Please provide the text you would like me to translate.

Looking at the stunned expression on Tan Yang’s face, Bi Qingtang gently grasped her wrist as she held the doorknob, lowered his voice at her ear, and said, “Take the children to their parents. Zhao Ling and the others are leaving tonight.” Tan Yang froze, but then a smile welled up in her eyes, glistening with tears, as if she herself were the one who had just survived disaster.

This was his little sister, who would value the life of an old friend so highly—a fact he regretted not knowing before. As he thought this, Bi Qingtang unconsciously tightened his grip, his palm clasping hers. Tan Yang didn’t notice, only let out a small breath of relief and said eagerly, “Alright, I’ll go call them now,” and turned to run back inside, pulling her hand free from his.

Bi Qingtang clenched his now empty fist, letting his hand fall to the doorknob, which still held the warmth of her touch. He furrowed his brow, and a bitter smile flashed with a hint of comfort.

The two older children shared a bed; once awakened, they dressed themselves. But Li’s youngest, who had been sleeping with Tan Yang these days, was the smallest and most dependent on her. Tan Yang quickly dressed him, but he was too sleepy to get up and fussed to be carried. With no choice, Tan Yang pulled on her coat and scooped him up. Though younger than Yan Tan by two years, the boy’s mother had indulged him into a state of chubbiness, making him a heavy burden for Tan Yang.

Seeing this, Bi Qingtang stepped forward without argument, saying, “Let me do it, give him to me!” But as soon as his hand touched the child, the boy hid behind Tan Yang’s other shoulder, clinging to her neck, stubbornly saying, “Auntie carries me.” Tan Yang, amused, gently patted the boy’s back. “Alright, Auntie will carry you!” She hoisted the child and headed out, while Bi Qingtang took the hands of the other two, following behind. Watching Tan Yang’s thin back and the boy’s chubby cheeks, he ground out between his teeth, “Little rascal!”

The car sped through the midnight streets of Shanghai, swift and silent, like a black cat darting along the eaves, vanishing into the darkness. As they drove further, the surroundings grew more desolate—no lights, no roads—until after a long while, they stopped by a bank overgrown with dead grass, an obscure wild dock. The car could go no further, so they alighted and walked on. In the bitterly cold winter night, the wind from the sea cut through Tan Yang’s wool coat, chilling her to the bone.

She gritted her teeth and walked a few steps when, without a sound, a coat settled over her shoulders from behind, still carrying his warmth and that familiar scent of tobacco. Tan Yang started, dazed for a moment, and before she could react, Bi Qingtang—wearing only a suit jacket—had already led the two children ahead of her, the sea wind blowing in their faces.

A small boat waited at the shore, seven or eight people anxiously gathered at its side. In the darkness, a pair of figures stumbled toward them. Clearly, prison had not been kind: both Zhao Ling and Li He bore marks of hardship, Zhao Ling’s hair unevenly shorn, a worn blanket draped over her shoulders. The reunited family of five clung together, weeping wretchedly, while Bi Qingtang urged them without mercy, “Get on the boat, cry when you’re aboard!” Zhao Ling wiped her tears and nodded pitifully. Bi Qingtang snorted. “Now you ache for your children? When you were raising hell outside, did you remember you’re a mother?” Zhao Ling glanced at him, helpless. “Boss Bi, without a country, where is a home? Perhaps, one day, you’ll understand.”

Just before boarding, Zhao Ling embraced Tan Yang and said with heartfelt emotion, “Sister, truly, thank you!” Tan Yang smiled shyly, “Caring for the children is my duty—otherwise, what use is being their aunt all these years?” Zhao Ling shook her head. “No, thank you for saving our lives. Who could have known that teaching a student ten years ago would save our lives ten years later!” Tan Yang protested, “Ling, it was him, not me!” Zhao Ling smiled faintly, “Without you, Boss Bi might have lent a hand, but only in passing. Because of you, he invested so much manpower, so much risk to save us. I suspect he could bear to see us die, but not to see you heartbroken—isn’t that so?”

Tan Yang didn’t answer. She glanced back at Bi Qingtang, who was chatting amiably with one of the older men in the group. In the still night, his hearty laughter carried clearly. “Your party is too polite. And if you see Old Zhou, say a word for me—what kind of godfather is he, never visiting his goddaughter, just sending a box of wooden toys? Shameful, isn’t it?” He laughed heartily.

Zhao Ling whispered, “Sister, Boss Bi may have many flaws, but he’s an excellent partner—few could match him as a husband or father. If you can, forgive him. In these times, who knows if we’ll live to see tomorrow? Don’t let a single misstep turn into lifelong regret.”

