Could you please provide the text you would like me to translate?

Looking at Tan Yang’s bewildered face, Bi Qingtang gently grasped her wrist where it rested on the door handle, lowering his voice to whisper in her ear, “Take the children to their parents. Zhao Ling and the others will leave tonight.” Tan Yang was stunned by his words, but almost immediately, joy welled up in her eyes, shimmering with tears, as if she herself had survived a catastrophe.

Such was his little sister: she valued the life of an old friend so dearly, and yet he had never known before. Bi Qingtang mused, his grip unconsciously tightening, holding her hand firmly. Tan Yang did not notice, simply exhaled in relief and said urgently, “Alright, I’ll go call them now,” then turned and ran into the house, pulling her hand free from his grasp.

Bi Qingtang clenched his empty fist, his hand landing on the door handle, still warm from her touch. He frowned slightly, and a bittersweet smile flickered with traces of comfort.

The two older children slept together in one bed, and upon being woken, dressed themselves. The youngest, Li family's third, had been sleeping with Tan Yang these days; the smallest, he relied on her most. Tan Yang deftly dressed him, but he, still sleepy, refused to get down, fussing to be carried. Tan Yang had no choice but to quickly put on her coat and pick him up. Though Li Third was two years younger than Yan Qin, his mother’s fondness for snacks had made him quite chubby, and Tan Yang struggled to carry him.

Seeing this, Bi Qingtang stepped forward without a word, “Let me, give him to me!” As soon as his hand touched the child, Li Third dodged to Tan Yang’s other shoulder, clinging to her neck and stubbornly saying, “Auntie carry.” Tan Yang found the child’s antics amusing, gently patting his back, “Alright, auntie will carry you!” She hoisted him up and walked out, Bi Qingtang taking the other two children in hand, following behind. Watching Tan Yang’s slender figure and Li Third’s plump cheeks, Bi Qingtang gritted his teeth and muttered, “Little rascal!”

The car sped through Shanghai’s midnight streets, light and swift, like a black cat skimming the eaves, vanishing into the night with a whisper. The further they went, the lonelier it became; no lights, no roads. After a long while, they stopped on a riverside strewn with dead grass—a hidden, wild dock. Unable to drive closer, they got out and walked. In the bitter cold of a winter midnight, the sea wind was icy and harsh; as soon as Tan Yang stepped out, her wool coat was pierced by the chill.

Biting her lip, Tan Yang took a few steps when a coat was silently draped over her shoulders from behind, still warm and carrying that unique scent of tobacco. Tan Yang paused, dazed, and before she could react, Bi Qingtang, dressed only in a suit jacket, led the two children quickly ahead, with the wind blowing from the sea, right into their faces.

A small boat waited at the shore, seven or eight people anxiously standing by the plank. In the darkness, shadows emerged, and two figures stumbled forward to meet them.

They had suffered much in prison; Zhao Ling and Li He bore wounds on their faces, Zhao Ling’s hair was jaggedly cut, and a worn blanket draped her shoulders. The five of them huddled together, crying pitifully. Bi Qingtang, standing aside, urged them impatiently, “Get on the boat, you can cry later!” Zhao Ling wiped her tears and nodded miserably. Bi Qingtang snorted coldly, scolding, “Now you feel sorry for the children, but when you were stirring up trouble outside, did you remember you were a mother?” Zhao Ling glanced at Bi Qingtang and replied helplessly, “Boss Bi, without a country, where is home? Someday, perhaps, you’ll understand.”

Before boarding, Zhao Ling hugged Tan Yang and whispered with deep feeling, “Sister, truly, thank you!” Tan Yang smiled, embarrassed, “Taking care of the children is what I should do—otherwise, what’s the point of being their aunt all these years?” Zhao Ling shook her head, “No, thank you for saving our lives. I never imagined that teaching a student ten years ago would mean you’d save us, husband and wife, ten years later!” Tan Yang protested, “Sister Ling, it was him, not me!” Zhao Ling smiled faintly, “Without you, Boss Bi would have helped us, but only as a favor. Because of you, he spent so much effort, risked so much to rescue us. I suppose he could stand to see us die, but not to see you heartbroken—don’t you think?”

Tan Yang did not answer but turned to look at Bi Qingtang behind her. He was chatting with an older man among the group, his hearty laughter echoing in the quiet night, “Your party is too polite. By the way, when you see Old Zhou, tell him for me—look at him, never once visited his goddaughter, just sent a box of wooden toys to fob her off. Is he not ashamed?” He laughed.

Zhao Ling said softly, “Sister, though Boss Bi has many flaws, he is a good companion—there are few husbands or fathers better than him. If you can, forgive him. In these times, who knows if one will live to see tomorrow? Don’t let one wrong thought become a lifelong regret.”

