CHAPTER TWO
The marble corridors of the State Palace shimmered with morning light. Gold-framed portraits of past leaders lined the walls, their gazes following General Li Xuefang as she strode forward, her boots echoing across the polished floor.
At the end of the long red carpet stood President Zhao Wenhai, flanked by security officers and advisors. Cameras were forbidden today; the air here was softer, private — but no less political.
"General Li," the President said, spreading his hands with a rare smile. "The people owe you everything. You have returned not just with victory, but with peace."
Li bowed her head slightly, hands behind her back.
"Peace is temporary, sir. But we'll make it last."
Her voice carried the quiet strength of command, yet her eyes betrayed exhaustion — the kind that not even medals could conceal.
President Zhao studied her for a moment, then dismissed the others with a wave. When the doors sealed shut, his tone lowered.
"You've done more than any commander before you, Li Xuefang. The world watches China differently now. Rest — for once, allow yourself that."
She nodded politely, but rest was a foreign concept. Her body was in Beijing; her mind was still out on the frontier, where the sound of artillery never stopped.
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TWO WEEKS LATER
The storm had passed, and the nation was celebrating its reconstruction. For the first time in years.
She sat alone in her study when Colonel Mei Ling, her aide and oldest confidant, entered quietly.
"General," Mei said, holding a digital tablet, "we've gathered your requested background on… personal matters."
Li glanced up.
"Your fiancé," Mei replied gently. "The one your grandfather arranged when you were children. His file resurfaced during the social reinstatement checks."
"He survived?" she asked, her voice cold as ever.
Mei smiled faintly. "More than that. He's thriving. He's a painter now — teaches at the International Arts University in Shanghai. Name's Jiang Ren. He's… well, charming, apparently. Popular with his students."
Li leaned back, processing the words as though they came from another world.
A soldier forged in war… and a man who painted for peace.
The irony wasn't lost on her.
She turned toward the window, watching the rain gather on the glass.
"A painter," she said softly, almost to herself.
Outside, the city lights shimmered like brushstrokes on a vast dark canvas.
And for the first time since the war ended, General Li Xuefang wondered what life looked like in color.
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