After hearing Zhao Ling’s words, Tan Yang suddenly turned, her voice hopeless. “Ling, a few months ago, I already died once. Between life and death, I realized I’d rather live in pain and face him than die peacefully and see my family in the afterlife. If losing my loved ones meant I lost them once, my obsession with him made me lose them all over again. Even at my lowest, I didn’t have the courage to die, for fear of facing my family. So when he brought our daughter to see me, I finally resolved that as long as I could see my child, I would live beautifully—even if I carried guilt and regret, I would face every day with a smile.” Zhao Ling, deeply shocked, gathered her into her arms, sighing, “Oh, my dear, why have you never told us any of this?”

At that moment, a short distance away, Bi Qingtang called out with a laugh, “Are you two finished? Is this the time for a farewell at the Long Pavilion?” His joking tone masked the pain of parting, but beneath the surface, it was all a husband’s care for his wife. Bi Qingtang understood well that separations between the living were the most exhausting and sorrowful.

Zhao Ling lifted her head to look at him. In the faint glow of kerosene lamps on the boat, Bi Qingtang saw in her face a profound compassion.

Because of that look, Bi Qingtang’s mood soured inexplicably. From the time he saw Zhao Ling off until he returned to the car, he didn’t utter a word, an uncharacteristic silence for someone so used to orchestrating every situation.

“By the way, where are Ling and the others going?” Only when Tan Yang asked did Bi Qingtang notice that the car held just the two of them, and she was seated right beside him. He forced a smile before replying, and when he spoke, his tone was warm and intimate. “They’re sailing south first, landing somewhere safe, then taking the remote inland routes to Yan’an. It should be perfectly safe—you needn’t worry.” Tan Yang nodded in relief, and as her nerves relaxed, she turned to look outside, only to realize she was still wrapped in his coat.

She gently took it off, folded it twice, and placed it between their seats. Bi Qingtang’s hand instinctively pressed on the coat as he glanced at her wool coat, frowning. “You can’t get through winter with that—this year’s too cold, and you’re always the most afraid of the cold.” “It’s alright, I don’t usually go out so late,” she replied, then added seriously, “Thank you, for saving Ling and Brother Li.”

“Thank me for what? I’ve always hated your thanks. Besides, you know Zhao Ling because I introduced you. And anyway, I did it for selfish reasons!” Seeing the pain and helplessness flicker in her expression, he changed tack. “I just want to get those three little demons off your hands before you wear yourself out. All that weight you’d put on, gone in a few days!”

Tan Yang instinctively touched her wrist. “Boys are always more mischievous than girls. Not like Nannan.” Bi Qingtang laughed heartily. “Compared to Nannan? Who can compare?” “Everyone thinks their own child is the best,” she replied. Bi Qingtang, adopting a mock-serious tone, answered quickly, “Not just the child.”

Hearing this, Tan Yang dared not speak further. When it came to words of love—overt or subtle, suggestive or innocent—no one could match Bi Qingtang. If he chose to speak, he always struck a woman’s heart. This, Tan Yang knew best, so for the rest of the journey, she only nodded or shook her head, no longer engaging in conversation. Meanwhile, Bi Qingtang, disheartened, thought to himself that after ten years, the girl’s face was still easily flushed, but her manner had grown more slippery and harder to grasp.

Bi Qingtang yawned several times in a row. Given his usual vigor and robust health, such fatigue was rare. Tan Yang asked, “What’s wrong? You must be tired these days.” Bi Qingtang gazed at her with a complicated look, nodding woodenly. Tan Yang sighed, “You’ve worked so hard for Ling’s sake.” He shook his head with a wry smile.

As the car neared Tan Yang’s apartment, Bi Qingtang spoke suddenly. “Nanjing, for the sake of secrecy, originally intended to execute Zhao Ling and the others at the military garrison. If that had happened, nothing I could do would have saved them—with all those soldiers, all that security. But it’s said a certain general in Shanghai was vehemently opposed, refusing to stain allied hands with blood before killing the enemy. Political prisoners, he said, must be dealt with by the government, not the army. Nanjing had no choice but to transfer them to Nanjing for execution. When I learned this, I was troubled—there are so many routes to Nanjing, and the rescue had to be completely covert. I couldn’t cover every road, couldn’t make a move that big. But then, someone brought me this.”

He drew a sheet of paper from his pocket and handed it to her, speaking with deliberate meaning. “I own up to everything I do. I won’t take the blame for others, nor claim their credit.” As he spoke, he looked at her intently.

Tan Yang examined the note—a corner torn hastily from official paper, bearing only a few scrawled words: a time and a route. The handwriting was messy and hurried, but achingly familiar, for someone had filled five whole notebooks for her in that same hand.

The next day was clear, a bright winter afternoon. After a morning’s work, Tan Yang took out freshly steamed dumplings in her office, intending to eat. Two knocks sounded at the door, and before she could respond, the half-closed door was pushed open eagerly. Xu Zhizhong stood there, visibly haggard and thinner after half a month.

Tan Yang set down her dumplings and softly said, “Don’t just stand there, come in.” Xu Zhizhong exhaled deeply, closed the door, and walked over to her, reaching for her hand without a word. Tan Yang, her hands still greasy, hastily withdrew them. Xu Zhizhong froze, despair flooding his face, and he stepped back, sitting dejectedly on the sofa.

