A Letter from the Capital: Someone Comes to Claim Kin
After that letter was sent westward, two dispatches arrived in the capital one after another.
The first was written by Lin Wanqing to her family.
The second—was Shen Henian’s second letter to that old leader.
The first reached the Lin family mansion.
Lin Guodong, Lin Wanqing’s father, finished reading it and frowned.
His verdict was: making a mountain out of a molehill.
Just a rusticated youth—what on earth warranted the Lin family expending resources to investigate?
But his daughter never budged on matters like this.
He sighed and called for his secretary: “Look into it. But keep it low-key.”
The second letter arrived at a brightly lit study.
The old leader—his name was Gu Changfeng—put on his reading glasses and read Shen Henian’s words carefully.
This letter was far more detailed than the last:
“The female youth in question is named Su Qing, roughly eighteen years old. She has mastered long-lost ancient acupuncture techniques, including the Green Turtle Seeking the Cave, Crane Soaring Nine Heavens, Phoenix Ascending and Dragon Coiling, and other lost arts of the needle. In my fifty years of practicing medicine, I have never seen such natural aptitude.”
“Even more astonishing: there is an extremely faint spiritual energy rippling within her body. I have confirmed this through pulse diagnosis beyond doubt. Such energy is recorded in ancient texts, tied to a special bloodline inheritance.”
“Her face bears a striking resemblance to the photograph you showed me years ago.”
“I dare not draw conclusions lightly. But I urge you to send someone to see her with your own eyes.”
“Even coming yourself would not be an overstatement.”
Gu Changfeng set down the letter.
His hands trembled.
From a drawer, he pulled out that old photograph once more.
The woman in the picture—his daughter—had died twenty years ago in what was ruled an “accident.”
She had left behind a baby girl barely a month old.
The infant had vanished.
He had searched for twenty years.
He had called upon every connection he possessed, scoured half of China.
Nothing.
“Su Qing…” he whispered the name.
A red mole above the collarbone—Shen Henian had mentioned it in his first letter.
His daughter had one in exactly that spot.
His granddaughter—if she was still alive—would have it too.
Gu Changfeng closed his eyes.
When he opened them again, his aged gaze burned with a tightly restrained, searing intensity.
“Attendant.”
“Here, sir.”
“To the Northwest.”
“I shall go myself.”
“Bring blood-testing equipment.”
“I must confirm—whether that girl is…”
His voice caught.
“…whether she is of my blood.”
Meanwhile, back at Xiangyang Production Brigade.
Su Qing had no idea two forces from the capital were already moving to investigate her. She was occupied with other matters.
Li Defa’s mother had just completed her second course of treatment.
The results exceeded all expectations: the old woman could now sit up and speak, recognize her family’s faces, even hold her own bowl to drink porridge.
Li Defa was so overcome he nearly fell to his knees before her.
“Comrade Su! You’re a living bodhisattva—they said at the county hospital there was no hope left, but you—you—”
Su Qing caught his arm before he could bow.
“Save your bows. Just get me that list of scarce goods from the supply and marketing cooperative you promised.”
Li Defa slapped his chest. “Done and done! Everything you asked for is set aside—ten jin of white sugar, fifty jin of cotton, two barrels of kerosene, a whole crate of soap—”
“Also—” He leaned in, lowering his voice.
“Comrade Su, do you know what’s happening in the county next month?”
“What?”
“A materials exchange fair.”
Su Qing’s eyes lit up.
A materials exchange fair—these were large-scale gatherings held regularly by county-level and higher authorities in the 1970s. Communes, factories, and farms would bring their specialty goods and surplus stock to trade and transact.
The biggest fairs drew hundreds of units, with goods changing hands worth tens of thousands of yuan.
In this era, this was the legal, above-board place to do business on a large scale.
“Can I take part?” Su Qing asked.
“As an urban youth sent to the countryside? Technically, no,” Li Defa rubbed his hands together. “But if you go under Xiangyang Brigade’s name—I can get you a pass.”
Su Qing smiled.
“Comrade Li, you really are my lucky star.”
Li Defa chuckled. “You saved my mother’s life—being your lucky star is the least I can do!”
This was exactly the opportunity Su Qing had been waiting for.
The black market was too small—even the busiest alleyway would never turn over more than a few hundred yuan a month. But the exchange fair was different: it was a platform to move large quantities of goods openly and legally.
Her storage space held stockpiles of sugar, cloth, canned food, medicinal herbs—every single one a scarce, high-demand commodity. If she played her cards right…
One fair alone could multiply her wealth tenfold.
As she walked back to the youth housing, Su Qing’s mind raced: which goods to bring, how to price them, how much profit she could make.
Suddenly, she stopped.
Standing on the path ahead was a man.
Not Lu Zhanye. Not Xiao Zhao. Not anyone from the village.
A stranger in a well-tailored Zhongshan suit, face solemn, posture ramrod straight—clearly a man from the state apparatus.
He met her gaze and gave a slight nod.
“Comrade Su Qing?”
“Who are you?”
“Fang is my surname.” He pulled an envelope from his pocket. “I was asked to deliver this to you.”
Su Qing took it.
No sender’s name was written on the front. But in the bottom left corner, barely visible unless you looked closely, was a tiny emblem: a five-pointed star.
Exactly the same as the one she had seen on the cuff of the man who had been shadowing her.
Her pulse quickened. She did not open it then and there.
“Thank you, Comrade Fang.”
The man nodded, turned, and walked away—cleanly, silently, just as he had come.
Su Qing gripped the letter, standing still as wind swept fine snow across the loess soil at her feet. She stared at that tiny star.
Instinct told her: whatever this letter said, it would change everything.
She took a deep breath and tucked it deep inside her inner pocket.
No rush. She would open it back at the youth quarters, when she was entirely alone.
She had a feeling the words inside held the truth about her birth, about the jade pendant, about the madwoman’s words that she had been “swapped”—and about the old leader in the capital.
Su Qing walked on. Her steps were steady, but the hand clutching the envelope was clenched so tight her knuckles had turned white.
The storm was coming.