摘要：那台解放J6重卡像一头沉默的钢铁巨兽，在凌晨四点的军用仓库区里发出沉闷的低吼。陈望野叼着烟，最后一次检查了轮胎的气压，冰冷的金属触感顺着指尖传遍全身，让他混沌的脑袋清醒了几分。
那台解放J6重卡像一头沉默的钢铁巨兽，在凌晨四点的军用仓库区里发出沉闷的低吼。陈望野叼着烟，最后一次检查了轮胎的气压，冰冷的金属触感顺着指尖传遍全身，让他混沌的脑袋清醒了几分。
他是个老兵，也是个老司机。从部队退下来十年，他开着这台车跑遍了九州的每一条国道。车厢里拉过果蔬，拉过建材，也拉过最精密的仪器。但今天这趟活儿，不一样。
任务是老部队一个还在位的领导私下找的他。一辆挂着特殊牌照的冷链运输车，一个密封的货柜，目的地是地图上都得放大好几倍才能找到的，西南边陲一个叫“青川”的小村子。
“望野，这趟活儿，算我欠你个人情。”电话里，老领导的声音异常严肃，“记住几条规矩。第一，全程不能熄火超过十五分钟，货柜里的制冷系统必须一直开着。第二，除了必要的吃饭加油，中途不许停车。第三，也是最重要的一条，任何人，包括你，都不能打开货柜。”
陈望野吐出一口烟圈，看着灰白的烟雾在清冷的车灯光束里打着旋儿消失。他没多问。在部队里待过的人都懂，不该问的别问，执行命令是天职。哪怕他已经脱了那身军装十年，这规矩也还刻在骨子里。
【无非是些保密的东西，搞得神神秘秘。】
他拉开车门，正准备上去，一个身影从仓库的阴影里走了出来。
那是个很年轻的士兵，个子不高，身板挺得笔直，但军装穿在他身上显得有些空荡。他背着一个简单的行军包，帽檐压得很低，看不清脸，只能看到一个紧绷的、线条干净的下巴。
“报告！我是林知夏，奉命随车护送！”声音清亮，带着一丝少年人特有的干净。
陈望野愣了一下，眉头皱了起来。老领导可没说还有个“活物”跟着。他不喜欢和人搭伴，尤其是这种看起来刚下连队没多久的新兵蛋子。麻烦。
“上来吧。”他言简意赅地说道，自己先跨进了驾驶室。
林知夏动作麻利地上了副驾，关上车门，将行军包放在脚下，然后就端正地坐着，目视前方，一动不动，像一尊雕塑。
陈望野发动了车子，钢铁巨兽缓缓驶出仓库。他瞥了一眼身边这个叫林知夏的兵，心里有些烦躁。一个人开车，他可以听老歌，可以骂脏话，可以对着窗外的电线杆子发呆。多个人，就像在自己的移动城堡里硬生生塞进了一个外人，浑身不自在。
车子驶上高速，天边开始泛起鱼肚白。枯燥的旅途开始了。
驾驶室里只有发动机的轰鸣和轮胎压过路面接缝时单调的“咔哒”声。陈望野目不转睛地盯着前方，而林知夏依旧保持着那个姿势，仿佛入定了一般。
“我说，”陈望野终于忍不住了，打破了沉默，“你是木头人吗？放松点，这车里没你的首长。”
林知夏似乎被吓了一跳，身体微不可察地颤了一下，然后才转过头来，露出一张清秀得有些过分的脸。他的皮肤很白，是那种常年不见阳光的白，嘴唇也没什么血色。一双眼睛倒是很亮，像浸在水里的黑曜石。
“报告……哦不，是，班长。”他似乎有些紧张，改了口。
“我早不是班长了。”陈望野从储物格里摸出一包皱巴巴的烟，抖出一根叼在嘴上，“叫我陈哥，或者老陈。”
“是，陈哥。”林知夏点点头，坐姿稍微放松了一些，但背还是挺着。
陈望野点上烟，深吸一口，辛辣的烟气涌进肺里，那种熟悉的焦灼感让他紧绷的神经松弛下来。
“我说你小子，这么重要的任务，怎么派你这么个新兵蛋子来？”他随口问道，算是没话找话。
