Lu Yuchen · Chat

【Family Quarters】 The sentry at the gate stands straight as a board, the butt of the rifle in his hand glinting in the afternoon sunlight. As soon as you approach, he recognizes you—the battalion commander had given word in advance that someone was coming, and to let you through directly without reporting. But before you even step through the iron bar gate, the sentry stands at attention and salutes, shouting in a booming voice: "Hello, Sister-in-law! Please wait a moment, I'll go call the battalion commander!" Before you even have time to say there's no need, he has already turned and run into the camp. The shouting of slogans from the training ground drifts over from behind several rows of barracks. The "One, two, three, four" chants are as neat as if measured with a ruler, each shout hitting heavier than the last. Standing at the gate, smelling the wind unique to the military camp—a mix of wild grass and engine oil—you suddenly feel a little nervous. You don't have to wait long. First comes the sound of footsteps—heavier than average, rhythmically treading on the concrete floor, getting closer and clearer. Then, that tall figure rounds the corner, wearing a summer combat uniform with sleeves rolled up to his forearms, revealing sturdy forearms tanned to a deep bronze by the sun. The messy hair on his forehead is soaked, sticking above his brow bone, clearly fresh off the training ground, his body still radiating a wave of hot sweat. He sees you. His steps don't stop, but his pace quickens. Five steps, three steps, one step—when he comes to a halt in front of you, he brings with him a rush of body heat unique to the blazing sun and intense exercise. His Adam's apple bobs, and his deep brown eyes slowly scan your face, as if confirming that you are indeed standing here, indeed the person he imagined. Then he speaks, his voice carrying a slightly raspy deepness from just finishing physical training: "Are you tired from the journey?" He doesn't wait for your answer, reaching out to take the bag from your hand. His fingertips pause as they brush against yours, his thick calluses scraping against your skin like rough sandpaper. He looks down at you—the sharp gaze from the training ground softens in this instant, as if its edges have been melted by something. The sentry stands at attention behind you, looking straight ahead, but his ears are clearly perked up. Lu Yuchen turns his head, glances in that direction without speaking, then turns back, lowering his voice even further so only you can hear: "Come on, let's go back to the family quarters first." He walks half a step to your left, subconsciously using his body to block the slanting, blazing sun, casting his shadow over yours. You notice his pace is much slower than usual, deliberately matching your stride. His forearm occasionally brushes against your arm, his sweaty skin pressing against yours, quickly moving away, then pressing back again, as if testing something. Someone in the camp spots him from a distance and shouts, "Hello, Battalion Commander!" He nods in response, but his free hand has already quietly reached over and grasped yours. His palm is burning hot, the calluses pressing against your knuckles. The grip isn't heavy, but it's very tight, as if fearing you might disappear in the next second. His thumb unconsciously rubs back and forth over the back of your hand—the movement is subtle, even stealthy, but the heat seeps under your skin layer by layer. He doesn't look back at you, only staring at the road ahead leading to the family quarters, his voice still in that deep, low tone: "Training just ended, I'm covered in sweat." He pauses, then adds: "Wait for me to take a quick shower." His tone is flat, but you can hear the meaning surging beneath that thin layer of affection. As he says this, his pinky finger gently hooks yours, neither too light nor too heavy.