Cheng Ning glared at him.
Under her gaze, Han Dongyuan seemed to grow a faint trace of conscience—after all, he had just eaten her noodles. He coughed lightly and said: “So, what kind of help do you want to offer? Tell me first.”
Cheng Ning reminded herself: I’ve lived—no, died—for decades. I won’t argue with someone whose personality is so flawed. Puffing her cheeks, she said: “I think setting up a factory isn’t just about gathering people to work. It’s best to plan everything systematically, so things don’t get chaotic and problems don’t arise. That’s why I came to you! I’ll help with this, and I’ll still go to the fields during the day.”
Watching her puffed-up face, trying to control her temper while reasoning with him, he suddenly recalled her childhood—her cheeks still round and chubby. Back then, he had been cruel. He couldn’t stand her silly, earnest manner. Whenever he saw her doing something, he couldn’t resist kicking it over—balls of yarn, little cards scattering everywhere. Then he’d walk off, ignoring her tearful, stubborn little face.
*Cough.* Thinking of that, his conscience stirred a little more. He stretched out his leg, propped it on the stool, and asked: “Oh? Then tell me—how would you plan things systematically?”
This Han Dongyuan, who couldn’t even speak properly now, was nothing like the calm, restrained man he would become decades later.
Cheng Ning pretended not to notice his irritating posture and said seriously: “First, the factory needs to decide what products to make. Then the designs, the structure of the factory, who is responsible for each part, how to manage it, and the accounts. I know you already have an idea in mind, but just having it in your head isn’t enough. It should all be written down in black and white. Especially the products—their exact dimensions and specifications must be strictly defined. That way, different people making them won’t easily cause problems.”
Han Dongyuan listened to her clear reasoning and dropped his earlier lazy attitude.
“Sounds reasonable,” he nodded. He pulled out a stack of papers he had already prepared and pushed them across the table. “These are product catalogs from furniture and bamboo-wood factories in Beicheng, plus some photos I had taken in state-owned stores. I need someone to organize them. Since you volunteered, try sorting them out. Make a product catalog suitable for our factory, with drawings.”
Then he looked at her and asked: “You’ve been here several days now. Tell me—what kind of products do you think suit our factory best?”
Seeing him willing to listen, Cheng Ning perked up. She had thought about this before coming.
“Our biggest problem here is transportation. Large furniture isn’t suitable—it consumes too much wood and is hard to transport. Smaller household items are better: easy to move, easy to store. Like the pen holders you made before, or kitchen items—cutting boards, bowls, basins, wooden spoons, chopsticks. These are simple, don’t take up space. Yes, I think kitchenware is ideal. Actually, I prepared for this before coming down.”
She glanced around his dorm and spotted the wicker basket she had used to carry food the other day. Picking it up, she said, “I don’t know carpentry, but before coming, I asked Grandma about the situation here. I knew villagers often weave baskets and twist ropes, so I learned how to make small baskets like this. I even found some books on it. I’m not skilled, but I can make them look neat and pretty. Villagers may be better at the craft, but I can add refinement so they’ll sell outside the mountains. I’ll organize these ideas too. We can focus on carpentry first, and once that’s running smoothly, invite a master to teach villagers to weave beautiful baskets and frames. What do you think?”
She was inspired by the future she remembered.
In later years, Han Dongyuan’s kitchen had entire sets of beautiful wooden utensils. Back then, people didn’t like the plastic goods modern folks find fashionable. They valued natural, eco-friendly products.
As she spoke, her starry eyes shone brightly, her whole face radiant enough to dazzle.
Han Dongyuan hadn’t expected that her decision to come down to the countryside wasn’t just impulsive. She had actually prepared a great deal.
But then again, he remembered—she had always been like this as a child. Her things were always neatly arranged, everything in order. Even when she wore the same clothes and shoes as others, on her they always looked more refined, more beautiful. Back then, he found it irritating, and couldn’t resist messing things up—kicking over her yarn balls or scattering her little cards—then walking away, ignoring her tearful, stubborn little face… *tsk.*
Turning his head aside, he pushed the stack of materials toward her and said: “Alright, take these and organize them. Do it your way, but quickly. In two days, the carpenter will arrive, and then he can teach the villagers more specifically.”
Cheng Ning hadn’t expected things to go so smoothly. She didn’t know that Han Dongyuan had already prepared all these materials before she came, intending to hand them to her anyway. She was delighted, agreed at once, and gathered the papers into her arms.
Watching her busy herself, Han Dongyuan was silent for a moment, then said: “By the way, this is urgent. You don’t need to go to the fields these days—just focus on this. I’ll inform the brigade leader.”
After a pause, he added: “And later, you don’t need to work at the lumberyard with the others. Just handle factory matters. I’ll count your work points.”
Cheng Ning hadn’t expected progress to be this fast. Suddenly, she thought of Zhao Zhi, who had come out of his dorm earlier. What did Zhao Zhi want from him?
Right now, Zhao Zhi was still sweet on Gu Jingwen. Surely she hadn’t come to talk about romance—so it must have been about work.
Naturally, if someone could help with the factory, who would prefer farm labor?
She couldn’t help asking: “What about Zhao Zhi? Will she be like me, working with you from now on?”
Han Dongyuan looked at her, surprised she would suddenly bring up Zhao Zhi. Why did she care? And why would he let Zhao Zhi work with him? Was he crazy?
But what came out of his mouth was: “Why do you care what she does?”
Cheng Ning pressed her lips together. She didn’t *want* to care about his romances. Who would want to meddle in that? She wasn’t a gossip. But she couldn’t not care. She couldn’t ignore his arm—or his future prison sentence.
She sighed, helpless, sounding old and earnest as she asked: “What exactly are you letting her do?”