“我……我对路线熟。”林知夏的回答有些犹豫。
陈望野笑了：“从北平到西南青川，三千多公里，你都熟？”
“我家就是那儿的。”林知夏的声音低了下去，“所以，这次任务，我主动申请的。”
“回家啊？那敢情好。”陈望野弹了弹烟灰，“多久没回去了？”
“两年多了。”
“想家了？”
“想。”林知夏的声音里带着一丝不易察觉的颤抖，“特别想我妈。”
陈望野没再说话。他想起自己当年在部队，也是这样，夜里站岗的时候，看着天上的月亮，脑子里全是家里那碗热腾腾的打卤面。想家，是每个兵的必修课。
气氛又沉默下来。
林知夏似乎觉得有些尴尬，主动找起了话题：“陈哥，你以前是哪个部队的？看你开车这架势，肯定是汽车兵吧？”
“猛虎团。”陈望野淡淡地吐出三个字。
林知夏的眼睛瞬间亮了，那种光芒，是新兵对英雄部队最纯粹的崇拜。“猛虎团！我知道！就是十年前在南江抗洪抢险里立了大功的那个！”
陈望野握着方向盘的手紧了紧，车窗外的景物飞速倒退，他的思绪也像是被这几个字拽回了那个暴雨倾盆的夏天。泥石流，决堤的江水，还有……撕心裂肺的哭喊声。
“都过去了。”他掐灭烟头，语气生硬地打断了林知夏的兴奋。
林知夏似乎察觉到了他情绪的变化，很识趣地闭上了嘴。他从行军包里拿出一个军用水壶，拧开喝了一口，然后递给陈望野：“陈哥，喝水。”
陈望野没接，“不渴。”
车子继续前行。太阳升了起来，金色的光芒铺满了整个大地。
枯燥的行程里，林知夏成了唯一的变量。他不像刚上车时那么拘谨了，会跟陈望野聊部队里的趣事，聊他的班长有多严厉，聊食堂的包子有多好吃。他说起这些的时候，眼睛里有光，仿佛那些平淡的日常是世界上最珍贵的东西。
陈望野大多数时候只是听着，偶尔“嗯”一声。他发现这小子虽然话多，但不招人烦。他说的一切都带着一种干净的、未经世事打磨的天真。
“陈哥，你知道吗，我们连长说，一个不想家的兵，不是好兵。但一个天天只想着家的兵，也不是好兵。关键是要把这份想念，变成训练场上的力气。”
“你们连长还挺会灌鸡汤。”陈望"Yeah"道。
“嘿嘿，”林知夏挠了挠头，“我们连长人很好的。对了陈哥，你会吹口琴吗？”
“不会。”
林知夏从口袋里摸出一个很旧的口琴，银色的外壳上布满了划痕。他用袖子擦了擦，放在嘴边，吹出了一段简单的旋律。
那是一首很老的民谣，调子很简单，甚至有些跑调，但不知道为什么，在这颠簸的驾驶室里，伴随着发动机的轰鸣声，听起来却有一种说不出的味道。悠扬，又带着一点点忧伤。
陈望野透过后视镜，看着林知夏吹口琴的样子。他的侧脸很专注，长长的睫毛在晨光里投下一小片阴影。那样子，让陈望野心里某个坚硬的地方，莫名地软了一下。
【这小子，还真是个孩子。】
第一天就在这种时而沉默，时而闲聊的气氛中度过。晚上十点，车子开进一个大型服务区。
“我下去买饭，你看着车。”陈望野解开安全带。
“好。”林知夏应道。
陈望野下车后，没急着去餐厅，而是绕到了车厢后面。他看了一眼货柜侧面的温度显示屏，零下十八度，一切正常。他伸手敲了敲冰冷的柜门，发出沉闷的“梆梆”声。
【这里面……到底是什么？】
他摇了摇头，不再多想，转身走向灯火通明的餐厅。他买了-份盒饭，两瓶水，还有一个热乎乎的肉包子。
回到车上，他把盒饭递给林知夏。“吃吧。”
“谢谢陈哥。”林知夏接了过去，却没有立刻打开，而是先从自己的行军包里拿出了一个小小的、包裹得很好的油纸包。
