Chen Mianmian took the money and added, “Don’t worry. If I send even one cent back to my family again, I’ll be a dog too.”
But Zhao Lingcheng didn’t catch her humor and simply left.
Soon, footsteps echoed on the stairs. Huang Lin and Zeng Yunrui carried a baby crib downstairs.
The crib Chen Mianmian couldn’t get even with a big bowl of meat was delivered to her home with just one request from Zhao Lingcheng.
He pointed across the hall and said, “If you need anything, find Ma Ji. He’s the head of security and can reach me immediately. I have to work overtime. Goodbye.”
Huang Lin and her husband didn’t even exchange pleasantries with the hostess. When Zhao Lingcheng left, they left too.
Huang Lin caught up and asked with a smile, “Chief Engineer, are you staying at the guesthouse again tonight?”
Zhao Lingcheng replied, “I have work.”
Huang Lin continued, “When are you going to Quancheng? Could you help me buy something?”
At the building entrance, Zhao Lingcheng paused briefly. “Let’s focus on work first. Yunrui, don’t you also have overtime?”
Zeng Yunrui quickly said, “Yes, yes, I’m heading there now.”
Huang Lin’s question wasn’t really about buying something—it was about probing his attitude.
The base security office couldn’t handle marriage registration. People had to go to Quancheng to get married.
She exchanged a look with her husband, confused about Zhao Lingcheng’s situation.
Naturally, they couldn’t introduce the leader’s daughter to him anymore.
The fact that he personally went to get a crib meant he had acknowledged the child in his ex-wife’s belly as his own.
What a pity—a good man, still tied to Chen Mianmian.
They exchanged a glance, shrugged, and went upstairs.
As for Chen Mianmian, not long after, Ma Ji came to collect her visit permit.
After taking it, he handed her two green envelopes. “Telegrams. Want me to read them for you?”
Regular letters came in white envelopes; green ones were telegrams.
Chen Mianmian smiled. “No need, I can read.”
The first was from Hongqi Brigade, Third Commune. Sender: Chen Huandi.
It contained just five words: “Mother dying. Return immediately.”
Chen Mianmian was startled—was Wang Ximei really dying?
But she quickly remembered that in the past two years, similar “critical illness” telegrams had come more than ten times.
Each time, the original host rushed back home with bags of goods, yet nothing ever happened.
The second telegram was from the Quancheng Railway Section. Chen Mianmian wondered—was it from Wei Cuiyun?
From her memories, she suspected something improper between Xu Xiaomei and Wei.
Xu Cigang would be executed after autumn, so perhaps it was Xu Xiaomei working with Wei to stir trouble.
At this point, she only needed to sign the contract and register the marriage to safely give birth to Niuniu.
Then she could settle accounts and claim the “life-saving payment” owed to her.
Let’s see what trick Xu Xiaomei was playing—she could respond accordingly.
But when she opened the telegram, she was disappointed.
It was just a notice to Zhao Lingcheng: a man named Lin Yan, labeled a rightist, had attempted suicide by lying on the tracks, disrupting railway operations.
He would be detained for one week. If he attempted suicide again, trains would no longer stop—they would run him over.
Chen Mianmian had never met Lin Yan, but she had heard of him. He was the most notorious “bad element” at the Hongqi labor reform farm.
But he was also Zhao Lingcheng’s uncle—the one he visited whenever he had time.
This telegram had to be delivered to Zhao Lingcheng immediately.
…
Science relies on rigor. Aerospace strike systems allow no room for luck—only strength.
Being able to work in this field meant Zhao Lingcheng was an extremely meticulous person.
Because of the divorce, he had already undergone an investigation, personally ordered by the old master.
His diary and private letters were confiscated, examined repeatedly.
All his female acquaintances were questioned, causing them unnecessary trouble.
Because of the divorce, he had been stripped bare—his dignity and privacy gone.
Not wanting to be investigated again, after reaching an agreement with his ex-wife, he told the old master the truth: they would remarry for the child, for two years.
If it was a boy, he would raise him. If it was a girl, she would go with the mother, and he would pay support.
To Zhao Lingcheng, this arrangement was reasonable. He himself had grown up without parental companionship and turned out fine.
Also, influenced by the outside revolutionary environment, children at the base—especially the Red Guards—loved to fight.
If it was a girl, she would be too weak and likely bullied. Better for her to stay with her mother.
After explaining, Zhao Lingcheng added, “You can’t demand strict performance in my work while also expecting me to be a good husband. Chen Mianmian and I are incompatible. She should find someone more suitable. Wasn’t liberation about freedom in love and marriage? Why are you interfering?”
In his office, alone, he spoke openly.
“I thought you joined the revolution to oppose fascism. But you are authoritarian, domineering—controlling my life like chess pieces, monitoring my thoughts. In my view, you are the real fascist.”
This time, Old Master Zhao did not roar.
He remained silent for a long time. Zhao Lingcheng thought the call had ended.
After a while, the old man spoke slowly.
“I once told you about my little sister. She was clever, especially good at studying. She only needed to stand outside a classroom window, listen for a while, and she could teach me to read when we got home. But when my mother cooked, my father and I ate thick porridge—she ate thin. I grew tall and strong, while her neck was as thin as a rope, so skinny the wind could blow her away.”
“When famine came, my father sold her to a peddler for one hundred jin of millet.”
“I begged my way from the Hexi Corridor to Hanzhong before I found her. She was only thirteen—but already pregnant. She recognized me immediately, grabbed my hand and called me ‘brother.’ Her body was covered in wounds from her in-laws and husband. Yet she didn’t hate me—she even stole millet from home to feed me.”
“She was so young, so intelligent—the one who taught me to read. And she died in childbirth.”
…
“I am authoritarian. I am dictatorial. If it’s a girl, she must stay!”