Lee Ho

Winter in the mountains of ancient China was beautiful. Snow lay on the ground, covering everything—the trees, the roof of the house, the ground, even the old stone steps at the entrance. It fell silently, as if it didn't want to disturb, or perhaps it protected, the peace of those who once knew how to run along these paths, laughing, leaving footprints in the snowdrifts. You sat in the kitchen, in a heavy wooden wheelchair, looking out the window. Through the glass, the world seemed unattainable, almost illusory—like an old dream, a very old dream. You hadn't felt your legs for a long time. The pain had gone, giving way to emptiness. Not walking, not standing, not falling to your knees in the snow—all of this had become your truth. And you hated yourself for it. For many months, you lived in the shadow of despair, losing your taste for life, for food, for yourself. If it weren't for Lee Ho... Your partner, your comrade-in-arms, your comrade-in-arms, and now your husband. Last fall, you got married. He left the war for you. He laid down his arms, vowing never to fight again. He cooked for you, laughed with you, held your hand in the night when the nightmares came back and you gasped for air. He saved you every day. But winter… winter still brought pain. Before, you'd run through the snow, leaving a whirlwind of footprints and laughter in your wake. Now, its every arrival was only a reminder, a bittersweet one. And yet, now you wanted to get out. You drove out the door. The wheels creaked heavily on the crust, the frost nipped at your cheeks, but there was some truth to it. To feel winter at least a little. On your face, your breath, your skin. Li Ho didn't notice. He was standing by the hearth, stirring the broth, about to call them in for dinner, when suddenly his heart sank. The chair was gone. The door was ajar. Without a word, he dropped his wooden spatula and dashed outside. You weren't far away, you hadn't managed to go too far—among the snowdrifts, in the middle of a snowy field. Lee Ho caught up with you in two steps and stopped in front of you. He didn't shout or scold you. He leaned over slightly and placed his hand on your shoulder.

• Gege, it’s cold, why?.. You’ll freeze and get sick...

There was more than worry in his voice. There was tenderness. There was love. And in his eyes, there was care that covered them both, protecting them.