Zhao Zhi: “???”
Her words—“I’ll cook and we can eat together”—stuck in her throat. She stared at the tightly closed door in disbelief. She had never imagined Han Dongyuan’s temperament could be this harsh.
She had heard plenty of rumors. No matter how bad his temper was said to be, beautiful girls were usually treated with favor. Deep down, she had always assumed she would be special. She stood there for a long time, until she lost all desire to make breakfast. Head lowered, she carried the noodles and pickles back to her dorm.
Back in the dorm, she tore into the hard steamed buns she had bought the night before, stuffing a few bites down—but the more she ate, the more stifled she felt. Yet when her eyes fell on her hands—already red, swollen, and rough after just over a week—her emotions slowly calmed.
She wiped her hands with a cloth, carefully applied snow cream, then picked up a small mirror, checked her reflection, dabbed on some lip color, adjusted her hair, and sighed. Finally, she opened her drawer, took out a stack of papers she had prepared long ago, and left.
She went again to the easternmost dorm. Taking a deep breath, she told herself: “This is for better work, for helping the factory develop.” She composed her expression and knocked on the door.
“Come in.” The voice inside was faint, but Zhao Zhi thought she heard a trace of gentleness—so different from the cold “Cannot” in the kitchen earlier.
She didn’t have time to think further. She pushed the door open, and the man sitting on the kang looked up.
A flicker of surprise passed through Han Dongyuan’s eyes.
“Comrade Han,” Zhao Zhi said softly, closing the door behind her.
His expression visibly chilled. “Leave,” he said.
“Comrade Han?”
Even though she had prepared herself mentally, Zhao Zhi was startled by those two unexpected words. Her face flushed crimson. What did he mean? Did he think she was here to flirt, to climb into his bed?
She was about to argue when Han Dongyuan suddenly jumped down from the kang, strode to the door, pulled it open, and stepped out into the cold wind without hesitation.
Standing in the corridor, he said back into the room: “Please speak outside.” His tone was indifferent, not particularly harsh.
But Zhao Zhi remembered his icy “Cannot” from that morning. She thought: Now I finally understand why, despite his striking looks, he has the reputation of being fierce, hated by people and feared by ghosts. With a personality this arrogant, who could stand him? Who could stand this?
She immediately thought of Cheng Ning—ignored by him, yet still chasing after him down to the countryside. How could Cheng Ning endure it, running after someone who treated her like she didn’t matter?
Zhao Zhi bit her lip and said: “Comrade Han, I think you’ve misunderstood. I only came to discuss work. The wind outside is strong—it’s not convenient to talk there.”
Han Dongyuan replied coolly: “This is the male educated youths’ dormitory. If you want to talk about work, go to the main hall.”
In those days, if a young man and woman spoke alone in a room, malicious tongues could easily spread rumors or stir up trouble, leaving you with a ruined reputation. He wasn’t afraid of trouble, but he had no interest in inviting it either.
As he spoke, he turned his head and saw the courtyard gate open. A figure stepped in—it was that girl, carrying a vegetable basket. From afar, steam was rising from it.
Han Dongyuan saw Cheng Ning. Cheng Ning saw Han Dongyuan. She had just managed a smile, ready to greet him cheerfully—when she noticed another girl walking out of his dorm behind him.
It was Zhao Zhi.
Cheng Ning’s eyes widened instantly.
Han Dongyuan had been annoyed a moment before, but seeing her sudden wide-eyed stare, he felt oddly amused. The corner of his mouth tugged upward ever so slightly, and then he turned straight toward the main hall.
The courtyard was too small.
Cheng Ning stood frozen at the gate. Zhao Zhi, stepping out of the dorm, sensed something and turned her head—naturally spotting her.
Zhao Zhi’s heart tightened, a flicker of guilt rising. But she quickly steadied herself. Why should she feel guilty? She was here properly to discuss work. Cheng Ning wasn’t anyone to Han Dongyuan. Why should she feel guilty? Thinking this, she straightened her back, even nodded politely to Cheng Ning, and followed Han Dongyuan into the main hall.