Hearing Zhao Ling, Tan Yang suddenly turned, despairing, “Sister Ling, a few months ago, I died once. Between life and death, I found I’d rather live in pain to face him than die peacefully to see my family. If my family’s death first took them from me, then my blind love for him took them from me again. Even in utter despair, I lacked the courage to die decisively, just to avoid my family. So when he brought our daughter to see me—when I had no way out—I resolved that as long as I could see her, I’d live beautifully, even if burdened with guilt and remorse, I’d smile through each day.” Zhao Ling, shocked and pained, hugged Tan Yang tightly. “Sister, why have you never told us these things?”

Just then, Bi Qingtang laughed and called to them, “Are you two sisters done yet? At a time like this, don’t tell me you’re acting out a farewell at the pavilion?” His teasing words masked the sorrow of parting, but beneath it, there was only the compassion of a husband for his wife. He understood well: partings are the most exhausting and painful.

At that moment, Zhao Ling looked up at Bi Qingtang; in the faint glow of the boat’s kerosene lamp behind them, he saw deep compassion in her eyes.

Because of Zhao Ling’s expression, Bi Qingtang’s mood soured inexplicably. From saying goodbye to Zhao Ling to returning to the car, he fell silent, uncharacteristically subdued for a man used to controlling every situation.

“So, where are Sister Ling and the others going?” Hearing Tan Yang’s question, Bi Qingtang finally realized that only the two of them were in the car, Tan Yang sitting close beside him. He forced a smile before answering, so his words came out warm and intimate, “They’ll take the boat south, land somewhere safe, then travel through the wild interior to Yan’an! It should be safe, so don’t worry!” Tan Yang nodded in relief, relaxing for the first time, and as she turned to look outside, she noticed she still wore his coat.

Tan Yang gently removed the coat, folded it twice, and placed it between their seats. Bi Qingtang unconsciously rested his hand on it, glanced at her wool coat, and frowned, “You can’t get through winter in that—this year’s cold is worse, and you’re always sensitive to cold.” “It’s alright—I don’t usually go out this late,” said Tan Yang, then thought for a moment and spoke solemnly, “Thank you for saving Sister Ling and Brother Li.”

“Why thank me? I’ve always hated your thanks. Besides, you know Zhao Ling because of me, and saving them—I had my own reasons!” At this, he saw Tan Yang’s look of helplessness and pain, so he changed tack. “Frankly, I just want to send those three little devils away. They’ve worn you out—you finally gained some weight, and now it’s gone again!”

Tan Yang instinctively touched her wrist. “Boys are just more mischievous, not like Nannan, she’s a girl.” Bi Qingtang laughed, “Compared with Nannan? Who could?” “Everyone thinks their own child is best!” Tan Yang replied. Bi Qingtang answered seriously, “Not just children!”

After that, Tan Yang dared not speak further. When it came to sweet words, whether overt or subtle, there was no match for Bi Qingtang—whenever he cared to speak, he always struck a woman’s heart. Tan Yang knew this best, so on the rest of the drive, no matter what Bi Qingtang said, she only nodded or shook her head, never speaking easily. Bi Qingtang, meanwhile, sighed inwardly; ten years on, the girl’s shyness hadn’t changed, but she’d grown slippery, harder to handle.

Bi Qingtang yawned several times—unusual for someone so energetic and robust. Tan Yang asked, “Tired lately?” Bi Qingtang looked at her with a complicated expression and nodded woodenly. Tan Yang sighed, “You’ve really worked hard for Sister Ling.” Bi Qingtang shook his head in a bitter smile.

As the car neared Tan Yang’s apartment, Bi Qingtang suddenly spoke. “In Nanjing, for secrecy, they wanted to execute Zhao Ling and the others at the military base. If so, no matter how capable I am, I couldn’t save them—the place was heavily guarded, soldiers everywhere with guns. But apparently, a Shanghai commander strongly opposed it, refusing to stain allies’ blood before killing enemies. He insisted political prisoners should be dealt with by the government, not the army. Nanjing had no choice but to order them transferred for execution. When I heard this, I was troubled—the route to Nanjing has many roads, and this rescue had to be secret; I couldn’t arrange men on every route, couldn’t risk such a huge operation. Just then, someone gave me this.”

He pulled a note from his pocket and handed it to Tan Yang, saying meaningfully, “I own up to everything I do; I neither shoulder others’ blame nor claim undeserved credit.” As he spoke, he looked at her with special intent.

Tan Yang examined the note—a scrap torn from official paper, bearing a few words: time and route. The handwriting was messy and hurried, but she recognized it instantly; someone had written her five thick notebooks of class notes in that same hand.

The next day was bright, the afternoon sun full on a winter’s day. After a busy morning, Tan Yang took her freshly warmed buns from the boiler room and prepared to eat. Two knocks sounded at the door, and before she could reply, the ajar door was impatiently pushed open. Xu Zhizhong stood at the threshold, his face visibly haggard and thin after half a month.

Tan Yang set the buns down and said softly, “Don’t stand there, come in.” Xu Zhizhong exhaled deeply, closed the door, and walked over to Tan Yang, reaching to grab her hand. Her hand was greasy from the buns, so she hurriedly pulled back. Xu Zhizhong paused, and despair flooded his face; he retreated, sitting disconsolately on the sofa.

