Su Qing thought the world was truly small.
So small that one moment she had spent an entire night curled in someone’s arms, and the very next, that same person appeared at her sent-down youth station in the guise of a senior leader.
Lu Zhanye stood at the courtyard gate, his gaze sweeping over the line of slouching sent-down youths, finally settling on the tiny, thin figure at the very end.
It lingered for a second.
Then shifted away.
His face gave nothing away.
It was as if the man who had held a girl tightly in his arms all night was someone else entirely.
Su Qing mentally gave his acting skills an eight out of ten.
Two points deducted because—when he looked away, his jawline had tightened just a little too much.
Unnaturally so.
Old Liu, the village Party secretary, scurried back and forth bowing, fetching stools and pouring water, chattering nonstop as he reported, “Leader, our Xiangyang Brigade has taken in twelve sent-down youths in total. The living quarters are a bit rough around the edges, but we make sure everyone gets enough to eat and stays warm enough—”
“Enough to eat?”
Lu Zhanye spoke.
Just two words, spoken softly, yet instantly silenced everyone in the yard.
His voice seemed to rise from beneath layers of ice, carrying an unspoken authority that commanded respect without effort.
His gaze swept over the youths’ faces—each one gaunt and sallow, lips cracked and dry, clothes patched over and over again.
“You call this enough to eat?”
Sweat broke out immediately on Old Liu’s forehead.
“Well… resources are limited… as you know, Leader…”
Lu Zhanye said no more, turning to walk toward the station’s quarters.
He intended to inspect their living conditions.
Everyone filed in behind him.
Lu Zhanye went from room to room, his expression unreadable.
When he reached the last room—Su Qing’s room—he paused at the doorway.
His eyes fell on the bunk in the far corner, pressed right up against the crack under the door.
On it lay a clearly brand-new quilt, jarringly out of place against the moldy old bedding surrounding it.
“Whose bunk is this?”
“R… reporting for duty, Leader, it belongs to the new arrival, Comrade Su,” Old Liu stammered, wiping sweat from his brow.
“Why is it by the door?”
Old Liu opened his mouth, but had no answer.
Standing in the crowd, Ma Hongmei’s face darkened.
She had assigned the bunks.
Making newcomers sleep in the drafty spot by the door was an “old rule” at the station—plain and simple, a way to put them in their place.
Lu Zhanye did not wait for Old Liu to reply.
He turned, his gaze sweeping calmly over every youth.
He named no names, raised no voice, only said evenly:
“The military region has clear regulations for the resettlement of sent-down youths. Living quarters must be allocated fairly. No form of bullying toward newcomers will be tolerated.”
He paused for a beat.
“Whoever violates this rule will answer directly to me.”
The silence was so complete one could hear the wind whistling through the door cracks.
Ma Hongmei lowered her head.
Once the inspection was done, Lu Zhanye stepped out into the courtyard.
The jeep’s engine sputtered to life.
Su Qing thought he would simply drive away.
But less than fifty meters down the road, the vehicle pulled over again.
Xiao Zhao ran back, breathless, and stopped in front of Su Qing.
“Comrade Su… the Leader asks you to come over.”
“Says he has a few questions to ask you.”
All eyes turned to her at once.
Su Qing nodded obediently. “Alright.”
She followed Xiao Zhao to the jeep. The door stood open; Lu Zhanye sat in the back seat, one long leg propped against the frame, his combat boots dusted with yellow earth.
Su Qing stood outside the vehicle, tilting her head up to look at him.
Sunlight spilled from behind him, gilding the outline of his frame, yet his face remained cold as ever.
“Get in.”
It was not a request, but an order.
Su Qing blinked. “Leader, if you have questions, you can ask them out here—”
“Get in.”
He repeated himself, his tone unchanged.
Su Qing glanced at Xiao Zhao. The young aide had already tactfully stepped to the front of the jeep, standing with his back to them, eyes fixed straight ahead.
Su Qing climbed inside. The moment the door clicked shut behind her, the atmosphere in the confined space shifted entirely.
Lu Zhanye asked no questions.
His headache had returned.
In fact, it had started the moment he stepped into the courtyard—dull and throbbing, like someone twisting a screw deep inside his temples.
He had pushed through the entire inspection.
Twenty minutes.
Held on by sheer willpower for twenty minutes.
Now, with the door closed, he could no longer hold it back.
