Since his mother, whose emotions were particularly prone to crumbling, already knew and hadn't reacted excessively, saying goodbye to his father seemed, in his imagination, much easier.
After putting away his luggage, Han Qingyu glanced at the wall clock. There was still some time before lunch. After thinking it over, he decided to simply go find him out in the vegetable plot.
Otherwise, he would have to wait until his dad came back to talk, which would mean saying goodbye all over again in front of his mom.
Who knew if Comrade Zhang Jiexia, with Comrade Han Youshan present, might become even more fragile, delicate, and difficult to comfort?
A talk between father and son was best held in private. Han Qingyu took the family's large porcelain mug, brewed a cup of hot tea, covered it with the lid, called out a word of explanation to his mother, and stepped out the door.
*I'll just treat it like bringing Dad some water, yeah, just like when I was a kid,* he thought.
Back when he was in school, whenever Han Qingyu came home after classes on weekends, the first thing he did was ask his mom, "Is Dad busy in the fields?" If his mom said yes, he would brew a big mug of hot tea and take it out to his father. Once there, he would help with some chores or catch river snails and loaches, and when the sun sank in the west, they would walk home together.
The family plot was not far from home, situated off to the flank of the village. Holding the tea mug, Han Qingyu soon spotted the undulating ridges of terraced fields and stacks of straw piled up among the hillside plots after the autumn harvest.
Villagers carrying hoes and shoulder poles passed by along the way, greeting him with memories that felt not so distant: "Taking water to your dad again, Qingzi?"
"Yes. Uncle, that shoulder load is quite heavy! Impressive. Be careful on the back stretch, though—I just came down, and a few steps along the path have wet yellow clay. It's very slippery," Han Qingyu replied earnestly.
Conversations like this gave Han Qingyu a magical feeling, as if he truly had returned to those times, to those tranquil village days.
Soon, he spotted Han Youshan.
His dad was sitting on a large boulder at the end of a field ridge with his back to the approaching path, slowly smoking a cigarette pinched between his fingers. The hoe resting beside him was clean on both sides, looking as though it hadn't touched dirt yet.
He didn't even hear Han Qingyu's approaching footsteps or the sound of dry autumn grass crunching beneath his feet.
"Dad," Han Qingyu called out, standing slightly behind him to one side.
Han Youshan turned his head. Seeing the tea mug in his son's hand, he said nothing at first. He took it, blew aside the tea leaves with bowed head, took a sip, then another, and looked up. "You're leaving, right?"
Han Qingyu froze for a second. So his father had known all along. There was no time to ponder how he had found out, but no wonder the hoe was still spotless... Han Qingyu nodded, sat down, and said, "Yeah. Leaving early tomorrow morning."
"Everything packed?" Han Youshan handed him a cigarette. In Han Qingyu's memory, this seemed to be the first time, or at most the second, even though his father had known for a while that several people in their group smoked and that his own son occasionally lit one too.
Han Qingyu felt a slight flutter of nervousness as he took it. "Yeah."
"Told your mom?" His dad pulled out a roller-wheel lighter, flicked a flame, and held it out.
Han Qingyu carefully lit the cigarette against the flame, holding it without daring to take a real drag. "I told her."
"And how did she take it?"
"Not bad. About the same as past times, not particularly terrible."
"Mm, good." Han Youshan took another drag from his cigarette and said, "You didn't tell her everything, did you?"
Han Qingyu: "What?"
"What do you mean, 'what'? On Mars this time, you didn't win at all. You ran into something massive and terrifyingly strong, didn't you? So strong that you and that pink-haired foreigner couldn't beat it even together—knocked flying with just one hit." Han Youshan spoke up suddenly.
*How did he know?* Han Qingyu was stunned.
"So this time you were actually gravely wounded, wasn't that it, Qingzi? You fought desperately just to make it back—back to treat your injuries, and at the same time to see us one last time. And soon, you'll have to go fight that big monster again."
As Han Youshan spoke, he gradually turned his gaze toward the distant mountain peaks.
So Dad had known all along. As early as the first day they returned, during that late dinner, he had already completely understood Pegmont gesturing wildly with the spatula while babbling and crying out.
