North Family Letters

The aroma of food in the barracks, old stories of the southern frontier

The military granted Song Changshan a half-day leave and vacated a small room in the family reception room next to the camp.

We ate lunch at the company canteen.

As soon as you enter, you're greeted by the aroma of a large pot of stew—cabbage and potatoes stew, braised pork with radish, and a bowl of white rice. In 1973, this was considered a very good meal. The quartermaster greeted him with a smile, "Old Song, with your family here, it's a treat to eat meat! We added extra meat today!"

A rare relaxed smile appeared on Song Changshan's dark face as he served rice to his daughters one by one:

"Eat up, there's plenty in the army."

The children, holding their enamel bowls, looked a little embarrassed.

Xiaoya shoveled a couple of mouthfuls of rice into her mouth, then looked up and asked, "Dad, do you eat this in Vietnam too?"

Song Changshan paused, the spoon in his hand momentarily still. He didn't directly say it was bitter, but simply said softly:

"There's no white rice there, mostly bananas and wild vegetables. Sometimes we eat dry rations, and if we can have a sip of hot soup, that's already pretty good."

He tells stories about Vietnam

The family sat around a small table, and he slowly recounted his life in Vietnam, speaking softly so as not to frighten the children. Song Truong Shan pulled out a bilingual (Vietnamese and Chinese) certificate of merit from his old canvas bag; the paper was yellowed and stamped with the red seal of the government of the Democratic Republic of Vietnam.

"This was signed by the Vietnamese Prime Minister, commending our anti-aircraft artillery unit for shooting down American aircraft."

He pointed to the signature: "Look, this is the Prime Minister's name, and it's in Vietnamese."

His old comrade patted Song Changshan on the shoulder:

"Back then, when we shot down an enemy plane, the Vietnamese Prime Minister personally presented our regiment with its flag and said, 'Our Chinese brothers are Vietnam's Great Wall of Steel!'"

Little Ya touched the certificate and asked, "Dad, who is Fan Wentong?"

Song Changshan: "He was the Prime Minister of Vietnam, just like our Premier Zhou, in charge of national affairs. When we were fighting in Vietnam, he thought about us every day, and sent us certificates of merit and gifts."

"That area is all mountains and dense forests. It rains every day, so your clothes are always damp and your shoes are always filled with mud."

American planes came every day, so our anti-aircraft artillery units hid in the mountains. As soon as enemy planes arrived and the alarm sounded, everyone grabbed their weapons and ran to their gun positions.

Xia He gripped her chopsticks tightly: "Dad, aren't you scared?"

"We have to go, even if we're afraid." Song Changshan patted her head. "If we don't go and guard, the enemy will attack."

Once, a shell exploded not far away, burying half of my body in the dirt. My ears were ringing, and I couldn't hear anything. But I had to get up and keep firing.

Qiu Ling's eyes reddened: "Are you hurt?"

Song Changshan rolled up his sleeves, revealing a shallow scar on his arm:

"Minor injuries, nothing to worry about. Many comrades stayed there and never came back."

"I'm already so grateful to have met you all alive."

The room fell silent.

I only knew that my father was shooting down American planes, but I didn't know that every time he was safe, he risked his life.

Guifen gently pressed his hand down: "Stop talking, let's eat, the food's getting cold."

Comrades all came to say hello

As we were eating, several comrades in military uniforms came in one after another, calling out with smiles from afar:

"Old Song! The family has finally arrived!"

"Sister-in-law, you've worked so hard, coming all the way from Northeast China!"

"These must be the six daughters? They're so beautiful!"

They were all brothers who had fought side by side in Vietnam, their faces tanned dark red, their words open and honest. Some pulled out pieces of fruit candy they had been saving to eat and gave them to the children one by one; others patted Song Changshan on the shoulder and said with a smile, "You can finally take a break."

An old soldier looked at the room full of girls and joked:

"Old Song, you have six little darlings! That's much better than all of us grown men!"

The room was filled with hearty laughter.

Song Changshan introduced them one by one, his tone tinged with a rare pride:

"This is my wife Guifen, this is the eldest Chunyan, the second Xiahe... and the youngest is Xiaoya."

Gui Fen stood up, smiled, and nodded her thanks.

The children imitated the adults, quietly greeting "Hello, Uncle," their manners both reserved and well-behaved.

A bowl of hot soup, a wish for peace

The food gradually got cold, but no one cared.