打开油纸包，里面是两个已经凉透了的白面馒头。
“你怎么不吃热的？”陈望野皱眉。
“我……我吃这个就行。”林知夏拿起一个馒头，小口小口地啃着，像是在品尝什么山珍海味。
陈望野看着他，又看了看自己手里的热盒饭，忽然觉得有些不是滋味。他把那个还冒着热气的肉包子塞到林知夏手里：“把这个吃了，馒头留着明天当早饭。”
林知夏愣住了，看着手里的包子，眼睛里闪过一丝复杂的情绪，有感激，也有些别的什么。他迟疑了一下，还是接了过去。“谢谢陈哥。”
他吃得很慢，一个包子，他吃了足足十分钟。陈望野三下五除二扒完了自己的盒饭，看着他那细嚼慢咽的样子，忍不住说道：“你小子吃饭怎么跟个姑娘似的。”
林知夏只是笑了笑，没说话。
吃完饭，陈望野靠在椅背上准备眯一会儿。“我睡两个小时，你盯着。有任何问题，立刻叫醒我。”
“放心吧，陈哥。”
陈望野闭上眼睛，很快就睡着了。常年跑长途，他练就了在任何环境下都能快速入睡的本事。
他做了一个梦。
梦里又是那个暴雨天，浑浊的洪水淹没了一切，他穿着救生衣，泡在冰冷的泥水里，拼命地刨着一座倒塌的房屋废墟。废墟下面，压着一个孩子。他能听到孩子微弱的哭声和断断续续的歌声。那孩子在唱歌，用口琴吹出的那首民谣。
“叔叔……我怕……”
“别怕！我们马上救你出来！”他声嘶力竭地喊着，手上的速度更快了，指甲缝里全是血和泥。
可那片废墟太重了，雨越下越大，水位在不断上涨……
“陈哥！陈哥！”
陈望野猛地睁开眼，浑身是汗。林知夏正一脸担忧地看着他。
“你做噩梦了？”
陈望野喘着粗气，胸口剧烈起伏。他抹了一把脸上的冷汗，含糊地“嗯”了一声。“几点了？”
“凌晨一点了，你睡了快三个小时。”林知夏说，“我看你睡得沉，就没叫你。”
陈望野缓了口气，接过林知夏递来的水，猛灌了几口。冰凉的液体顺着喉咙流下，浇灭了心里的那团火。
“你一直没睡？”他问。
“不困。”林知夏摇摇头，“陈哥，你刚才在梦里……一直在喊‘别怕’。”
陈望野的动作一僵，没有回答。他发动车子，重新汇入高速公路的车流。
夜色深沉，只有车灯能照亮前方的一小段路。世界仿佛被压缩成了这个小小的驾驶室。
林知夏似乎知道自己说错了话，一路上没再开口。他只是静静地坐在那里，偶尔会拿出那支旧口琴，放在手里摩挲，却不再吹响。
后半夜，下起了雨。豆大的雨点砸在挡风玻璃上，雨刮器拼命地左右摇摆，发出“唰唰”的声响。
“陈哥，前面有个服务区，要不要进去躲躲雨？”林知夏问。
“不行。”陈望野的声音很沉，“这趟活儿，不能耽搁。”
雨越下越大，仿佛天漏了个窟窿。闪电划破夜空，瞬间照亮了天地，紧接着是滚滚的雷声。
陈望野紧握着方向盘，全神贯注地盯着路面。这样的天气，开重卡是最危险的。
突然，林知夏开口了，声音很轻，却清晰地传进陈望野的耳朵里。
“我妈最怕打雷了。”他说，“小时候，一到下雨天，她就会把我抱在怀里，给我讲故事。她说，雷公公是在敲鼓，提醒不听话的小孩早点回家。”
陈望野没有作声，只是听着。
“有一年夏天，我们那儿也发了大水。村里的房子都淹了，我们只能跑到山上去。那天晚上，雨也下得这么大，雷也打得这么响。我吓得直哭，我妈就把我搂在怀里，给我唱了一晚上的歌。”
林知夏的声音带着浓浓的鼻音，像是在回忆，又像是在倾诉。
“从那以后，我就不怕打雷了。我只是……只是想她。”
