Hard work after winning the lottery

The afternoon sun, having shed the midday heat, became gentle.

The women under the grapevines gathered the shelled beans, chatted and laughed as they went into the kitchen to prepare dinner.

Only two elderly people with gray hair remained in the courtyard.

Hua Mutou pulled out a set of rough pottery teaware from some corner and brought over a pot of freshly boiled spring water.

His hands, which had spent years working with the land and sheep, were covered in thick calluses and his knuckles were large. Yet, at this moment, he was washing and brewing the tea with a calmness that did not match his appearance.

Soon, a rich aroma of tea wafted through the air under the old locust tree.

Zhou Yinchuan picked up the simple-looking teacup and took a small sip.

The tea soup is piping hot and has a bitter taste, but then a long-lasting sweet aftertaste slowly rises from the back of the tongue.

"It still tastes the same." He squinted his eyes in satisfaction.

Hua Mutou chuckled, revealing his teeth stained yellow from smoking: "You little rascal, you really like this bitter taste."

The two sat facing each other, chatting casually.

It's unclear who started it, but the conversation naturally veered back to that long-faded yet eternally vibrant period of glorious history.

"I still remember it to this day," Zhou Yinchuan put down his teacup, his gaze drifting into the distance as if piercing through time, "that time during a field training exercise, the sound of your snoring, good heavens, echoed throughout the entire valley!"

"They even scared away the patrolling wild boars!"

Upon hearing this, Hua Mutou's face flushed red, and he retorted with a stiff neck, "Nonsense! I was just exhausted! It's you who talks in your sleep every night, tossing and turning over and over the same thing: 'Mom, I want to eat braised pork,' making the whole platoon of soldiers unable to sleep!"

"Ha ha ha ha--!"

"Ha ha ha ha--!"

Two deep, hearty laughs echoed through the quiet courtyard, startling a flock of sparrows from the trees into flight.

As the laughter subsided, Zhou Yinchuan's gaze became deep and distant, and he sighed softly.

"Honestly, Lao Hua, there's something I'll remember for the rest of my life."

His voice was soft, yet carried a heavy weight.

"That year, during the forced march and crossing of snow-capped mountains, my feet were blistered and I had a low-grade fever. Every step felt like walking on a knife's edge."

"Back then, everyone's rations were carefully calculated, and there was no room for extra effort."

"You, you blockhead."

Zhou Yinchuan looked at him, his eyes slightly moist.

"You insisted on giving me half of your most heavily packed portion of dry rations, and then carried my half on your own back."

"For three whole days."

"I asked you why, and you said you're thick-skinned and won't starve."

More than half a century has passed, but the arduous journey through the snow and ice, the exhaustion and despair that almost crushed him, and the heavy, warm dry rations are still clearly imprinted in the depths of Zhou Yinchuan's memory.

That's not just food, that's life.

Hua Mutou felt a little uncomfortable under his gaze, picked up his teacup, took a big gulp, and said in a gruff voice:

"It's such a trivial matter, why bring it up!"

"Back then, we were brothers sleeping in the same pit. If I don't help you, who will?"

"Besides," he put down his teacup, glanced at Zhou Yinchuan, and grinned slyly, "aren't you the same?"

"If it weren't for you, my legs would probably be ruined by now."

Zhou Yinchuan was stunned for a moment, then he remembered.

Hua Mutou was referring to the athlete's foot he contracted when he was stationed in the south for training that year.

The climate in the south was hot and humid, and the sanitation conditions were poor. His toes were ulcerated and oozing pus. When he took off his shoes, the smell was so strong that it would make a person lose their appetite for three days.

The itching was unbearable at night, and I couldn't sleep, tossing and turning. During the day, every step felt like torture.

"I remember, back then you took out all the allowance you had saved up for half a month." Hua Mutou's voice also became low.

"I asked a fellow villager from the cookhouse to buy me several tubes of ointment from town."

"That ointment is very precious; I heard that only high-ranking officials in the city can afford it."

"Every night, you didn't mind the smell, you personally applied the medicine for me, and even forced me to soak my feet in salt water."

"You even said that for soldiers, their feet are their second life. If you're willing to risk your life, what kind of soldier are you?"

Zhou Yinchuan smiled, a smile tinged with nostalgia and a hint of lingering fear.

"You blockhead! You thought the ointment was too expensive and refused to take it. I almost hit you."

"I was really scared back then, afraid that your legs would be ruined."

Both of them fell silent.

Those years of fighting and sharing life and death are the deepest imprints etched into their bones and blood.

It was the last steamed bun shared in the cold trenches.

It was during a night of constant gunfire that they patted each other on the back and said, "Don't be afraid, I'm here."

It is the trust of entrusting one's back to the other without hesitation when the bugle sounds.

This bond has long transcended ordinary friendship, becoming a kinship ties.

It's a friendship that transcends life and death.

It doesn't need many fancy words, or even to be constantly on one's lips.

It settled there, like the old locust tree in the courtyard, its roots deeply embedded in the soil of each other's lives, intertwined and inseparable.

After a long while, Hua Mutou raised his rough, large hand and patted Zhou Yinchuan's shoulder heavily.

"Old Zhou."

"Um."

Zhou Yinchuan also raised his hand and patted his back forcefully.

"Old Hua."

"Um."

A thousand words are left unsaid.

Just then, a series of "tap tap tap" footsteps approached from afar.

"Great-Grandpa Zhou! Great-Grandpa!"

The triplets, like three mischievous little monkeys, each holding a blade of grass, swarmed around us.

"What are you talking about?" The second child, Hua Sile, looked up curiously with her big, blinking eyes.

"Great-grandfather, what is a forced march? Does it mean walking very, very fast?" The eldest brother, Hua Si'an, always asked the most incisive questions.

The third brother, Hua Sitao, was the most practical. Pointing to the teapot on the table, he asked in a childish voice, "Is this water bitter?"

The two elderly people were instantly brought back to reality by this sudden burst of childlike innocence, and the heavy emotions on their faces vanished.

Zhou Yinchuan laughed heartily and pulled Hua Sitao onto his lap: "It's not bitter, this is for adults. Grandpa will get you some honey water later."

Hua Mutou, with a stern face, said to Hua Si'an, "A forced march, that means you have to run from the east end of the village to the top of the west mountain and back in one day, without taking a break!"

The little ones were astonished, but still seemed to understand only vaguely, though they felt that their two great-grandfathers' behavior just now was different from usual.

Although they couldn't understand the stories about the dry rations and ointments, they could clearly feel that there was an indescribable, yet exceptionally profound and warm emotion in the air.

Zhou Yinchuan held the soft little body in his arms, his gaze passing over the children's heads and looking towards the distant mountains dyed golden by the setting sun.