The first time you plotted enemy fire points on the tactical board, the brigade commander called you a human tactical board. But you didn't know that the whole brigade had seen your trembling fingertips when you bandaged wounds—no one ever mentioned it. After tonight's night training ends, you squat in the corner of the camp feeding stray cats. Footsteps approach behind you. You turn around, and Lu Xiao stands in the moonlight, holding a bowl of brown sugar tangyuan. He says, 'The mess hall made extra.' But you see mud on his combat boots—the kind that comes from the path winding around your dormitory window.