Early the next morning, Lin Wanxia sat at the table, carefully composing a letter.
She addressed it to Dr. Sun Jingren at Jishitang Medical Hall in Chuzhou County, Yun Province.
She remembered the address from her previous life and checked every character before setting the envelope aside.
In the letter, she respectfully introduced herself and explained that her husband had suffered a serious leg injury during his military service.
She described his symptoms as accurately as she could, then asked whether Dr. Sun might be willing to examine his condition or recommend a suitable course of treatment.
She also offered to cover his consultation fee, travel expenses, and accommodation if he agreed to visit.
Lin Wanxia read the letter twice.
She couldn’t explain that her confidence in Sun Jingren came from knowledge she had carried over from her previous life. She knew of his remarkable skill in treating complicated injuries, but even she couldn’t be certain whether he could restore Zhou Yu’an’s damaged leg.
All she could do was make her request sincere enough that he might consider helping.
Once the ink had dried, she folded the letter, sealed the envelope, and set off for the town’s post office.
“Comrade, how long does it take for a registered letter to reach Yun Province?”
She handed the letter and money through the post office window, unable to keep the nervousness out of her voice.
“Yun Province? That’s a long way.”
The postal worker didn’t even bother looking up as he stamped the envelope.
“Ten days to two weeks at the earliest.”
Ten days to two weeks.
Lin Wanxia felt a flicker of disappointment, but there was nothing she could do to shorten the journey.
At least the letter was on its way.
She left the post office and headed toward the supply and marketing cooperative.
Of the twenty yuan she had set aside for household expenses, she had brought ten with her for today’s purchases.
She mentally reviewed her list: flour, rice, rapeseed oil, salt, and fabric.
They couldn’t spend their entire five-hundred-yuan windfall on daily comforts. Most of it needed to remain untouched, especially if Dr. Sun agreed to treat Zhou Yu’an.
She would buy only what they needed.
As she passed the town’s only state-run supply and marketing cooperative, she slowed her steps.
Through the windows, she could see shelves stocked with all kinds of merchandise.
Looking at the goods on display, Lin Wanxia found herself thinking about the future.
The wild ginseng had brought them five hundred yuan, but such an opportunity might never come again.
If she wanted lasting financial security, she needed a reliable way to earn money.
A business of her own.
The idea was tempting, but this was still 1977.
Private commercial activity faced severe restrictions, and many goods remained subject to rationing and state-controlled distribution.
Opening a restaurant would be difficult without reliable supplies or the necessary approvals.
Making clothes for sale presented its own problems. She had neither a sewing machine nor dependable access to fabric.
But Lin Wanxia knew something most people around her didn’t.
The country was approaching a turning point.
In the years ahead, economic policies would gradually change. New opportunities would emerge, and people who recognized them early could build fortunes that seemed unimaginable today.
She had witnessed those changes in her previous life.
She had also spent years helping Zhou Jianbin manage his businesses, learning valuable lessons that he had never appreciated.
This time, she intended to use that knowledge for herself.
She didn’t need to become wealthy overnight.
She needed to find an opportunity she could prepare for before anyone else recognized its potential.
Lost in thought, Lin Wanxia wandered all the way to the opposite end of town.
Suddenly, the rumbling of machinery and the sharp smell of engine oil interrupted her thoughts.
She looked up.
Not far ahead stood a walled courtyard on the outskirts of town.
A weathered sign hung above the entrance.
“Hongqi Production Brigade — Small Machinery Workshop.”
Lin Wanxia stopped.
She recognized the name immediately.
The workshop belonged to their production brigade, although its equipment and storage yard were located near town for easier access to supplies and transport.
From what she remembered, it produced simple agricultural tools, nails, wire, and basic metal components.
The operation had never been particularly successful.
Curious, she approached the open gate.
Inside, rusty metal scraps lay scattered around the courtyard. Several workers stood smoking beside a workshop where aging machines rattled and groaned.
An elderly mechanic struck a stubborn machine part with his wrench.
“Damn it! Broken again!”
“At this rate, we’ll never meet the production quota!”