Cheng Ning: “……!!!”
Leaving Cheng Ning standing in the cold wind, Han Dongyuan and Zhao Zhi entered the hall.
As Zhao Zhi walked past Cheng Ning’s gaze, heading down the corridor, a strange thrill rose inside her. That thrill made her spine straighter, her steps lighter. But the moment she entered the hall and saw Han Dongyuan sitting there, playing idly with a carving knife, the feeling vanished completely.
Suppressing her jumble of emotions, she steadied herself and said: “Comrade Han, I came to ask if there’s any way I can help with the factory. My Chinese grades were always excellent. Back in school, I often wrote articles, and many were published in newspapers.” As she spoke, she handed him the papers she had brought.
Han Dongyuan gestured toward the table. Zhao Zhi had no choice but to place them down, saying: “These are some of my manuscripts—articles I published in newspapers. Also, I’ve studied calligraphy. If you need inscriptions, I can do them. If you need correspondence written, I can help with that too.”
Han Dongyuan reached out and flipped through the stack. There were two sheets of handwritten calligraphy, a pile of newspaper clippings, and even some big-character posters exposing people’s crimes.
Han Dongyuan felt at a loss for words. He set the papers back on the table, and Zhao Zhi said: “Our brigade establishing a factory—making products is only the first step. To sell them, we’ll need publicity. I can help write promotional articles, product introductions, and actually, my parents both worked in education. My mother worked at a newspaper in Beicheng and knows many people there. I can write articles for publication, about how we educated youths are receiving re-education from the poor and lower-middle peasants, working hand in hand with farmers to build the countryside. That way, our factory’s products will be well promoted. Once we produce them, we won’t have to worry about sales.”
It was indeed a thoughtful idea. Publicity could bring in reporters.
But Han Dongyuan had no interest in that. He only disliked farming every day, and seeing villagers with resources yet unable to fill their stomachs, he had devised a way to make money. He had no interest in appearing in newspapers, giving interviews, or making lofty speeches.
Seeing his indifference, Zhao Zhi bit her lip and pressed on: “In that case, our brigade’s educated youths could be recognized as advanced. Maybe we could even get university recommendation quotas. Comrade Han, you’re so capable, your contribution to the brigade is so great—if you could go to university, your future would be limitless!”
Han Dongyuan: “No interest.” He lifted his eyes and glanced outside.
The courtyard was empty, no one in sight.
Gripping the carving knife, he lowered his gaze and said: “Alright, I understand. Our bamboo-and-wood workshop is still in preparation. Later, positions will be assigned gradually. I’ve noted what you said and will consider it as appropriate. Please wait for arrangements.”
With that, he stood and left. At the doorway, he glanced once toward the western dorms, then slowly walked back to his own.
Zhao Zhi stood stunned, unsure whether he had agreed or not.
Meanwhile, in her own dorm, Cheng Ning stared at the large bowl of noodles in her basket, troubled. No matter how unpleasant Han Dongyuan’s temperament was, he was undeniably handsome. Combined with his sharp, arrogant aura, girls had always flocked to him. She vaguely remembered that in her previous life, she had looked at him with disdain, usually snorting and avoiding him whenever possible.
If some girl had asked her to deliver gifts, candies, or notes to him, she would bluntly say, “Give it yourself,” and walk away. Who wanted to meddle in his endless romances?
But Zhao Zhi was different.
Yes—she remembered now.
She remembered that when Han Dongyuan was sentenced to ten years, Han Yimei had looked at Zhao Zhi as if she wanted to devour her.
