Hard work after winning the lottery

This is a resonance of blood ties, a wondrous feeling that cannot be explained by any words.

Looking at the elderly man in front of her who was as excited as a child, Zhou Yanjin's tense jawline finally relaxed slightly.

He reached out his other hand and gently supported his grandfather's arm, silently conveying his strength.

However, after the extreme excitement comes a flood of more complex emotions.

The smile on Zhou Yinchuan's face slowly froze.

The ecstatic joy that belonged to the Zhou family for having three great-grandchildren was quickly replaced by a heavy feeling of guilt.

He released his grip on his grandson's hand, slowly turned around, and looked out the window at the Hua family's courtyard, bathed in moonlight.

A long, heavy sigh escaped his lips.

"But……"

"Poor Yun'er."

"It's...unfortunate that Lao Hua and his family have had to go through this..."

The old man's voice sounded much older at that moment.

He thought of that girl, as resilient as wild grass in the mountains, how she single-handedly endured her pregnancy, the pain of childbirth, and raised three crying infants to such an age.

Five years.

For over 1,800 days and nights.

The Zhou family knew nothing about this.

And under what circumstances, deceived, did his old comrade-in-arms, Hua Mutou, help his granddaughter support the family?

"Our Zhou family,"

Zhou Yinchuan's voice was terribly hoarse, and every word seemed to be uttered with all his might.

"I owe them so much, so very much!"

These words, like a needle, pierced Zhou Yanjin's heart with pinpoint accuracy.

"I know, Grandpa."

Zhou Yanjin's eyes were more resolute than ever before, like steel that had been tempered in fire.

"I will spend the rest of my life making up for all the debts I owe you, little by little."

He wasn't offering comfort; he was making a vow.

"I assure you."

"I will take responsibility for Hua Yun, for the children, and for every member of the Hua family."

Zhou Yinchuan slowly turned around and looked at his grandson again.

Those reddened old eyes held scrutiny, but also a glimmer of final hope.

"What...are you planning to do?"

This is not a simple question.

Zhou Yanjin met her grandfather's gaze without the slightest hesitation.

His answer had clearly been considered a thousand times in his mind; it was clear and beyond question.

"I will do everything I can to gain Hua Yun and her family's understanding."

"I'll take it whether they hit me or yell at me."

This is an attitude.

His voice deepened, each word resounding with a forceful and unyielding determination.

"To marry her rightfully and legitimately."

"To give the children a complete family."

These ten words, like a boulder, struck Zhou Yinchuan's heart heavily.

He looked at his grandson's face, which bore a striking resemblance to his own when he was young. In those deep eyes burned a flame unique to men of the Zhou family—a flame that would never give up until the goal was achieved.

Ecstasy and guilt, two extreme emotions, were colliding and tearing wildly in his aging heart.

The good news is that the Zhou family has offspring, and three of them at once, all of them clever and adorable little ones.

The shame is that this immense joy was built upon the suffering and forbearance of another family, the family of an old comrade-in-arms whom he deeply respected.

Zhou Yinchuan released his hand from his grandson's, and his wrinkled and veined hand suddenly felt awkward.

He patted Zhou Yanjin's shoulder with a heavy pat, like a silent entrustment or a weighty handover.

"You wait here."

The old man's voice was hoarse, yet it conveyed an undeniable determination.

"I'll have to use my old face to pave the way for you in this matter."

After saying that, he didn't look at his grandson again, turned around, and with heavy but firm steps, opened the door.

The night breeze outside the door, carrying a hint of coolness, rushed in instantly, ruffling his gray hair.

Zhou Yanjin stood still, without moving.

He watched his grandfather's figure disappear outside the door, his tall body casting a solitary and silent shadow under the lamplight.

In the Hua family's courtyard, the moonlight, like water, poured down, illuminating the bluestone pavement with a cool glow.

The heated argument in the main room had subsided, replaced by a more unsettling deathly silence.

Hua Mutou was alone, squatting in the shade of the old locust tree in the corner of the yard.

He didn't sit on a small stool, but just squatted there, like a silent stone statue.

In the dim light, a tiny, scarlet glow flickered near his lips; it was a cheap cigarette held between his rough fingers.

He inhaled the pungent smoke deeply into his lungs and exhaled it heavily, which swirled into a blurry cloud of sorrow under the cold moonlight.

His spine, which had always been straight, now seemed to be bent by something invisible.

Zhou Yinchuan spotted him immediately.

He saw his old buddy, who had crawled out of the hail of bullets with him, now enveloped in immense pain and humiliation.

His steps, in that instant, felt as heavy as a thousand pounds.

Every step felt like stepping on the blade of my own conscience.

He slowly, step by step, walked up to Hua Mutou.

Two elderly people, whose combined age exceeds 150, one standing and the other squatting, sat silently in the quiet courtyard of a farmhouse.

The air seemed to freeze.

Only that tiny, scarlet cigarette butt stubbornly burned in the darkness, like a bleeding heart.

In the end, it was Zhou Yinchuan who spoke first.

His voice, as if torn by the night wind, was dry and strained as he spoke:

"Old Hua..."

Just two words, yet they exhausted all his strength.

Hua Mutou didn't look up, but took another deep drag on his cigarette, the choking smoke almost completely enveloping his face.

Zhou Yinchuan looked at him, his eyes stinging, and his throat felt like it was blocked by a hot iron.

He bent down, his tone filled with unspeakable apology.

"I'm sorry."

"I really...I really didn't know this would happen..."

"It's our Zhou family who are sorry, Yun'er, and all of you..."

In the end, this tough veteran, who had never flinched even when bleeding on the battlefield, found his voice trembling with an uncontrollable sob.

Hua Mutou's hand, which was holding a cigarette, trembled almost imperceptibly.

Cigarette ash fell in a flurry, landing on his cloth shoes, but he was completely unaware.

He finally raised his head.

Those eyes, clouded by time, were bloodshot under the moonlight.

He looked at his old comrade-in-arms of decades, at the face filled with pain and self-blame, and the raging fire in his heart, which could have burned to the heavens, was as if a bucket of cold water had been poured over his head, and he could not ignite it no matter what.