“What’s the use of working ourselves to death? The equipment barely runs!”
Lin Wanxia listened thoughtfully.
The machinery was outdated, the workers appeared discouraged, and the workshop seemed poorly organized.
But she saw potential.
In her previous life, she had learned about production planning, equipment maintenance, employee incentives, and more efficient ways of organizing work.
Those methods wouldn’t magically repair broken machines or overcome shortages of raw materials.
Still, even modest improvements could make a struggling workshop more productive.
Then a bold thought occurred to her.
What if she could eventually manage this place?
She almost laughed at herself.
This was 1977. The workshop belonged to the production brigade, and she couldn’t simply walk in and buy it.
Any change in management would require official approval. The brigade leadership would also need a compelling reason to trust her.
Yet she knew that economic reforms would create new possibilities in the years ahead.
Perhaps one day the workshop could operate under a different management arrangement.
If that opportunity arose, she wanted to be ready.
For now, she needed capital, experience, and connections.
Lin Wanxia took one last look around the courtyard, committing the workshop’s condition to memory.
Then she turned toward home.
She couldn’t take charge of the factory today.
But she could begin preparing for the day when such an opportunity became possible.
…
By the time Lin Wanxia returned home carrying several bags of groceries and supplies, Zhou Yu’an was chopping firewood in the courtyard.
He wasn’t using an axe.
Instead, he held a heavy chopping knife, bringing it down with a swift, precise movement.
Crack!
A thick piece of wood split cleanly in two.
Although his left leg was injured, his upper-body strength was astonishing.
Every movement was controlled and efficient, revealing the strength and discipline he had developed during his years in the army.
When he noticed Lin Wanxia returning, he stopped working.
Without saying a word, he walked over and naturally took the heavy bags from her hands.
As he glanced through her purchases, his eyes paused on something unexpected.
Besides the rice and flour, she had bought several chi of blue dacron fabric.
Zhou Yu’an glanced at the material.
“I’m going to make myself a new blouse,” Lin Wanxia explained. “The one I’ve been wearing is getting worn out.”
Then she reached into another bag and produced a packet of Daqianmen cigarettes and a bottle of Erguotou liquor.
“And these are for you.”
Zhou Yu’an paused.
He had enjoyed smoking and drinking before his injury, but money had been too tight for such indulgences since leaving the army.
“You didn’t have to buy these.”
“I know.” Lin Wanxia smiled. “But we’ve earned our first real money. A small celebration won’t hurt.”
He accepted the gifts, his expression softening.
That evening, they shared steamed white-flour buns and scrambled eggs.
It was a simple meal, but a welcome change from coarse grains and watery porridge.
As they ate, Lin Wanxia mentioned the workshop she had seen on the outskirts of town.
“I’ve been thinking about finding a more dependable way to earn money,” she said.
Zhou Yu’an looked up.
“What did you have in mind?”
“That small factory belonging to the brigade. It seems to be struggling, but I think it could do better with some changes.”
She hesitated.
“I know I can’t just take it over. But perhaps there’ll be an opportunity to get involved someday.”
Zhou Yu’an considered her words.
“Have you thought about what you’d change?”
Lin Wanxia was surprised.
She had expected him to dismiss the idea as unrealistic.
Instead, he was taking her seriously.
“The machinery needs attention,” she replied. “And they could organize production more efficiently. But I’d need to learn more about how the workshop operates before making any decisions.”
He nodded.
“Then start by learning.”
She studied his face.
“You don’t think it’s foolish?”
“No.”
His answer was immediate.
“If it’s something you want to pursue, we’ll find a way to prepare.”
Warmth spread through Lin Wanxia’s chest.
He wasn’t promising her a factory or pretending the obstacles didn’t exist.
He was offering something more valuable.
He believed she was capable of trying.
After dinner, Lin Wanxia went to wash the dishes.
Zhou Yu’an, meanwhile, returned to his room.
He knelt beside his battered wooden chest and reached beneath the few belongings stored inside.
From the very bottom, he retrieved a small metal box.
