After Gu Zhenyang left, Su Yiyi returned to the room. Looking at the snow-covered world outside, she sighed softly.
With weather like this, even going out was difficult. Communication was also not developed in this era—if anything really happened, there was no way to contact anyone.
She decided against it. In this freezing season, she would wait until spring to look for work.
Thinking about work made her feel helpless. In this era, if you wanted a job, you could only look for state-owned units. But those were not only hard to enter, they also valued experience and seniority. After living an easy life for so long, Su Yiyi wasn’t even sure she could hold onto such a job even if she got one.
She could only hope the wave of reform would come sooner, so she could use her knowledge from the future.
While she was idly thinking, she saw a newspaper and her eyes lit up.
She picked it up and skimmed through it. There wasn’t anything particularly interesting in it, but it reminded her of something important.
From 1966 to 1976, the system of manuscript royalties had been abolished—even the collected works of great leaders did not receive royalties.
But in 1978, the system had been restored.
And now she was at the end of 1978—which meant the royalty system had already come back into effect.
That meant she could actually work in that direction.
In her past life, she had been a university graduate. Whether it was writing articles or doing translation work, both were completely feasible for her.
Most importantly, submitting manuscripts did not require reporting to a workplace. She could do it entirely from home—perfect for someone like her who disliked unnecessary social interaction.
And the pay from this kind of work was even higher than ordinary state-owned factory jobs. Of course, it wasn’t a huge income, but for Su Yiyi, it was enough. She only needed a transitional job while building capital.
The newspaper even had submission addresses printed below.
Action was better than hesitation.
Since she had already decided on a direction, Su Yiyi immediately took out pen and paper and began thinking about the current situation of the country over the past one or two years.
Writing analytical articles about current affairs was often the easiest way to get noticed by editors. If accepted, the manuscript fee would likely be substantial. Whether it succeeded or not, it was worth trying.
After deciding what to write, she began drafting.
What she wrote about was the Household Responsibility System. This policy would be officially implemented in 1980, but many villages had already begun experimenting with it earlier. Writing about it now would not cause any issues.
She also incorporated theories of rural management from later generations. If her article got noticed, she might not only earn money but also help accelerate the development of the policy. It would benefit both the country and its people.
But writing a good article wasn’t just about education. Fortunately, the original host was from a rural background, and her father was a production team leader. Su Yiyi had grown up hearing and observing many things firsthand.
Combining real experience with careful wording, she wrote for the entire afternoon. She used several sheets of draft paper before finally finishing the article.
Only then did she lift her head and rub her sore shoulders.
By the time she realized it, it was already getting dark.
She quickly went to the wood shed, brought some firewood back, and lit the stove so the room wouldn’t be cold at night.
She originally didn’t like eating the prepared food in her space, but tonight she really didn’t feel like cooking. If she kept writing like this every day, she might not even have the strength to hold a spatula anymore.
Still, she felt a sense of accomplishment.
Tomorrow, she would mail the manuscript and see the response. If it didn’t work out, she could still switch to translation work to earn money.
At the military base, Gu Zhenyang had just finished training. He and He Kun were walking toward the cafeteria.
“Old Gu, you went home today to deliver breakfast, didn’t you?” He Kun raised an eyebrow, clearly ready to watch the show.
“Orders from the political commissar,” Gu Zhenyang replied calmly.
“Tch. So how was it? Did you two fight again?” He Kun’s curiosity was practically written on his face.
Gu Zhenyang shook his head. “No.”
“What? No?” He Kun looked shocked.
Usually, every time Gu Zhenyang returned home, there would be a fight. In fact, on the day he brought Su Yiyi home, he had even stormed out and squeezed into He Kun’s bunk bed.
“Seriously, no,” Gu Zhenyang said. “Su Yiyi… has changed quite a bit.”
He spoke honestly.
He never spoke ill of others behind their backs if it wasn’t true.
He Kun looked at him strangely. “Don’t tell me you think she’s changed and you two are going to live peacefully together now?”
Gu Zhenyang frowned. “What nonsense are you talking about?”
He could never live peacefully with her. They were not the same kind of people. If it weren’t for an arranged marriage from childhood, none of this would have happened.
He Kun stopped teasing him after that. After all, Gu Zhenyang was always decisive—if he said it was impossible, it was impossible.
The next morning, Su Yiyi woke naturally around nine.
After getting dressed warmly, she wrapped herself tightly in layers and headed out. This was the first time since arriving in this world that she had left the military compound.
She could have mailed the letter from inside the base, but without Gu Zhenyang, she couldn’t enter freely—and she didn’t want to ask him for help anyway.
So she went to the post office outside instead.
Fortunately, the original host was familiar with the area. Following memory, she quickly found the post office and carefully double-checked the address before mailing the manuscript.
The clerk helping her was a woman in her thirties. Seeing the address, she couldn’t help but ask curiously, “Sister, are you submitting to a newspaper?”
Su Yiyi nodded. “Yes. Just writing something at home for fun. Probably won’t be accepted, just passing time.”
The woman smiled. “Being able to write already means you’re capable. I only finished junior high school, and now I couldn’t even write an article if I tried.”
They chatted a bit, and behind the clerk, Su Yiyi suddenly noticed a sheet of stamps.
Her eyes lit up instantly.
It was the famous 1978 “Galloping Horse” stamp series—later known as the highly valuable 奔马邮票 (“Running Horse Stamp”).
In the future, this series would become extremely valuable.
Su Yiyi couldn’t help but feel a quiet sense of excitement.