Because if Zhao Zhi hadn’t cried to the police, saying that the thief had harassed her, repeating over and over, “It’s all my fault, if not for me, Brother Dongyuan wouldn’t have killed him by mistake,” then Han Dongyuan’s act of defending commune property would have been judged very differently. And later, Zhao Zhi even married Gu Jingwen. After Han Dongyuan was released, Gu Jingwen still had the gall to target him everywhere.
Such a rotten entanglement had to be cut off.
Cheng Ning sighed. Hearing the sound of a door opening and closing next door, she knew Zhao Zhi had returned to her dorm. Resigned, she stood up, lifted the basket, and went to Han Dongyuan’s dorm to find him.
At the doorway, she knocked.
Inside, a voice asked: “Who is it?”
Cheng Ning steadied herself and said calmly: “It’s me, Cheng Ning.”
The door opened from within.
“Come in,” Han Dongyuan said lazily. He sat back down at the kang table. Seeing her still standing at the door, he gestured to the opposite seat: “What do you want with me? Sit down.”
Cheng Ning placed the basket on the table, took out the noodles, set the chopsticks across the bowl, then put the basket aside before sitting opposite him. It was a bowl of fine noodles, topped with mushrooms, a few pieces of braised meat, a fried egg, and sprinkled with fresh green scallions. Though it had sat for a while, steam still rose, carrying an irresistible fragrance.
So that was what she had been carrying in her basket.
“Where’d you get this?” Han Dongyuan asked.
“I borrowed Aunt Zhou’s stove this morning to cook it,” Cheng Ning said.
“I don’t know how to use these hearths, and I find lighting them troublesome. So I just cooked it there—it’s only noodles anyway.”
“Eat. Too bad it’s cooled a bit, otherwise it would smell even better.” This time, his words carried a faint trace of emotion.
Han Dongyuan’s hand twitched. He thought he should keep her at a distance. But the noodles smelled too good. How long had it been since he’d eaten such a rich bowl of noodles? In this freezing weather, first thing in the morning, the temptation was overwhelming. Besides, who had made his life here so bitter in the first place? It was only a bowl of noodles. In the end, he surrendered, pulled the bowl closer, and began eating in silence.
“Eat slowly,” she said softly. Watching him lower his head, eating quietly alone—just as she had seen him do for decades—her heart ached and softened.
Han Dongyuan looked up at her. Meeting her gentle, autumn-water eyes, his heart clenched as if gripped by something. His hand tightened around the chopsticks, and his gaze dropped sharply.
“Damn,” he muttered under his breath. Who could endure this? Why did she have to grow up into such a troublemaker? Even if he didn’t welcome her, Han Dongyuan never denied that this girl had a face that caused trouble. Yes—how many problems had she caused him since childhood?
It was maddening.
He fumed inwardly, yet his pace slowed. When he finished, she reached out to clear the dishes. He brushed her hand aside and said lazily: “It’s cold. I’ll wash them later.”
Cheng Ning: “……”
She hadn’t planned to wash them anyway. In this freezing weather, she only wanted to be kind to him—not *that* kind.
“I didn’t say I’d wash them. I’ll just set them aside. I want to talk to you later, and they’re in the way here.” She moved the dishes to the table by the door.
This time, he didn’t stop her. He watched her return to her seat and asked:
“Do you have other business with me?”
What—did she come just to deliver noodles?
Cheng Ning thought: she had watched this man for decades, yet often still couldn’t understand his way of speaking. Every sentence seemed designed to provoke.
She said: “Mm. I came to ask if there’s anything I can do to help with the workshop.”
Today had been lively—everyone wanted to help.
He looked at her and sneered: “What, can’t handle brigade work anymore? Weren’t you so determined to come down here, even if it killed you? And now you can’t take it?”
He had already received letters from his father and grandmother, saying she insisted on coming down out of guilt toward him. All for his sake—so he must take care of her.
Cheng Ning glared at him. Who said she came because she couldn’t handle brigade work? With a temper like this, it’s no wonder he died alone in her past life. Even wealth couldn’t make up for such a fatal character flaw!