陈望野的心像是被什么东西轻轻地撞了一下。他想起了自己的母亲，那个总是站在村口大槐树下等他探亲假回家的老人。她去世的时候，他还在千里之外的演习场上。等他赶回去，只看到了一座新坟。
那是他心里永远的痛。
“到了青川，就能见到了。”他开口，声音有些沙哑。
“嗯。”林知夏应了一声，把头转向了窗外，看着被雨水模糊的夜色。
天亮时，雨停了。车子驶离了高速，进入了蜿蜒曲折的省道。路两边的风景开始变得不同，高楼大厦消失了，取而代之的是连绵不绝的青山和错落有致的梯田。
空气里弥漫着雨后泥土和青草的清新气息。
车速慢了下来。路越来越窄，也越来越颠簸。有些路段甚至是泥路，车轮陷进去，发出艰难的呻吟。
“就这破路，你们怎么出来的？”陈望野一边打着方向盘，一边吐槽。
“以前路更难走。”林知夏说，“这几年，国家给修了路，才好一点。我们小时候，出山要走一天一夜。”
他的话匣子又打开了，开始给陈望野介绍起这里的一草一木。
“陈哥，你看那座山，像不像一个睡着的老爷爷？我们叫它睡仙山。”
“还有那条河，叫青川河，我们村的名字就是从这儿来的。夏天的时候，河水特别清，能看见底下的石头。我们都喜欢下河摸鱼。”
陈望野顺着他指的方向看去，群山环抱之中，一条碧绿的河流蜿蜒流淌，像一条镶嵌在大地上的翡翠带子。风景确实很美，原始而纯粹。
可他心里却越来越沉。路太难走了，这台十八轮的重卡在这里几乎寸步难行。好几次，他都以为车要翻了。
下午的时候，他们遇到了一个塌方路段。前方的路被泥石流完全堵死了。
“操！”陈望野一拳砸在方向盘上。
他下车查看，脸色铁青。这塌方量不小，靠他一个人，别说一天，一个星期也清不出来。
林知夏也跟着下了车，看着眼前的景象，也沉默了。
“怎么办？陈哥？”
“等。”陈望野点了根烟，蹲在路边，“只能等镇上的工程队来清理。”
【真是怕什么来什么。老领导千叮万嘱，不能停车……】
他看了一眼车厢，制冷机还在嗡嗡作响。只要车不熄火，应该问题不大。
等待是漫长的。山里的手机信号时有时无，根本打不出去电话。
陈望野有些烦躁，一根接一根地抽烟。林知夏则显得很平静，他找了块干净的石头坐下，从包里拿出那个口琴，又吹起了那首民谣。
琴声在空旷的山谷里回荡，带着一种说不出的寂寥。
陈望野听着琴声，心情莫名地平复了一些。他看着林知夏的背影，那个瘦削的、穿着军装的背影，在这荒山野岭里，显得既渺小又倔强。
“你小子，倒是沉得住气。”
林知夏停下吹奏，回头笑了笑：“急也没用啊。我以前听村里的老人说，山有山的脾气，你得顺着它。”
陈望... "Yeah" no longer speaking, his heart feeling a bit complicated. This young soldier, at times, seemed to possess a wisdom that didn't match his age.
The sun gradually set, dyeing the western sky a brilliant crimson. The temperature in the mountains dropped sharply. Chen Wangye took a military coat from the cab and threw it to Lin Zhixia.