Tan Yang barely noticed, turning to fetch water and wash her hands. Behind her, Xu Zhizhong said, “Last night, the car transporting Zhao Ling and the others to Nanjing ran off the road, fell into the river. No bodies have been found—they must have been swept away.” His voice was flat, almost lifeless. Tan Yang wiped her hands, turned to him in confusion, “Why are you telling me this?” Xu Zhizhong cleared his throat and struggled, “Yangyang, I’ve let you down; I stood by, powerless. I know if Zhao Ling died, you wouldn’t forgive me. So let me ask, if they survived and escaped, would you give me another chance?”

Tan Yang looked at him, puzzled. “You speak as if even if Sister Ling survived, it had nothing to do with you.” Seeing Xu Zhizhong’s uncertain expression, Tan Yang opened her purse and handed him the note. Xu Zhizhong leapt up, agitated. “Why do you have this?” Tan Yang nodded, “Lucky they were sent to Nanjing, and lucky to know which route.”

Xu Zhizhong paced, incredulous. “What? Mr. Bi told you?” “Yes, he said he doesn’t claim others’ credit,” Tan Yang replied, her voice quiet but steadier.

Xu Zhizhong frowned, thinking hard before saying helplessly, “I know Mr. Bi was always planning to rescue Miss Zhao. My help was only because as long as she lived, we’d have hope. I never meant to claim credit—after all, I betrayed my ideals for selfish reasons, a great shame. I didn’t want anyone to know, especially you.” He sighed. “But I never imagined that Mr. Bi, who should have kept the secret, told you. This time, he surprised me, made me ashamed—if I were him, I wouldn’t have said a word, would have feigned ignorance about an unknown note, nothing more.”

“Yangyang, I must say: whatever means Mr. Bi uses in this world—even if he’s utterly guilty—when it comes to you, to your feelings, he’s so noble and complete that I’m always left in awe, ashamed!” He looked at Tan Yang with deep sincerity. “So, Yangyang, don’t cling to hatred and guilt. You haven’t let passion cloud your eyes; in love, he is truly worth your devotion. And your family’s death isn’t tied to your love for him. Or imagine: if souls exist, if your father could know everything from above—even if Mr. Bi were a murderer, seeing him so devoted to his daughter, would your father blame you, who knew nothing? In fact, I think now, seeing Mr. Bi’s situation, he’d feel fate has paid him back.”

“Maybe all my guesses about your father are nonsense—I never knew him. But leaving right and wrong aside, whether your father or uncle, as elders who loved you, I dare say they wouldn’t want you living in daily pain and struggle, wouldn’t wish your life wasted in guilt and regret. So Yangyang, even if those lost lives mean you can’t go back, can’t be reunited, at least you must face it calmly—for yourself, and for him.”

Having spoken, Xu Zhizhong gazed at Tan Yang with deep concern. Tan Yang forced a smile and nodded, but as soon as she lowered her head, tears flooded out and she began sobbing uncontrollably. “Zhizhong, thank you, thank you! I can never make sense of it, always at odds with myself. I always thought it was too hard…” Xu Zhizhong smiled gently, drew her into his arms, comforting her, “If it’s too hard, take it slow. I’ll stay with you.”

On the tea table, the painting showed green hills and clear waters, open and bright. Bi Qingtang covered part of the inscription, leaving visible only “Clear waters know no sorrow” and “Green hills never age.” Behind him, Uncle Chen sighed, “Go to sleep; a painting will never show its secrets.” Bi Qingtang shook his head, helpless. “Ah, in the past, watching her write and paint, I neither liked it nor cared much. Now I finally see some meaning, but she’s no longer here.” He lifted his hand, revealing the words “wrinkled face” and “white head,” jarring against the whole scroll.

“You, why bother? I don’t know what you’re thinking now. You insisted on rescuing Zhao Ling, knowing the risk and effort, but if you didn’t, that Xu fellow would stand no chance. I’m more and more confused by you!” Bi Qingtang slowly rolled up the painting, distracted. “If Zhao Ling died, would my sister come back? She’d only grieve alone from then on. In the past, I schemed too much, did too much. Uncle Chen, as I’ve aged these years, I’ve realized: no matter how you plan, can you outsmart fate? Whatever you get from heaven, it will always be taken back, over and over, no matter how bold you are.”

Bi Qingtang carefully put the painting away in the cabinet. “This afternoon, my sister came to pick up Nannan, and she actually smiled and told me a restaurant serves authentic Shandong dishes, said I should try it when I have time. The restaurant is called Fortune Longevity Hall!” Uncle Chen shook his head and laughed, and Bi Qingtang followed, but suddenly stopped, solemn, “It’s been so long since she spoke calmly about something unrelated to us,” he paused, then added softly, “Do you know how long it’s been since she smiled at me? Today, I thought I must have imagined it.”