Early the next morning, Han Dongyuan went to the brigade to find the secretary and the brigade leader.
Secretary Zhou Puhuai and leader Han Youfu immediately greeted him:
“Dongyuan, how did things go?”
Han Dongyuan said nothing. He simply pulled a receipt and a stack of ration coupons from his pocket and placed them on the table.
Shanghan Brigade was poor—poor because it was remote, with inconvenient transport and blocked information. Generations of villagers had lived deep in the mountains, relying entirely on the land. Even selling mountain goods was dominated by brigades closer to the commune and county, who had the advantage of location.
Before the New Year, Han Dongyuan had collected a batch of mountain goods and sent them to Beicheng. Individuals weren’t allowed to resell goods. He had sold them under the commune’s name to a state‑owned restaurant in Beicheng where he had connections. This time, when he went to the county, his friend delivered the receipt and payment from the restaurant.
Zhou Puhuai and Han Youfu counted the coupons: a full 200 yuan, 500 jin of coarse grain coupons, and 100 jin of flour coupons. Their smiles split wide.
The brigade’s granary was nearly empty. With these coupons, they could at least survive the winter.
“You mentioned making small furniture—how’s that going?”
At that moment, dozens of people were at the crude lumber yard: some weaving mats and baskets, others sawing wood.
Weaving mats and baskets was the villagers’ traditional winter work. They could sell them at the commune for a little money, but the price was pitiful—a whole winter’s weaving might earn only a few yuan and a handful of ration coupons. Still, it was something.
As for sawing wood—that was Han Dongyuan’s idea. He said the mountains had abundant timber, and they could set up a small furniture workshop. But what exactly to make, how to sell, and where to sell—none of that was settled. He had only said he would make contacts.
“I’ve already contacted a furniture factory in Beicheng,” Han Dongyuan said. “They want us to provide samples. This time I bought some materials from the county. Once I look them over and we make some samples, then we can talk about setting up the workshop.”
“Good,” Han Youfu said with a smile. “Come on, let’s go take a look at the lumber yard.”
Since the problem of villagers going hungry in winter was solved, Han Youfu was in high spirits.
As they walked toward the yard, they talked.
“Oh, by the way,” Han Youfu said, “did you know one of your relatives came here?”
Relatives? That was a new word to him. Han Dongyuan had no interest in the topic and didn’t respond.
Seeing his stony face, Han Youfu sighed inwardly. It was indeed an awkward matter. The “relative” was from his stepmother’s side. Seeing his expression, it was clear he wasn’t pleased. So after Han Youfu had brought her back, he hadn’t mentioned it to anyone—not even to his wife.
After all, his wife and Han Dongyuan’s mother had once been childhood friends from the same village. So he only added, “She’s been working at the lumber yard these days. You should see her soon,” and said no more.
When they arrived at the yard, Han Dongyuan swept his gaze across the place. At once, he saw her. Head bent, weaving a mat, occasionally chatting with Aunt Zhou San from the Zhou Qingsong household.
He turned, intending to head toward the sawing area, but out of the corner of his eye, he saw Aunt Zhou San get up and leave—and someone else moving toward her. He stopped, turned back.
Zhou Xiong had been sneaking glances at Cheng Ning for days. He even fancied that this dazzling, fairy‑like girl had been looking back at him. But she was always surrounded by people. Now, with Aunt Zhou San gone, he couldn’t resist stepping forward to strike up a conversation. Of course, he hadn’t planned anything serious—just a few words. It was simply human nature to admire beauty. He asked: “Comrade Cheng, are you used to this farm work? Do you need help?”
Cheng Ning looked at him, remembering in her past life the scoundrel Han Dongyuan had “beaten to death.”
Was it this man? She had asked around these past few days. The villagers were honest and simple—except for this one rogue.
“No need, thank you,” she said bluntly.
“Comrade Cheng, are you used to the food here? The canteen hasn’t had any oil these days. I have connections—I can get people to bring things in from outside…”
Zhou Xiong wasn’t bothered by her coldness. City youths were always like this—he was used to it. He kept rambling on.
Cheng Ning frowned, wondering how to get rid of him. Suddenly, she sensed something, turned to her left—and saw Han Dongyuan standing there, face dark.
Han Dongyuan strode over and kicked Zhou Xiong hard.
With a loud *bang*, Zhou Xiong’s voice cut off. Then came his cry of pain—followed by a chorus of screams from the people nearby.
Zhou Xiong was kicked hard to the ground. He cried out in pain, cursed:
“Who the hell—”
But when he looked up and saw Han Dongyuan, his voice cut off. After a pause, he muttered angrily: “Han Dongyuan, are you crazy? Why kick me? Did I provoke you?” Yet his tone and bravado had already weakened.
Han Dongyuan planted a foot beside him, coldly saying: “I don’t care what shady things you do behind people’s backs. But if you dare hover around her again, I’ll take your life.”
Zhou Xiong wanted to protest—*Is that necessary?*—but meeting his eyes, he shivered, his skin crawling. He glanced at Cheng Ning, opened his mouth, but what came out was: “Fine, fine. I was blind. Since she’s yours, if I so much as look at her again, I’ll gouge my own eyes out.”
Enduring the pain, he scrambled up and limped away.