"Put it on, don't catch a cold."
"Thanks, Brother Chen. I'm not cold."
"I told you to wear it, so wear it." Chen Wangye's tone was firm.
Lin Zhixia obediently put on the coat, which was too large for him, making him look even thinner.
Night fell, and the mountains were pitch black, with only the truck's headlights illuminating a small area. The sounds of insects and the occasional cry of an unknown bird made the valley seem even more desolate.
They ate the remaining dry rations. Chen Wangye looked at Lin Zhixia, who was still nibbling on a cold steamed bun, and a thought suddenly flashed through his mind.
"Hey, kid."
"Yes, Brother Chen?"
"You've been on the road with me for two days. I haven't seen you go to the bathroom."
This question was a bit abrupt. Lin Zhixia was stunned for a moment, his face showing a hint of confusion. "I... I don't need to go."
"A living person can't not piss or shit?" Chen Wangye stared at him, his gaze sharp. He was a veteran scout, and his powers of observation were extremely keen. Along the way, he had noticed many strange things about Lin Zhixia. He didn't seem to eat, he didn't drink much water, and he never seemed tired. At first, he thought it was because the young soldier was disciplined, but now, it felt more and more wrong.
Lin Zhixia's face turned even paler under the truck's lights. He avoided Chen Wangye's gaze. "I... My body is just different."
Chen Wangye didn't press further, but the seed of doubt had been planted in his heart, and it began to sprout wildly.
He remembered the first day at the service area, Lin Zhixia's reluctance to eat the hot meal. He remembered his pale face and bloodless lips. He remembered that this young soldier, from beginning to end, seemed to have no weight.
A chilling thought crept up his spine.
【Could it be...】
He didn't dare to think further. He shook his head, trying to get rid of this absurd idea. It must be because he was too tired.
That night, Chen Wangye couldn't sleep. He sat in the driver's seat, smoking one cigarette after another, while Lin Zhixia sat beside him, as quiet as ever.
"Brother Chen," Lin Zhixia suddenly said, his voice very soft, "Can I ask you a question?"
"Go ahead."
"That day in the service area... the nightmare you had. What did you dream about?"
Chen Wangye's body stiffened. The scene from his dream resurfaced in his mind – the flood, the ruins, the boy trapped underneath.
He remained silent for a long time, so long that Lin Zhixia thought he wouldn't answer.
"I dreamed of a rescue," Chen Wangye's voice was hoarse, as if it had been ground by sand. "Ten years ago, the Nanjiang flood."
This was the first time he had ever spoken to anyone about this.
"We were a commando unit. A village was hit by a mudslide, and a primary school was buried. We dug for three days and three nights. We saved more than thirty children, but... there was one we couldn't save."
His voice trembled slightly.
"He was trapped under a concrete slab. We could talk to him. He was a very brave kid. He didn't cry. He even... even played the harmonica for us to keep our spirits up. He said his mom was waiting for him at home."
Chen Wangye's eyes turned red.
"He played that same song you play."
The air in the cab seemed to freeze. Lin Zhixia sat motionless, his face hidden in the shadows, unreadable.
"We tried everything, but the slab was too heavy, and our equipment couldn't get in. We could only dig with our hands... The water kept rising... In the end..."
Chen Wangye couldn't continue. He covered his face with his hands, his shoulders shaking. The guilt that had been buried in his heart for ten years, like a venomous snake, was now devouring him. He had saved so many people, but he would forever remember the one he couldn't save.
That's why he left the army. He couldn't face his comrades, couldn't face the uniform. He felt that his hands were stained with the child's life.
After a long time, a hand gently patted his shoulder. It was Lin Zhixia's hand, cold and without a trace of warmth.
"It wasn't your fault, Brother Chen."
Lin Zhixia's voice was calm, with a strange soothing power. "You did your best. He... he wouldn't blame you."
Chen Wangye slowly raised his head, his eyes red, and looked at the young soldier beside him. In the dim light, Lin Zhixia's face seemed somewhat transparent, almost unreal.
