Chapter 8: The Days When Every Home Was Lit

Temporary base in Karachi, Pakistan.

“One bottle per person, no more. Come on, let’s get started.”

Tong Wanxin, group leader and commander, stood up and raised his glass. Today was Lunar New Year’s Eve for China, and since they couldn’t go back, they could only celebrate as in years past: a meal together counted as ringing in the new year.

“Cheers! It’s New Year’s!”

“Happy New Year!”

The seven members of the group clinked their glasses together. For now, there was no need to worry about security—the alarm system in the whole temporary base was fully activated, far more reliable than any human vigilance.

“The Spring Festival Gala should be starting soon, right?” Rong Aiyu picked up a piece of sweet and sour pork, tasted it, and nodded with satisfaction. All the dishes had been ordered from nearby Chinese restaurants—there was no choice, since the bunch of people at the base could only cook simple meals, barely enough to keep hunger at bay. On a day like this, no one wanted to embarrass themselves; after all, who doesn’t want a good meal for New Year’s?

“Almost—five more minutes.” Wan Xiaoling checked the time, hastily patted the tech specialist Cong Xuefei on the shoulder, just as the man’s chopsticks dropped a spare rib he’d just picked up onto the table.

“No worries—a bit of dirt never hurt anyone.” Cong Xuefei muttered to himself, put the rib back in his bowl, and quickly tapped his tablet. The largest electronic screen nearby immediately switched to the central channel.

Though the Gala gets worse every year, nothing could dampen their enthusiasm—so many years without being able to go home. Take their group leader, Tong Wanxin: since taking over the “Penglai” team seven years ago, he’d only been home once; rumor had it his child didn’t even recognize him anymore.

It wasn’t that they literally had no free time, but in teams like theirs—special response units—each member had their own duties. If even one person was absent, unexpected situations could become problematic.

A place for every person, and every person in their place—that was their reality. Gradually, the longing to visit home was buried deep in their hearts.

“Boss, is it true what Zhang Liang said—that we’ll get some leave soon?” As they ate and watched the Gala, medical officer Wang Xu quietly asked.

At those words, everyone’s ears perked up; clearly, they’d all heard someone mention it.

“Don’t look at me; it was Zhen Ye who told me.” Seeing Tong Wanxin’s gaze, Zhang Liang unhesitatingly shifted blame to his partner.

“Ahem, I just heard by accident.” Zhen Ye, munching on a drumstick, stomped hard on Zhang Liang’s foot, muttering under his breath.

“Yes, it’s true,” Tong Wanxin shot a glare at the two chatterboxes, then nodded in response to everyone’s hopeful eyes.

“No way, we actually get leave?!”

“When does it start? What about combat duty?”

Seeing their leader nod, the others stopped paying attention to the Gala entirely—the current segment was just song and dance, so it could wait.

“It should happen next month. The three teams will rotate through a period of leave. Unless something major happens, the leave won’t be cancelled mid-way.” Tong Wanxin took the opportunity, on this special day, to relay the higher-ups’ intentions.

Compared to other overseas teams, their special response unit’s work was more intensive and hectic, with no fixed task location—they were often sent all over the world, a tough assignment by any measure.

Even with top-tier benefits, years of overseas missions and constant high-risk tasks tested their mental resilience to the limit. Since the turn of the century, as the three teams were established and the international situation became turbulent, their missions grew ever more complex. The immense psychological pressure had even led to suicides.

To address this, the leadership kept searching for solutions, eventually realizing that letting these “wanderers” return home to see family was the best way to relieve stress.

So, starting this year, the authorities decided to arrange, as much as possible, for members of the three teams to return home, easing their homesickness.

“Awesome, that’s amazing!” Zhang Liang, a chicken wing between his teeth, clapped enthusiastically.

He hadn’t been home since joining the secret service—he really missed his family. When he left four years ago, his sister was in junior high; now she was a college freshman. He wondered if she had a boyfriend yet.

“All right, that’s enough—let’s eat,” Tong Wanxin motioned for the excited group to calm down, lest the Gala’s audio be drowned out.

After receiving the good news, the seven enjoyed their New Year’s Eve dinner with extra gusto—even the two women who didn’t usually drink poured themselves a glass, courtesy of Zhang Liang’s bottle.

Originally, everyone had just one bottle, but Zhang Liang’s was split into two extra cups. He ended up barely drinking at all, but since he wasn’t much of a drinker anyway, it didn’t matter.

After the meal, once their favorite skit by Shen Teng ended, Tong Wanxin glanced at the time and clapped his hands.

“Call home, ten minutes.”

There were rules about phone calls—not just anyone could make them, and only special occasions allowed for looser restrictions.

No sooner had he spoken than, amidst a commotion, the six others dashed back to their rooms, leaving a middle-aged man alone in the aftermath.

“These kids,” Tong Wanxin shook his head, watching the eager young ones rush off. He was anxious too, but took a moment to tidy up before heading to his room.

Zhang Liang hurried to his room, dug out his long-unused personal phone, and, feeling a bit emotional, quickly dialed home.

The phone rang several times without anyone picking up, and the anxious man paced back and forth.

Seeing this, Zhen Ye took his phone elsewhere, fearing he’d end up just as embarrassed.

“Son?” Finally, just as Zhang Liang began scratching at the wall in frustration, someone answered—a woman’s voice, slightly incredulous.

“Mom, happy New Year!”

“It’s really our son! Old Zhang, old Zhang, it’s our son calling!”

Clearly, Zhang’s mother was excited, calling out to the others.

“Is it our son’s call?”

“Brother!”

After a brief commotion, Zhang’s father’s voice came through, along with a clear, youthful female voice.

“It’s me, Dad, happy New Year!”

“Good, good, good! How are you? Did you have New Year’s dinner? Dumplings?”

“I did—three-flavor filling, but not as good as Mom’s.”

Zhang Liang’s eyes grew moist, but he spoke in a deliberately light tone.

“When are you coming home? I want to eat the dumplings Mom makes.”

“Yeah, bro, when are you coming back? I’m in college now!”

“Soon—this year I should have leave, and I’ll probably be able to go home.”

“You’d better not be lying! Every year you say you’ll get leave, and every year we don’t see you…”

“Why talk about this on New Year’s? Your brother’s work is busy…”

Zhang Liang nearly lost his composure. If he could, he’d go home right now.

Time was short; there were strict rules. The Zhang family had barely exchanged a few words before Zhang Liang had to hang up.

“Brother, congratulations—give me a red envelope!”

At the last moment, his sister shouted.

“Get out of here!” Zhang Liang replied, annoyed, and hung up.

—

“Son, your grandmother passed away a few days ago. We tried to call you, but couldn’t get through…”

In the lounge next door, as soon as Zhen Ye connected with home, his mother delivered the news.

—

“Daughter, hurry here—it’s your father’s call.”

“Daddy?”

Tong Wanxin heard his daughter’s timid voice and felt a pang of sorrow.

Wan Xiaoling and the others likewise spent this rare occasion speaking with their families.

Though they could not see the spectacle of countless lights in their distant homeland, they knew that somewhere, one light was shining just for them.