he would see her like this in such a place.

Several bamboo mats were spread out on the ground, serving as makeshift hospital beds. A girl lay half-reclined on one of the mats, her short, jet-black hair reaching her ears. A striking scar marked her right cheek, resembling the shape of a whip wound, its edges slightly dried and dark red. Her left hand was wrapped tightly in several layers of gauze, the outermost layer still showing traces of blood.

The girl had her eyes closed, her upper body leaning against the wall, her arms wrapped around herself in a defensive posture, her brows slightly furrowed, and her head would occasionally twitch involuntarily, as if in an uncontrollable reaction. She looked very uneasy.

How did she end up here? In a place where bullets have no eyes, a place where the number of casualties is increasing every day, a place where she doesn't know if she'll see the sun rise tomorrow.

Huo Qingshan closed his eyes tightly for a few seconds, then opened them again with difficulty. The scene in front of him was exactly the same, so real that it was hard to look at directly.

She's still here. She's right here. Even in her sleep, she's curled up in front of him, trembling uncontrollably.

Huo Qingshan suddenly felt that God was truly cruel, that His punishment for him was still continuing, and that He was determined to drive him to his death.
He originally thought the cruelest thing would be to see her standing next to another man, but now... Huo Qingshan found that he could accept her marrying someone else, spending the rest of his life with her, and even accept that she would forget him.

As long as she doesn't show up here, it's fine.

Huo Qingshan strode toward the girl, each step feeling as if a thousand pounds were weighing him down. One step, two steps... the man squatted down.

He was very close to her, within reach. The man's tall figure blocked the meager light from the dim yellow kerosene lamp above, making the already dim and narrow corner even darker.

He carefully examined the fresh wounds on the girl's face. The skin was torn open, the wounds were quite deep, and blood was still seeping from the center. A thin scab had formed on the edges of the wounds.

Judging from Huo Qingshan's experience, this level of external injury would most likely leave a scar.

Suddenly, a voice that seemed completely out of place rang in my ears: "I'm so beautiful, I don't want to have any scars!" It was a light and melodious voice, and the tone was assertive.

"I'm a great beauty, it would be such a shame if I had a scar!" the girl said, her face filled with deep regret. She had always been very vain.

But actually... Meng Youyou never said those two sentences.

To be more precise, when Meng Youyou asked Chu Yao for scar removal medicine at the military medical clinic, she only said the latter half of those two sentences.

But whenever Huo Qingshan thought about this period later, he felt that there were two unspoken subtexts in the earlier part of the story that she had chosen not to say at the time.

She's easy to read about, especially her innermost thoughts. Fortunately, she's mostly straightforward and outgoing, so she doesn't really need to hide her emotions, only occasionally trying to conceal them... a little bit of self-admiration that's hard to admit, intermittent moments of restraint; a little bit of mischievousness that she can hide or not, since you probably can't do anything about it anyway; and that little bit of awkward pride, wanting you to see it, yet not wanting you to see it—that's what she wants you to see.

In the long years after their separation, in one unintentional moment after another, Huo Qingshan would unconsciously recall her vivid eyebrows and eyes, the smile on her lips, and the sparkling light in her eyes.

If her delicate, upturned nose twitched slightly, revealing a few charmingly annoyed wrinkles at the tip, she was definitely unhappy. When she was sulking, the corners of her mouth would turn down slightly; when she was angry, she would call him "Huo Qingshan"; and when she was earnestly whispering sweet nothings, she would also call him "Huo Qingshan." Many people called him "Battalion Commander Huo," but only she could pronounce those three ordinary words in so many different ways—teasingly, coquettishly, sweetly, and meltingly sweet…

So many things, all deeply etched in his heart, becoming clearer with time.