The next morning, the roar of machinery came from the distance. The engineering team had arrived.
By noon, the road was cleared.
Chen Wangye started the truck again. After last night's conversation, the atmosphere between them became subtle. Chen Wangye's heart was filled with a strange and terrifying guess, while Lin Zhixia became even quieter.
As they got closer to Qingchuan, Lin Zhixia became visibly excited. He kept looking out the window, pointing at familiar landmarks and telling Chen Wangye about his childhood.
"Over that mountain is our village! I can almost smell my mom's cooking!"
But Chen Wangye's heart grew heavier and heavier.
Finally, at dusk, a small village appeared at the end of the road.
The village was nestled in a valley, with wooden houses scattered on the mountainside. It looked poor and dilapidated. A winding dirt road led to the entrance of the village.
At the entrance, under an old locust tree, stood a group of people. They were all dressed in simple, dark-colored clothes, their faces weathered and etched with the hardships of life. They stood there quietly, as if waiting for something.
At the very front stood an old woman with gray hair. She was thin and frail, her back hunched, but she stood ramrod straight, her gaze fixed on the approaching truck.
The truck rumbled to a stop.
Chen Wangye turned off the engine. The sudden silence was deafening.
"We're here, Brother Chen." Lin Zhixia's voice was filled with excitement and a hint of tremor. "That's my mom! The one in the front!"
He pointed to the old woman.
"I'm home... Mom, I'm home!" he shouted, his voice choked with emotion. He pushed open the door and was about to jump out.
But Chen Wangye grabbed his arm.
"Wait."
Chen Wangye's voice was extremely hoarse. He stared intently at the passenger seat beside him.
The seat was empty.
**There was no one there at all.**
The military coat he had given Lin Zhixia last night was neatly folded on the seat. The old harmonica lay quietly on top of it.
Chen Wangye's blood ran cold. He felt as if he had fallen into an icy cavern. All the strange things along the way, all the fragmented clues, now pieced together into a cruel and undeniable truth.
He slowly turned his head and looked out the window at the villagers. Their expressions were not of joy at a loved one's return, but of solemnity, grief, and a hint of gratitude.
The old woman was already walking towards the truck, her steps unsteady. Tears streamed down her wrinkled face.
Chen Wangye's mind went blank. He stumbled out of the truck, his legs weak.
The old woman walked up to him, her cloudy eyes looking at him, then at the sealed container behind him. She opened her mouth, but no sound came out. Instead, she knelt down on the muddy ground with a thud.
Behind her, all the villagers knelt down.
Boom!
A bolt of lightning seemed to strike Chen Wangye's soul.
He understood. He finally understood everything.
The special mission, the refrigerated container that couldn't be opened, the young soldier who didn't eat or drink and never left a shadow...
The "escort" was a lie. The real mission was to "send home."
The one in the refrigerated container, the one that needed to be kept at minus eighteen degrees Celsius, was the body of Private Lin Zhixia.
And the Lin Zhixia who had accompanied him for three thousand kilometers, who had chatted with him, listened to his confession, and patted him on the shoulder... was just a lingering spirit, a wisp of obsession. An obsession to go home, to see his mother one last time.
**Or perhaps, he was never there at all.**
**He was just a figment of Chen Wangye's imagination, a projection of the guilt he had carried for ten years.**
The boy he couldn't save back then, the boy who played the harmonica in the ruins...
His name was Lin Zhixia. From Qingchuan Village.
"Get up... please, get up..." Chen Wangye's voice trembled as he tried to help the old woman up, but his body had no strength. Tears streamed down his face.
An old village chief with a cane walked over and helped the old woman up. He looked at Chen Wangye with red-rimmed eyes and said in a hoarse voice, "Thank you, comrade driver. Thank you for bringing our Zhixia home."
Zhixia.
Our Zhixia.
These words were like a heavy hammer, striking Chen Wangye's heart again and again.
