"After you gave me those massages and prescribed so much medicine, I was able to walk normally again in less than a month. I took the initiative and asked the political commissar to transfer me to stage design. There wasn't much work there, so I did a bit of everything. Everyone knew my back was bad, so they wouldn't let me carry anything heavy... Everything's pretty good."
Light snow drifted from the sky. The hotpot at Donglaishun bubbled and steamed as Liu Feng wolfed down slices of mutton, rambling on to Wang Yan.
It was already close to the New Year. Liu Feng had come to attend a disaster-relief commendation conference, honoring those involved in the earlier Longling earthquake, flood-relief efforts, and the soldiers and other personnel who had participated in rescue work in Tangshan and the Jingjin region after the Tangshan earthquake. It would be held at Jingxi Hotel the day after tomorrow. Since it was being held at Jingxi Hotel, the occasion was naturally prestigious. The central government would offer condolences and commendations—it was a national-level honor.
His record was truly excellent. None of that had much to do with Wang Yan. If not for the incident with Lin Dingding, someone like Liu Feng would not have been laid off even during the later military downsizing; he would have been assigned elsewhere. Though he might not have had much of a head for social maneuvering and petty scheming, with his diligence and seniority, his future would not have been bad.
Wang Yan had written songs, articles, and sprawling novels. By now, he had published more than four million words, enough to be called a literary giant. He had also toured the Kunming Military Region, performing storytelling for the troops and earning unanimous praise from officers and soldiers alike.