Looking at his wife and six daughters, and then at his comrades-in-arms who had shared life and death with him, Song Changshan suddenly felt that all the hardships he had endured along the way—the hail of bullets, the deep mountains and dense forests, the hunger and cold—had been worth it.

Xiaoya picked up a piece of meat from her bowl and gave it to her father: "Dad, you eat it. You work the hardest."

Song Changshan's eyes welled up with tears, and he put the meat back into her bowl: "Dad isn't hungry. You're growing, so you eat."

Outside the window, the Yunnan sunlight filters through the leaves, providing just the right amount of warmth.

There was no gunfire, no air raid sirens, only family, comrades, a hot meal, and a few casual words.

These were the most ordinary yet most precious days that he had dreamed of countless times on the battlefield of Vietnam.

Song Changshan carefully folded the bilingual (Vietnamese and Chinese) certificate of merit and tucked it back into the innermost layer of his old canvas bag, as if hiding a heavy piece of glory. His old comrades-in-arms were still recounting the scenes of anti-aircraft guns firing and enemy planes being shot down. His mother stood beside him, her face expressionless, but the pride in her eyes was impossible to hide. His six daughters surrounded him, asking questions about the battlefield one after another. Xiaoya clung to the hem of her father's uniform, refusing to let go.

Just before they left, the clerk from the military unit came over and offered to take a picture of their family.

The mother quickly straightened her clothes and gathered her daughters' hair together.

Song Changshan stood ramrod straight in his crisp military uniform, his mother beside him, and his six sisters, from oldest to youngest, crowded around them. The older sisters protected the younger ones, and the younger ones leaned against their mother. None of them played around; they all quietly watched the camera.

"Smile and look here."

With a click of the shutter, the image was captured under the clear Yunnan sky.

A small black and white photograph captured a family's rare reunion, but also foreshadowed their impending separation.

The moment the photo was taken, words of farewell choked in her throat. Her mother fought back tears, repeatedly telling Song Changshan to take care of himself and stay safe, assuring him that she was there for him, and that their six daughters were all sensible, and that he could focus on defending the country on the front lines without worry.

The eldest daughter lowered her head and wiped away her tears; the second daughter was stubborn and turned away from her father; the third daughter clutched the corner of the newly taken photo, her knuckles turning white; the fourth daughter sobbed softly; the fifth daughter trembled while clinging to her mother's arm; and the youngest, Xiaoya, burst into tears and clung to her father's leg, refusing to let go.

Song Changshan's eyes reddened, but he simply bent down and picked up Xiaoya, gently patting her back: "Be good, come home with Mom. Dad will go back after the war."

There weren't many sentimental words; they were just the most genuine concerns of ordinary families.

Finally, I embarked on my journey home.

The seven of them set off from Yunnan, changing buses and taking trains, traveling a bumpy and swaying journey to their hometown in Northeast China.

The train carriage was packed full, filled with the noise of people, and the rails clattered as it headed north. At first, the sisters were crying, but later, exhausted, they nestled one by one beside their mother and fell asleep. The mother didn't sleep a wink all night, covering one of them with a blanket, wiping away the tears from another's eyes, her hand tightly clutching the family photo that had just been taken, touching it again and again.

Along the way, the scenery gradually changed.

The lush mountains and clear waters of Yunnan, and the humid air, are gradually fading away, replaced by increasingly open plains, and the winds are becoming drier and colder. From the verdant south to the vast expanse of the north, no matter how far the journey, the mother and her children stay together, their hearts never parting.

The eldest daughter helped her mother carry her bags and watch her luggage; the second daughter, though stubborn, was kind-hearted and ran to fetch hot water; the third daughter quietly looked after her younger sisters; the fourth daughter told jokes to make everyone happy; the fifth daughter silently helped hand things over; and Xiao Ya leaned against the window, constantly talking about her father.

The further north the train went, the closer it got to home, and the heavier the mother's heart became.

On one hand, she felt apprehensive about returning home; on the other hand, her husband was far away in the southern border region.

It wasn't until the train slowly pulled into the platform in the Northeast, and a cold wind blew in, that the sisters suddenly realized they were home.

The mother, holding onto the train door, slowly stepped off the train, glanced back at the south direction, and sighed softly.

The family photo in her arms was still warm from her body, and the certificate of merit signed by the Vietnamese Prime Minister was also carefully kept in the package.

From now on, the family of seven will continue to live in Northeast China.

Staying at home, waiting for loved ones, hoping for their safe return from afar.