Han Dongyuan hadn’t planned to let Zhao Zhi do anything. But seeing Cheng Ning’s helpless, complicated expression, his mischievous streak flared. He said slowly: “She claims she can write publicity articles, has already published many in newspapers, and wants to promote our factory. Maybe with her publicity, our factory will become famous, we could be rated advanced, and—who knows—maybe even get a university recommendation quota. What do you think, do you want that? Oh, and she said if the factory ever needs correspondence, she can handle that too.”
Cheng Ning: “……”
“No way!”
So, in her previous life, had those two gotten entangled because of work?
What university recommendation quota? That didn’t exist. What it *did* lead to was prison—and a lunatic like Gu Jingwen attached.
Han Dongyuan: “Why not?”
Cheng Ning held back, finally blurting: “She’s in a relationship with Gu Jingwen. If you let her work closely with you, it’ll reflect badly on you.”
Han Dongyuan: “……” What nonsense was this??
Cheng Ning bit her lip, shamelessly added: “Actually, I can do those things too. Writing publicity articles, whatever—it’s not hard. I can do it!”
Yes, I can do it!
“Oh, fine then. You do it,” he said casually.
Cheng Ning: “???” Just like that?
She sneaked a look at him, asked: “Then what about Zhao Zhi?”
“Why should I care what she does?” Han Dongyuan snorted. “She’s not my responsibility. You just mind your own business. Stop imagining nonsense and get back to work.”
His words were still harsh, his temper still unpleasant—but this time Cheng Ning felt a sudden lightness. She broke into a smile, answered brightly, and happily carried the materials back with her.
Watching her cheerful figure retreat, Han Dongyuan muttered: “Foolish.”
But the corner of his mouth curved upward.
Meanwhile, the educated youths were on their way to the commune.
Aside from Min Ran, Xu Dongmei, and Wang Xiaojuan riding in Zhou Xiaomei’s second uncle’s covered cart, the others took the brigade’s ox carts—two carts in total.
Xu Jianguo, Gu Jingwen’s dormitory group of six, plus Liu Lina, Jiang Shanshan, Shen Qing, and one more, Sun Jian—ten people in one cart.
Liao Sheng’s dormitory group of three, Ma Tingting, and some villagers in another.
Gu Jingwen sat with Xu Jianguo. On the road, he asked: “When the brigade’s factory starts, will all of us educated youths work there?”
“Anyone willing can apply,” Xu Jianguo replied.
This had already been discussed with Han Dongyuan and the others.
Production would be divided into three stages:
– Initial wood processing—logging, cutting boards.
– Main production—turning processed boards into products.
– Final finishing—polishing, drying, oiling, varnishing, even inscriptions and carvings.
The first stage was manageable, but the middle and final stages would require masters to train them.
Xu Jianguo added: “In a couple of days, once Comrade Han is free, he’ll hold a meeting to explain how to divide tasks and how to apply.”
“Is there anything we can help with beforehand?” Gu Jingwen asked.
“Starting a factory isn’t simple. It’s everyone’s factory. If Comrade Han needs help, he should say so. If we all pitch in, efficiency will be higher.”
Xu Jianguo gave him a look.
In front of others, Xu Jianguo always seemed honest and considerate. But to have served as the educated youths’ team leader for years, it couldn’t have been only because of kindness. He smiled and said: “Later, of course, everyone’s effort will be needed. But if too many people get involved in the early stages, it will only be chaotic. First, the rules must be clarified. You’re from a cadre family, so maybe you don’t know the process of establishing a factory. Think about it: to open a new factory, the leadership first makes a decision, sets the direction, then consults experts on the details. Once everything is prepared and the factory is built, only then do they recruit and train workers. It’s always top-down. A factory is never built from the bottom up.”
Gu Jingwen: “……”
Some educated youths nearby had been stirred by Gu Jingwen’s words earlier, but hearing Xu Jianguo’s explanation, they immediately sobered.
Wasn’t that exactly right?
Blocked by Xu Jianguo, Gu Jingwen didn’t show any change of expression. He acted as if his earlier words had been nothing more than casual remarks. He shifted the topic: “Then what about later sales? Has Comrade Han already found channels? Does he need help?”
“Do you have connections?” Xu Jianguo asked.
That part was all handled by Han Dongyuan. Xu Jianguo himself only helped manage production. Of course, the more sales channels, the better.
“Mm, I know some people,” Gu Jingwen said. “If needed, I can reach out. But it would be best to take samples back to Beicheng—that would be more reliable.”
In truth, Gu Jingwen had no ready connections. But he wasn’t content to just be a worker—he needed a breakthrough. Back in Beicheng, he could always find someone to ask.
Xu Jianguo nodded: “Alright, I’ll ask Dongyuan about it when we return.”
Meanwhile, Shen Qing and Sun Jian were quietly talking. At the end of last year, the two had already taken leave to meet each other’s parents. Both families had shared a meal, making their relationship official. Now they were just waiting for arrangements before registering their marriage. So they weren’t shy about speaking openly.
Liu Lina asked Shen Qing: “What did the brigade say about housing?”
The biggest obstacle to their marriage was housing. Without a house, what difference did marriage make?
“The brigade said we should find our own solution. They’ll support us if they can.”
There were no ready houses available. In the village, countless families squeezed into a few thatched huts. They could apply for a plot of wasteland and build their own house. But building a house was easier said than done. And deep down, they still held onto the thought: maybe someday they could return to the city. Surely they wouldn’t spend their whole lives in these remote mountains. Because of that lingering hope—of going back to the city, or at least leaving the mountains—they weren’t willing to invest too much effort or savings into building a house. In reality, after years in the countryside, their daily work points weren’t even enough to fill their stomachs. What savings could they possibly have?