Marrying My Bestie's Ferocious Brother - He Calls Me His Baby!-Chapter 288 - 287: Painting Our Lives? I Have Every Army Wife Backing You!
’s latest issue has arrived.
Like a stone thrown into a calm lake, it stirred up waves within the military district compound.
Around the newspaper stand, people were swarming in layers.
In the center of the layout, a brand-new section was highlighted in bold—.
Author: Lin Wan Yi.
The illustration for the first issue was .
No grand scenes, no heroic charges.
Just a hand holding a needle and thread, and that crooked patch on the military uniform.
"Oh my God..."
Sister-in-law Liu’s fingers touched the newspaper, her voice trembling.
"Is... isn’t this my hand?"
Beside her, the young soldier’s wife Su Qing was also staring intensely at the painting.
"This patch... it’s exactly like the one I sewed for Old Zhang before he left, with just such a big hole in the shoulder!"
"Me too! Me too! I even joked about my clumsy hands, sewing it as if chewed by a dog!"
"This painting doesn’t depict art, it depicts our lives!"
An older military wife said, wiping tears with the back of her hand.
Resonance spread like wildfire.
For the first time, they realized the unspoken hardships, the concerns hidden in daily repair and washing, could be depicted so solemnly and printed on a newspaper everyone could see.
"Pfft, what kind of painting is this?"
A discordant voice emerged from the crowd’s outskirts.
It was two soldier wives who used to be close to Li Hongxia.
"Crying and whining, nothing positive or uplifting at all."
"Exactly, painting us soldier wives like resentful women, isn’t this tarnishing the military’s image?"
Their sour remarks cooled the previously warm atmosphere slightly.
At this moment, a clear voice rang out.
"My sister-in-law’s painting is about our own lives!"
Gu Lan separated the crowd, holding a copy of the magazine in her hand.
She walked up to those two women, almost shoving the magazine into their faces.
"You call this not positive? Then tell me, what is positive?"
"Is it men risking their lives on the front lines, while you can’t even stitch a patch properly or find someone to help when the child has a fever at midnight?"
Gu Lan pointed to the hand in the painting.
"My sister-in-law painted this hand, holding up a family!"
"She painted this patch, warming the hearts of soldiers on the front line!"
"If you can’t understand, it only means you have lived too comfortably, never worried like this for your men, and you don’t deserve to understand!"
Her words were emphatic.
The faces of those two women turned red and white in embarrassment, and they squeezed out of the crowd without saying a word.
Sister-in-law Liu led the applause.
"Well said! Lanlan!"
"Exactly! We understand this painting! We like it!"
The applause thundered.
...
At the same time.
Beijing, editorial office.
In the meeting room, the atmosphere was oppressive.
A middle-aged man in black-rimmed glasses with a rigid expression slammed a magazine onto the center of the conference table.
His name is Ma Zhenhua, newly appointed to the publicity department, responsible for ideological guidance.
"Chief Editor Sun! I need an explanation!"
Ma Zhenhua stood, firmly tapping the magazine on the table.
"Our is the mouthpiece of the Party! It’s a platform for promoting heroism and optimism!"
"But what is this?"
He pointed at .
"Promoting suffering? Magnifying bitterness? Is there any positive energy in this? It’s all petty bourgeoisie’s pointless lament!"
"How will this make the front-line soldiers feel? Make them think their wives are miserable back home? This shakes the morale!"
Hat after hat descended in quick succession.
Several editors in the meeting room lowered their heads, not daring to speak.
Ma Zhenhua’s theoretical level is high, elevating the painting to a political error within just a few sentences.
Sun Ping sat at the head position, remaining unmoved.
He waited for Ma Zhenhua to finish before leisurely lifting his enamel tea mug.
"Mr. Ma."
He blew away the tea leaves on top.
"Are you done?"
Ma Zhenhua choked, stiffly: "My opinion is clear! This author named Lin Wan Yi has a problematic mindset! This section must be immediately suspended! And an apology must be published in the next issue to eradicate this unhealthy influence!"
Sun Ping put down the mug, producing a soft "dang" sound.
He looked up, facing Ma Zhenhua.
"Mr. Ma, let me ask you a question."
"Have you ever visited the troops?"
Ma Zhenhua was stunned: "What does visiting troops have to do with it? We are discussing the principles of propaganda direction!"
"You haven’t." Sun Ping answered directly for him.
He stood up, walked to Ma Zhenhua’s side, and picked up the newspaper too.
"If you had, you would know that out of ten soldier uniforms, eight have patches."
"You would know that their favorite things to see are not slogans, not skyscrapers, but a crooked smiley face drawn by their wife in a letter."
Sun Ping’s voice wasn’t loud, yet it overtook the whole room.
"Those ’high-level’ things you speak of, the soldiers don’t understand. Those ’big principles’ you mention, they don’t have time to listen to."
"But this painting, they understand."
"They see in this patch, their wife’s weary eyes, their child’s smiling face, the home that makes them want to survive amidst the rain of bullets and gunfire!"
Sun Ping placed the newspaper back on the table.
"This, is the greatest positive energy."
"The principles you speak of are written on paper, while what Lin Wan Yi painted lives in their hearts."
"This section not only must continue but must be promoted vigorously!"
Sun Ping’s words landed with the force of a hammer, leaving Ma Zhenhua speechless. 𝕗𝐫𝚎𝗲𝘄𝐞𝕓𝐧𝕠𝘃𝕖𝐥.𝐜𝚘𝚖
His face turned the color of liver, and after a long pause, he forced out: "You... you’re risking the magazine’s future! If something goes wrong, you’ll take full responsibility!"
"I will take it!"
Sun Ping proclaimed resolutely.
Ma Zhenhua, furious, trembled all over; he sat back, convinced Sun Ping was digging his own grave.
He waited, waited for a flood of complaint letters from readers, waited for questioning from higher-ups.
At that moment.
"Ring, ring, ring—"
The office phone rang urgently.
A young editor answered the call.
"Hello, Renminhua Magazine editorial office."
"..."
"Who are you looking for?"
"..."
The young editor’s expression suddenly became peculiar.
He covered the receiver and turned to Sun Ping.
"Chief Editor...the call is for you...from a reader..."
Sun Ping went over and took the call.
"Hello, I’m Sun Ping."
On the other end, silence.
Then, there was an uncontrollable, tearful young woman’s voice.
"Hello... is this...the magazine office?"
That voice sounded like someone who had walked in darkness for ages, finally seeing a glimpse of light.
"I...I just saw that painting..."
The woman couldn’t speak coherently, choking with tears.
"I... I just want to say..."
"Thank you..."
"It’s the first time I feel that people like us are seen by others."
