Chapter 338 - 185: This Prosperous Era is As You Wished

Chapter 338: Chapter 185: This Prosperous Era is As You Wished

"Oh my, Momo, your hair is braided so prettily today."

Zhou Yan had just finished packing the pickled radishes when he heard everyone’s voices outside.

"Coming!" Zhou Yan called out. He placed the food into a straw-lined back basket, then wheeled his bicycle out the door.

A dozen or so classic roadster bicycles were parked by the door. Four generations of the Zhou family had turned out in full force, and even their granduncle, Zhang Zhengping, was there.

Not all the bikes belonged to them; some were borrowed from others in the village. Everyone knew the Zhou family was going to pay their respects at the grave, so lending them a bike was a simple matter of asking.

Zhou Yan greeted everyone, and Zhou Momo ran over to him, a camouflage canteen slung over her shoulder. "Brother, I want to ride on your bike!"

"Hold on tight," Zhou Yan said with a smile, lifting her onto the crossbar, which had been padded with old clothes.

"Let’s go," the matriarch said, giving the word from her seat on the back of Zhou Ming’s bicycle.

The group chatted idly as they made their way straight for Jiazhou City.

Laoxiaoding was located in Jiazhou Old Town, right next to the Jiazhou Confucius Temple.

The patriarch’s grave was situated at the foot of the mountain behind it. At the time, Jiazhou had not yet built a large-scale martyrs’ cemetery. Because he was a hero of the highest merit, he was laid to rest here with a group of other martyrs for future generations to honor and remember. Every year during the Qingming Festival, students would even come to pay their respects.

The family parked their bicycles at the foot of the mountain. After a quick word with the Tomb Guardian, he agreed to watch over the bikes for them.

Carrying their offerings, they headed in, their expressions growing a little more solemn.

The children, however, were chasing one another, their faces bright with radiant smiles.

"Fanwa!" Zhao Hong called out.

The matriarch smiled and waved her hand. "Don’t shout. Let them play and be happy, let them pay their respects with joy. If we’re all moping around with our heads hung low, Old Zhou will think we’re not doing well."

Everyone laughed at her words, and the mood lightened considerably.

"You’ve always had the best outlook, Sis," Zhang Zhengping said with a laugh. "If I were the one lying in there, I can’t imagine how much Yurong would cry."

"Get outta here. When Yurong holds your wake, she’ll definitely pull a few people together for a game of mahjong," the matriarch retorted, rolling her eyes at him.

Zhang Zhengping mulled it over and nodded in agreement. "You know, you’ve got a point. She would absolutely do something like that. When the time comes, I’ll just have to hang around as a ghost and blow an eerie wind on them so none of them can win a hand."

Zhou Yan tilted his head. ’That’s some seriously dark humor,’ he thought.

He’d been to a few wedding banquets in the Sichuan and Chongqing region, but he had never actually attended a funeral.

According to his roommate from the area, however, it was practically a local tradition for the grieving children to team up for mahjong during the wake.

The scene was definitely different from how things were done elsewhere.

It’s no wonder they say people from Sichuan are a breed apart.

Anywhere else, you’d be branded an unfilial son and carry that label to your grave for something like this.

The cemetery was on the smaller side. The family gathered before a tombstone, on which was carved: The Grave of Martyr Zhou Yi.

They stepped forward to sweep away the fallen leaves, wiped the dust from the headstone with a new cloth, and then carefully laid out their offerings of pork and wine.

When Zhou Yan took the cloth and began wiping the back of the headstone, he discovered an inscription detailing the life of Comrade Zhou Yi. In several hundred elegantly carved words, it briefly summarized his entire military career: from the day he left his home in Sichuan on August 16, 1937, through the Hu Song Campaign and the great victory at Taierzhuang... to his final fall on the battlefield at Cheorwon.

And every single word was so magnificently heroic.

A scene flashed through Zhou Yan’s mind—the words Zhou Yi had spoken to Zhang Shufen, gripping her hand before he left: "I have to go. If our generation fights all the wars that need to be fought, then our descendants won’t have to!"

The matriarch, dressed all in black, stood to one side, staring at the headstone in a long, deep silence.

Zhou Yan slowly clenched his fists, repeating a vow in his heart. ’Grandpa, the homeland is safe. This golden age is just as you wished it would be.’