She paid little mind, turning to the basin to wash her hands, when behind her, Xu Zhizhong said, “Last night, the car transporting Zhao Ling and the others to Nanjing left the highway at midnight and fell into the river. To this moment, no bodies have been found—washed away, most likely.” His tone was so dull as to be lifeless. Tan Yang wiped her hands, puzzled. “Why are you telling me this?” Xu Zhizhong cleared his throat, speaking with difficulty. “Yangyang, I’ve let you down. I stood by, powerless. I know if Zhao Ling died, you would not forgive me. So let me ask—if by some miracle they survived, escaped, would you give me another chance, a chance to continue?”

Tan Yang looked at him in confusion. “You speak as if their survival has nothing to do with you.” Seeing his uncertain expression, she opened her purse, took out the note, and handed it to him. At the sight, Xu Zhizhong leapt up, agitated. “Why is this in your hands?” Tan Yang nodded. “I’m grateful they were sent to Nanjing, and grateful to know which route.”

Xu Zhizhong paced in agitation, then asked incredulously, “What? Mr. Bi told you everything?” “Yes. He said he doesn’t claim others’ credit.” As she spoke, Tan Yang unconsciously lifted her head, her voice quiet but steadier than before.

Xu Zhizhong frowned for a long time before finally saying, “I knew Mr. Bi was working tirelessly to save Miss Zhao. My original intention in helping secretly was simply to keep hope alive as long as she lived. I never meant to claim credit—after all, I betrayed my ideals for selfish reasons, which is a deep shame for me. I didn’t want anyone to know, not even you.” He sighed. “But I never imagined the one who should keep the secret, Mr. Bi, would tell you. So this time, he’s left me both surprised and ashamed. If I were in his place, I would have feigned ignorance about a mysterious note—nothing more.”

“Yangyang, I have to say, whatever means or schemes Mr. Bi uses in this world, even if he’s the greatest villain, when it comes to you, his feelings and conduct are so upright and complete, they leave me in awe and make me feel unworthy.” He looked at her, sincere. “So, Yangyang, don’t let hatred and guilt consume you. You haven’t been blinded by emotion; in your feelings, he is someone worthy of your devotion. And your loved ones’ deaths were not caused by your love for him. Suppose people have souls—if your father could see all this from above, even if Mr. Bi were the murderer, seeing how deeply he loves his daughter, would your father blame you, who knew nothing? In fact, I believe, at this point, your father would think Mr. Bi’s current predicament is his just deserts—a twist of fate.”

“Perhaps all my guesses about your father are unfounded; I never knew him. But putting right and wrong aside, whether your father or uncle, as elders who loved you, I am sure they wouldn’t want you to live every day in pain and struggle. They wouldn’t want you to waste half your life in guilt and regret. So, even if those lost lives mean you can never go back, can never be reunited, at the very least, you must learn to face it all with calm and composure—for your sake and for his.”

Having said this, Xu Zhizhong looked at her with deep compassion. Tan Yang forced a smile and nodded, but as she lowered her head, tears streamed forth. She suddenly broke down, “Zhizhong, thank you, thank you! I can’t make sense of it, I can’t get over it—I always thought it was too hard…” Xu Zhizhong gently drew her into his arms. “If it’s too hard, then take it slowly. I’ll be with you.”

On the coffee table, the painting revealed verdant mountains and clear waters, stretching broad and serene. Bi Qingtang covered half the inscription with his hand, leaving only “Green waters untroubled” and “Blue mountains ageless” visible. Behind him, Uncle Chen sighed, “Enough for tonight—a painting won’t reveal its secrets.” Bi Qingtang shook his head helplessly. “Ah, before, when I watched her paint and write, I neither liked it nor cared. Now I can see the meaning, but she’s no longer here.” He lifted his hand, revealing the words “wrinkled brow” and “white head,” jarringly out of place with the painting.

“Oh, why do you do this to yourself? I don’t understand why you had to save Zhao Ling, knowing the risk and effort involved. If you didn’t, that Xu fellow would have no chance, but now…I really can’t figure you out!” Bi Qingtang slowly rolled up the painting, absent-minded. “If Zhao Ling died, would my little sister come back? I fear she would only grieve alone for the rest of her life. In the past, I calculated too much, did too much. Uncle Chen, now that I’m older, I realize—how can you outwit fate? What you steal from the heavens, heaven always takes back, again and again, beyond your control.”

Bi Qingtang carefully stored the painting in the cabinet. “This afternoon, when my little sister came for Nannan, she smiled and told me a restaurant made excellent Shandong dishes, said I should go try it if I had time. The place is called Fortune and Longevity Hall.” Uncle Chen shook his head, smiling, and Bi Qingtang joined in, but suddenly grew serious. “It’s been so long since she talked about something unrelated with such peace. Do you know how long it’s been since she smiled at me? Today, I thought I must have been seeing things.”