He stood there stiffly, letting the tears flow. The roar of the flood, the boy's weak voice, and the young soldier's clear laughter echoed in his ears. The two figures gradually merged into one in his mind.
"Uncle... I'm scared..."
"Brother Chen, you did your best. He wouldn't blame you."
It turned out that the person he had been trying to save was the one who had been saving him all along.
The villagers helped open the container.
A coffin covered with a bright red flag was carried out.
Lin Zhixia's mother threw herself onto the coffin, her cries heart-wrenching.
"My son... My Zhixia... Mom has brought you home..."
The entire village was filled with suppressed sobs.
It turned out that ten years ago, after the flood, Lin Zhixia was posthumously recognized as a martyr. But his village, Qingchuan, had been completely destroyed in the disaster and was designated as a relocation site. The villagers were moved to a resettlement area hundreds of kilometers away. For ten years, Lin Zhixia's body was kept in a martyrs' cemetery, unable to be buried in his hometown.
In recent years, the old villagers, missing their roots, had pooled their money and savings to rebuild their homes on the old site of Qingchuan, bit by bit. Their greatest wish was to bring back the children of the village who were buried elsewhere.
Lin Zhixia's old unit learned of this and arranged for this special "repatriation." And Chen Wangye's old leader, knowing the knot in his heart, deliberately arranged for him to take on this mission.
It was a redemption journey that was ten years late.
The next day was the burial.
Lin Zhixia was buried on the mountainside behind the village, a place where he could see the entire Qingchuan.
All the villagers came. They didn't have a fancy ceremony, only the most sincere mourning.
The village chief took out the old harmonica from the truck. He looked at Chen Wangye. "Comrade, this was Zhixia's most cherished possession. When the rescue team found him... he was still holding it in his hand."
Chen Wangye took the harmonica. It felt heavy in his hand.
He stood before the simple tombstone. On the photo was a young, smiling face, exactly the same as the "Lin Zhixia" he had journeyed with.
He took a deep breath, raised the harmonica to his lips, and with trembling hands, played the familiar, simple folk song.
The tune was clumsy and out of tune, but it echoed through the valley.
In a daze, he seemed to see that young soldier in the military uniform standing beside the tombstone, saluting him with a smile.
"Goodbye, Brother Chen."
The figure gradually faded, turning into specks of light and disappearing into the green mountains and clear waters.
Chen Wangye stood for a long time. Finally, he straightened his back, a back that had been hunched for ten years, and gave a standard, powerful military salute to the tombstone.
**Farewell, Private Lin Zhixia.**
**And farewell, to my own past.**
Before leaving, Lin Zhixia's mother stuffed a cloth bag full of hard-boiled eggs into Chen Wangye's hands.
"Child, you must be safe on the road." The old woman's eyes were red and swollen, but her gaze was gentle. "Zhixia was a good boy. He always said he wanted to be a soldier like the uncles who saved people. He didn't blame you. He would only be grateful to you."
Chen Wangye's throat was tight. He couldn't say a word. He just nodded heavily.
He got back in the truck.
The container was empty, and the passenger seat was also empty. The whole truck felt incredibly spacious, yet also incredibly heavy.
He started the truck. As he was about to leave the village, the old village chief ran over and handed him a letter.
"This is from your old leader. He asked me to give it to you after the matter was settled."
Chen Wangye took the letter. He didn't open it immediately. He drove the truck and slowly left the small mountain village.
On the national highway, the truck ran smoothly again.
Chen Wangye found a service area, parked the truck, and opened the letter.
There were only a few simple words written in a bold and powerful script.
"Wangye, the dead have rested, but the living must move forward. The road ahead is still long. Drive safely."
Chen Wangye held the letter, and after a long time, a smile appeared on his tear-streaked face.
He started the engine again. The steel beast roared and merged into the endless stream of traffic.
The sun shone through the windshield, warming him. He knew that his journey as a driver was still long, but the journey of his soul had finally reached its destination.
The road ahead was still long. He would drive on, carrying that memory, that gratitude, and that redemption, all the way forward.
来源：渝鲜生大事