Inside were all the possessions he truly treasured.
Several military medals.
His discharge certificate.
And a handful of letters from former comrades.
Zhou Yu’an carefully sorted through the letters.
His fingers eventually stopped on one that had been sent from the capital.
He stared at the envelope for a long time.
Then he took out a sheet of paper and a pen, sat beneath the dim glow of the kerosene lamp, and began writing.
He hadn’t told Lin Wanxia what he was planning.
But from the moment she mentioned wanting to build a business of her own, he had already begun thinking about how to help her.
She had ambitions.
Then he would do everything within his power to clear the obstacles from her path.
First, he needed to find out whether the authorities were considering any new policies regarding township and village enterprises.
If changes were coming, he wanted to know about them before anyone else in the village.
His injured leg might prevent him from going as far as he once dreamed.
But his connections, experience, and judgment were still valuable.
And if he could no longer charge ahead himself, he could at least become the strongest support behind the woman who was willing to do so.
He lowered his head and continued writing.
Meanwhile, the atmosphere at the Zhou family home was anything but peaceful.
“What did you say?”
Zhou Dehai stared at his son.
“You think Lin Wanxia took the ginseng?”
Zhou Jianbin nodded furiously.
“She went into the mountains that morning! Someone saw her return with torn clothes and scratches all over her face.”
“And that proves what?”
“She must have been looking for something!”
Zhou Dehai slammed his hand against the table.
“Must have? That’s your evidence?”
Zhou Jianbin fell silent.
He had no proof, only a suspicion that grew stronger every time he thought about the freshly disturbed soil behind the boulder.
“If she really found it,” he muttered, “then she stole the opportunity that should have been mine!”
“Idiot!” Zhou Dehai snapped. “Wild ginseng growing in the mountains doesn’t belong to you simply because you heard about it first!”
Zhou Jianbin’s face reddened.
“But what about Director Li? We promised him that ginseng!”
At the mention of the commune official, Zhou Dehai’s expression darkened.
Their failure to deliver the medicinal root threatened far more than Zhou Jianbin’s factory position.
It could damage the connections Zhou Dehai had spent years cultivating.
“I heard something today,” he said after a moment.
Zhou Jianbin looked up.
“Tong Ren Tang in the county recently purchased an exceptionally valuable wild ginseng root.”
His son’s eyes widened.
“Could it be ours?”
“We don’t know that.”
Zhou Dehai leaned forward.
“But the timing is suspicious.”
He had no evidence linking the sale to Lin Wanxia or Zhou Yu’an. Still, the possibility was too tempting to ignore.
“There’s another rumor,” he continued. “The pharmacy may have an older ginseng root in storage, one they’ve kept for years.”
“Then we should buy it!”
“With what money?” Zhou Dehai demanded. “Do you have any idea what such a thing costs?”
Zhou Jianbin lowered his head.
His father began pacing.
“If we can’t obtain a suitable medicinal herb, we’ll have to find another way to satisfy Director Li.”
He stopped beside the table.
“And if Lin Wanxia really did take that ginseng, I’ll make sure she regrets interfering.”
Zhou Jianbin looked up eagerly.
“What are you going to do?”
“First, we find out whether Zhou Yu’an has been to Tong Ren Tang recently.”
“And then?”
Zhou Dehai’s eyes narrowed.
“If he sold that ginseng, we’ll have something to use against him.”
He leaned closer to his son.
“People in this village are quick to judge. A few carefully chosen words could make Zhou Yu’an’s sudden good fortune look very suspicious.”
Zhou Jianbin slowly smiled.
His father was right.
Even without proof, rumors could cause trouble.
And if Zhou Yu’an and Lin Wanxia were hiding something, perhaps the pressure would force them to make a mistake.
“Leave it to me, Dad.”
Zhou Dehai gave him a warning look.
“Don’t act rashly. Find out what happened first.”
But Zhou Jianbin was already imagining the day Lin Wanxia would be forced to answer for her supposed theft.
He had lost the ginseng.
He had lost his fiancée.
He refused to let her enjoy her new life in peace.