Han Dongyuan muttered a curse under his breath, then turned his gaze on Cheng Ning.
When Cheng Ning heard him say *“whatever shady things you do”*, her heart skipped. But the words *“I’ll take your life”* made her flinch in fear.
Han Dongyuan looked at her, and she looked back.
Their eyes met.
Han Dongyuan, already irritated, found her gaze grating. He snorted, kicked at the bamboo strips on the ground, scattering them everywhere.
Just then, Aunt Zhou San returned, saw the scene, froze, then scolded:
“Han Dongyuan, what nonsense are you pulling? Why act so vicious?”
She grabbed Cheng Ning’s hand and asked: “Comrade Cheng, what happened? Why was he being fierce with you?”
Cheng Ning quickly explained: “Auntie, no—it wasn’t like that. Just now, a villager named Zhou Xiong came to bother me. Brother Dongyuan was angry at him, not me.”
Only then did Aunt Zhou San realize she had misunderstood. She turned to speak to Han Dongyuan, but he had already walked away.
Aunt Zhou San: … *That temper. And yet Cheng Ning calls him “Brother Dongyuan” so affectionately.*
So she ignored him and asked Cheng Ning instead: “What did that rascal Zhou Xiong say to you? Did he try to touch you?”
“No, no,” Cheng Ning said quickly.
Cheng Ning quickly said, then asked Aunt Zhou San: “Auntie, what bad things has Zhou Xiong done? Why does everyone call him a rogue?”
“Of course he’s a rogue!” Aunt Zhou San snorted. “He doesn’t earn work points properly, just wanders around all day, pestering girls—today this one, tomorrow that one. He flirts but never takes responsibility… pfft! Anyway, if he dares bother you, your Brother Dongyuan beating him to death would still be what he deserves!”
Cheng Ning: … *Can everyone stop saying ‘beat to death’? It’s really traumatizing…*
While they were talking, others were murmuring too.
Zhao Zhi looked over at Cheng Ning in surprise. Even after people dispersed, she still hadn’t recovered. She stared for a while, then her gaze followed the man who had just kicked Zhou Xiong. He walked casually over to the male educated youths. She saw the brigade leader catch up to him, speaking with him—not with a hint of blame, but even patting his shoulder before leaving. Then he simply propped a foot on a stool and got back to work.
Zhao Zhi kept watching Han Dongyuan, murmuring to her dorm mate Liu Lina: “That man… who is he? Can he just hit people like that? And the brigade leader doesn’t care?”
And judging by his bearing, looks, and clothes, he was clearly an educated youth. Yet he had struck a villager, and none of the villagers seemed to mind?
“That,” Liu Lina said, glancing again toward the male youths, “that’s Han Dongyuan. Didn’t I tell you before? His hometown is Shanghan Brigade. The brigade doesn’t treat him as an outsider. The one he hit was Zhou Xiong—our brigade’s notorious rogue. He’s always chasing after pretty women.”
She paused, looked at Zhao Zhi, and added: “If Zhou Xiong ever tries to bother you, don’t respond. If you get entangled, it’ll be trouble.”
Zhao Zhi’s face went pale. Her hand holding the bamboo strip even trembled.
That man who was beaten had already spoken to her. And the brand‑new quilt she slept under, the washbasin and foot basin she used—all had been traded from him.
That day, when they failed to get a quilt from Zhou Xiaomei, Zhou Xiong stopped them on the way back. He said he could trade them things—they could pay with coupons, cloth coupons, meat coupons, even bicycle coupons. A few days earlier, knowing new educated youths were coming, he had deliberately bought brand‑new quilts and daily goods from the commune, thinking they would need them.
At the time, Zhao Zhi had been delighted. She, Gu Jingwen, and Yang Hongbing had gone to Zhou Xiong’s house and brought back quite a few things.
Yang Hongbing had been annoyed, carrying his patched quilt and a pile of old daily goods.
Fortunately, Zhou Xiong didn’t have enough for all three to trade. He couldn’t compete with Zhao Zhi, a female comrade, so most of the items went to her, which somewhat soothed his wounded pride. But who would have thought that man was notorious?
Zhao Zhi’s heart thumped uneasily. She quickly reassured herself: *It’s fine. I went with Gu Jingwen and Yang Hongbing. We traded fair and square—grain coupons, cloth coupons, meat coupons. It was just a transaction, nothing more. I won’t deal with him again.*
Her hand tightened around the bamboo strip, and almost unconsciously her gaze drifted back toward Han Dongyuan.
After work, back in the dormitory, her roommates gathered around Cheng Ning.
“Cheng Ning, did that Zhou Xiong bully you?” Wang Xiaojuan asked, fuming. “That shameless rogue—he should’ve been kicked a few times long ago!”
Cheng Ning shook her head: “No, he just came over to say a couple of words.”
“Just a couple of words, and Han Dongyuan kicked him? Ha!” Wang Xiaojuan immediately changed tone, giggling. “Cheng Ning, Han Dongyuan seems awfully protective of you. Could it be he likes you? Are you sure there’s nothing between you two?”
Something about it felt off!
Cheng Ning was drinking from her enamel mug. Hearing this, she accidentally choked, spraying water across the table and breaking into a fit of thunderous coughing.