Veins bulged on his forehead; his temples felt as if something were about to burst through. His breathing grew ragged, his hands clenched so tight his knuckles cracked.
Su Qing sat beside him, watching quietly.
Then—she felt it.
A hand reached out, rough and burning hot, clamping around her wrist with the force of an iron band.
She was pulled sharply forward, slamming straight into his chest.
It was the exact same position as on the train—one arm wrapped tight around her waist, the other cupping the back of her head, pressing her face into the hollow of his neck.
His chin rested on top of her hair, and his hot breath fanned across her crown.
Su Qing could feel how wildly his heart was hammering—thump-thump-thump-thump, like a caged beast throwing itself against iron bars.
But the moment her body pressed against his—
The frantic rhythm slowed.
From one hundred and twenty beats a minute, to one hundred, to ninety.
His ragged breaths deepened into steady, even inhales.
The hand gripping her wrist loosened from its iron hold to a careful, tentative clasp.
As if suddenly afraid of hurting her.
Su Qing stayed perfectly still in his arms, silently counting his heartbeats.
Seventy-eight.
Good. Back to normal.
“Who exactly are you?”
His voice rumbled from above her head—hoarse, low, like cello strings rubbed raw with sandpaper.
“I’m a sent-down youth. My name is Su Qing,” she replied, her voice muffled against his neck, carrying a soft, nasal lilt.
“That’s not what I’m asking.”
He threaded his fingers into her hair, tightening his grip just enough to make her tilt her head up.
Their eyes met, inches apart.
She saw the turbulent darkness deep in his gaze—not suspicion, not interrogation, but something far more primal, something he himself might not even have fully recognized yet.
“The scent on you,” his gaze traced every inch of her face as if memorizing every detail, “why does it make me—”
He trailed off.
He had no words to describe what he felt.
A headache that had raged for three days and nights vanished the moment she leaned against him.
A rage so intense it had made him want to lash out at the world settled the instant she touched him.
A mind fraying at the seams from sleeplessness found peace the moment he breathed in that indefinable scent clinging to her—stronger than any sleeping draught in the world.
It was not normal.
Not in the slightest.
Su Qing’s eyelashes fluttered, and her eyes glistened slightly—her “secret weapon” was coming into play.
“Leader… you’re hurting me.”
Her voice was soft and light, like ripples spreading across a pool of water stirred by the wind.
Lu Zhanye looked down to see that his hand had tangled in her hair and pulled too tight.
He jerked his hand away as if burned—so fast it seemed out of character for a man who never flinched even on the battlefield.
“…My apologies.”
Su Qing suppressed a smile.
This man—hard as iron on the surface, yet flustered and clumsy the moment things turn tender.
Interesting.
Very interesting.
When Su Qing stepped out of the jeep, every pair of eyes at the station widened.
The Leader had summoned her alone for nearly half an hour. The windows had stayed shut the whole time, revealing nothing to those waiting outside.
Now she emerged with her hair slightly askew and a faint flush on her cheeks.
And the Leader—
He remained seated in the jeep, not stepping out, but through the crack in the window, Xiao Zhao swore he saw something impossible:
The tips of Leader Lu’s ears were bright red.
The jeep revved its engine and sped away in a cloud of dust.
Su Qing smoothed down her hair, turned, and walked toward the quarters.
She nearly bumped straight into Ma Hongmei.
Ma Hongmei stared at her for a long moment, opening and closing her mouth several times before finally voicing the question burning on everyone’s mind.
“Su Qing… what did the Leader want with you?”
Su Qing lifted her large, fox-like eyes, glistening with innocence.
“He just asked about how we’re settling in down here.”
“That’s all?”
“Mm-hmm. That’s all.”
Su Qing smiled, brushed past her, and kept walking.
Ma Hongmei watched her go, and found herself stepping aside without thinking.
She could not explain why, but her gut told her—
This frail new girl was not someone to cross.
Not by any means.
Just outside the courtyard wall, a man in a patched tattered cotton jacket poked his head out from behind a corner. He watched the jeep’s taillights fade into the distance, then turned his gaze back to Su Qing as she disappeared into the house.
He licked his lips.
“Hey… a new one. All soft and pretty…”
“Goudan!” a sharp whisper came from behind him. “What are you staring at? Get back to work!”
The man flinched, let out a snicker, and turned to leave—though his eyes still darted back toward the station.
That girl…
Fair as a fairy in a New Year painting.
If only he could…
Heh.