And so, the matter was settled.
After the meeting, Han Dongyuan took Cheng Ning’s sketches and discussed them further with Xu Jianguo and the others in the dorm, making final revisions. The next morning, he tossed them to Cheng Ning, telling her to finalize them within the day.
So that day, Cheng Ning didn’t go to work at the lumberyard. In fact, Han Dongyuan had already spoken to the brigade leader on her behalf—she wouldn’t need to work at the lumberyard anymore.
At the lumberyard, Zhao Zhi turned her head to look at the empty spot beside Auntie Zhou. That was Cheng Ning’s place. She had already glanced that way many times that morning. But Cheng Ning never showed up. Biting her lip, she finally couldn’t hold back and asked Auntie Luo, who was guiding her: “Auntie, why didn’t Comrade Cheng come to work today?
If she’s not feeling well, can she take leave?”
Auntie Luo glanced toward Cheng Ning’s spot. She was the wife of brigade leader Han Youfu, so she knew perfectly well why Cheng Ning wasn’t there. She said: “If someone’s truly unwell, of course, they can take leave. But Comrade Cheng isn’t sick. From now on, she won’t be coming here—she’ll be helping Comrade Han with the factory work.”
By now, she had already learned from her husband Han Youfu about Cheng Ning’s connection to Han Dongyuan.
Auntie Luo and Han Dongyuan’s mother were both from the Luo family village. They had grown up together as sisters. Because of that, she had always felt a bit of resentment toward Cheng Ning. After all, when Han Qishan went off to join the army and the revolution, Han Dongyuan’s mother had stayed behind in the village, caring for the elders and raising the children. Life was hard, her health broke down, and later, even after moving to the city, she didn’t live long.
So in their eyes, the later wife who married Han Qishan had simply picked the fruit of another’s labor. Cheng Ning was brought into the Han family by that later wife.
Han Qishan’s older children—Han Dongzhi and Han Yimei—were born in the mountains, only leaving when they were several years old. They had suffered plenty. Han Dongyuan had even gone down to the countryside himself. Only Cheng Ning looked pampered, raised delicately—more precious than the pampered young ladies of the old society.
Still, though Auntie Luo had her prejudices, she wasn’t blind. These past days, she had seen that while Cheng Ning looked delicate, she behaved with great propriety—kind to others, careful in her work, earnest in everything, never complaining, and without scheming. Compared to Zhao Zhi beside her, Cheng Ning was far superior. Watching her, one could imagine that her aunt’s character must also be quite decent.
Looking again at Han Dongyuan—his expression toward her was all scowls and impatience, but in reality, he looked after her in every way. Auntie Luo sighed inwardly, and whatever small grudges she had, she let go.
She spoke with a smile. But Zhao Zhi, listening, felt her face change suddenly, a wave of emotion rising in her heart. At lunch with her dorm mates, she asked Shen Qing: “Shen Qing, your fiancé shares a dorm with Comrade Han. Do you know anything about the factory?”
“What kind of things?” Shen Qing asked.
“The factory’s being set up. It won’t just need workers—it’ll need administration, publicity, accounting. And products, besides production, will need lettering and carving. Do you think those positions will be chosen from among us sent-down youths? Do you have any news on how they’ll be selected?” Zhao Zhi pressed.
“Probably,” Shen Qing shrugged. “But I don’t know the details. I heard there are several production steps, and we’ll sign up ourselves.”
Her fiancé was Sun Jian, Han Dongyuan’s dorm mate, so she knew a bit.
She glanced at Zhao Zhi. “You want to do that kind of work?”
Zhao Zhi nodded. “I like writing. I was thinking, if I could help with publicity for the factory, that would be great.” She paused, then added: “My mother works at Beicheng Youth Newspaper. If we could get coverage there, it would be an inspiring example of sent-down youths building something. It would help our factory’s products find a market, and it could win more opportunities for us—like university recommendation slots.”
University recommendation slots—those were irresistible to any sent-down youth.
Everyone’s eyes lit up, but soon they dimmed again.
Jiang Shanshan sneered. “Even if the factory gets all the publicity in the world, even if it wins more opportunities, would any of them ever fall to us?”
“You can’t say that,” Liu Lina disagreed, giving her a sharp look. “Shanshan, if the factory succeeds, even if we don’t get into university, our lives will be much better.”