And yet, he hadn't exposed it, holding back and asking nothing, all the way until today.
He had given his son four days as peaceful as the past to complete this farewell that was truly heavy at heart, allowing his family's Qingzi to coax him for four days thinking it was seamless—and above all, to coax Zhang Jiexia—until he had to march off to war once more.
*So that was it.* Han Qingyu's mind abruptly recalled the family portraits they had taken. Besides the others, there were two photos where his father, Han Youshan, had red-rimmed eyes while striving to smile. At the time, he had subjectively overlooked those two details, assuming his dad had simply gotten emotional out of sheer happiness.
It turned out that even then, his father had already known everything.
*He* was the one who had kept the secret seamlessly.
"That big thing is a Puta'er, isn't it? One of those gigantic Great Spikes came to Antarctica back then, didn't it? It was shown on television. I remember Xiao Fei mentioning once that the one back then arrived heavily wounded from teleporting. What, did the one this time not get squeezed?" Han Youshan continued asking.
"No," Han Qingyu replied.
"Then I reckon it's mighty troublesome, mighty hard."
"Yes."
"Then... Legion Commander Chen, is his health any better? I remember in Antarctica last time, it was that old gentleman who finally hacked Puta'er to death, wasn't it?" Han Youshan pressed, his gaze earnest.
Han Qingyu smiled wryly and slowly shook his head.
Then there was nothing left to pin hope on. It meant that in the end, their family's Qingzi would still have to lead people into a desperate fight against that mighty Puta'er.
And going into that fight, by all appearances, they were very likely to lose...
Han Youshan tried hard to steady himself, puffing out heavy breaths over and over. Only after a good while did he push himself up with both hands.
"Let's go. Time to head home and eat."
With that, he grabbed the tea mug, turned, and walked toward home.
Han Qingyu hurried to pick up the hoe and follow.
"I'm fine. The main thing is to keep your mom soothed," his dad said suddenly as he walked.
"Yeah." Han Qingyu hesitated a moment. "If... in the future..."
"I'll take good care of things in the future," Han Youshan said decisively, then sniffled.
"Not just Mom. You have to take care of yourself too..."
"Don't worry! Your dad is tough," Han Youshan said, letting out another forceful breath.
This was hard—hard because, faced with this impending, desperate battle, he couldn't even offer comfort the way a father would with generosity, tolerance, and understanding after a failed college entrance exam or some other failure: *It's fine. If we didn't make it, we can try again,* or *If it doesn't work out, let's just drop it; taking care of your health is what matters most.*
This time, his son had no way out; he was bound to fight to the bitter end.
Because he stood at the very pinnacle of humanity's combat power. On Blue Star today, there was no one left who could step up and take his place. Nor was there any other hope, for he was hope itself.
...
On the fourth day at home, in the evening, after dinner.
The aggregated intelligence report from Azure arrived once again.
One: Still no word from Mars.
Two: Miracle Space Station unexpectedly detected signs of large-scale movement by the Great Spike fleet, headed straight for the Moon.
Azure's assessment: Just as previously feared, Puta'er itself likely possessed information regarding the remains, and the real purpose behind its arrival via tractor deployment was, in all probability, for this very objective.
Three: The Mars evacuation fleet took the risk of scouting the area where a massive energy burst had previously been sensed; even by the time they reached the zone, the immense energy fluctuations there had still not fully dissipated.
Azure's assessment:
Energy fluctuations of this magnitude and such aftershocks could not, in all probability, be produced merely by an unprovoked outburst from Puta'er or the collective activation of the Great Spike fleet.
The most horrifying deduction pointed to the conclusion that they had just completed another tractor jump here not long ago.
If this deduction held true, it would also explain why they had abruptly vanished earlier and suddenly stopped pursuing the Mars evacuation fleet.
And the main body executing the tractor jump this time was likely that super-capital ship. In the details humanity had overlooked, that capital ship itself was a mobile super tractor field.
Without question, this was a battle report that piled yet more despair upon an already desperate situation.
Six hours after receiving this report,
under the darkness and starlight of the early morning, the human source energy airship numbered CA117 departed from this small mountain village named Fenglong'ao.
Chapter 969