I Will Love You for a Hundred Years Across the Mountains

Zhou Ping'an was like a mountain, a desolate mountain, lifeless and untouched by spring.

Yet Xu Shuqing loved that lifeless mountain year after year.

In an air-raid shelter amid the smoke and flames of war, Xu Shuqing trembled all over as a large hand clasped her icy one.

“Zhou Ping'an, I want you to be safe and sound.”

At the mist-shrouded cemetery for fallen soldiers on Qingshan, Xu Shuqing raised a hand to gently stroke the small square portrait. A breeze passed by, and the pines across the mountain rustled.

“Zhou Ping'an, I can't die for love, but I'll love you for the next hundred years.”

As fighting raged in Gao, Mali, in West Africa, Xu Shuqing, thousands of miles away, could only get by reading the tiny columns in the military newspaper.

She couldn't remember when she had started making all her birthday wishes for a man named Zhou Ping'an.

“Bodhisattva, Bodhisattva, I want Zhou Ping'an to be safe and sound.”

After turning thirty, she could no longer make that wish.

She stopped celebrating her birthday, too. But every year on February 18, the Qingshan Martyrs' Cemetery in Beijing welcomed a woman of unknown identity. She always brought a bouquet of white lisianthus and stood for a long time before one gravestone.

No one knew who she was. They only knew that a guard always kept watch over her from a respectful distance.

This book is also titled A Century of Loving You Beyond the Mountain and Her Bitter Moon. He was the desolate mountain untouched by spring, and he was also the bitter moon hanging far away in the sky.