“Exactly,” Shen Qing added. “How can you think so narrowly? Sure, you’re about to marry into the commune and won’t stay here, but the rest of us still have to live. If the factory grows, life will improve for us and for the villagers. And didn’t you once dream of being a teacher? The brigade plans to open a primary school once the factory earns enough. They’ll need teachers then.”
Jiang Shanshan’s face changed. She had long dreamed of a teaching post if the brigade opened a school. But two years had passed, and no school had been built. Li Sheng was already teaching at the commune’s primary school. She was about to marry him and likely move there. Even if the brigade did open a school, she wouldn’t want the post anymore.
Her heart soured.
Shen Qing ignored her and turned back to Zhao Zhi, speaking earnestly:
“Right now, Comrade Han and the others are focused on getting production started. They probably haven’t thought that far ahead. But what you said is a very good suggestion. When the time comes, you should bring it up.”
Zhao Zhi forced a smile.
****
The opportunity came sooner than expected. That evening, after finishing work and dinner, everyone returned. Xu Jianguo went from dorm to dorm, calling everyone together in the main hall for a meeting.
He explained the factory’s production process and said: “The factory director has already arranged for five villagers to study carpentry under the master craftsman. As for us sent-down youths, the director’s idea is that anyone interested in working at the factory should sign up voluntarily.”
“Our production is divided into three main stages: first, wood processing—logging, cutting boards, and so on. Second, product manufacturing—turning the processed boards into items. Third, finishing—polishing, oiling, painting, lettering, and carving. Sign up for whichever stage you want to join. But remember, each stage has limited spots. If too many apply, we’ll select the most suitable and hardworking. Those not interested can continue with the brigade leader’s assigned tasks.”
“Alright, if you have questions, ask me now. Once you’re clear, there’s paper and pens on the table. Write your name and the stage you want. If you have special skills—like drawing, calligraphy, or carving—note them down, and we’ll make special arrangements. If none of this interests you, you’re free to leave.”
The hall buzzed with excitement. No one left. Working in the factory was obviously better than working the fields.
“Leader, once the factory starts earning money, will we get wages? Or will it still be just work points?” someone asked.
This was crucial. Work points here were meager—one full day’s labor earned only a pound of coarse grain, without oil or meat. Honestly, it wasn’t enough to feed a grown worker.
As soon as the question was raised, all chatter stopped. Everyone looked up expectantly.
Xu Jianguo turned to Han Dongyuan. “Director, you’d better explain this to everyone.” He grinned honestly. “I’m curious myself.”
Everyone laughed, and the mood lightened.
Once the room quieted, Han Dongyuan smiled and said: “We’ll pay wages. Once profits rise, we’ll be like other factories—issuing wages. And if we earn more, we’ll give bonuses too. So work hard. You know, with handcrafts like ours, the better the product, the higher the price we can set.”
“Then will different stages earn different pay?” someone asked.
“No. Wages won’t depend on the stage, but on your skill and contribution to the factory.”
Questions kept coming, the atmosphere lively. One after another, people stepped forward to take paper and pen, writing down their names and chosen stage.
Gu Jingwen also picked up a pen. His grip tightened. He had no interest in any of the production stages. What he wanted was management, responsibility. He knew, though, that as a newcomer who had barely spoken to Han Dongyuan, he couldn’t expect to jump straight into management. So yesterday, on the way to the commune, he had already told Xu Jianguo he wanted to run business operations.
This was the fastest way to enter the factory’s core. And he thought, if he could secure sales channels, surely Han Dongyuan and the others wouldn’t refuse him. Yet before he could even speak to Xu Jianguo, they were already asking everyone to apply as workers. He gripped the pen, staring at the paper on the table, weighing his options. In the end, he chose the second stage—product manufacturing. To him, this was the most important technical work. *Learn the craft first,* he told himself.
The voices in the room gradually faded, replaced by the scratching sound of pens on paper. But some still held their paper and pens, glancing around uncertainly.
Zhao Zhi was deeply disappointed. She clutched her paper and pen, turning to look at Shen Qing with a pitiful expression.
Shen Qing had already filled hers in. She chose the third stage. It was relatively lighter work, and since she had fine calligraphy and could paint landscapes, she could contribute through lettering and decoration. She understood Zhao Zhi’s look. After a moment’s thought, she raised her hand and asked: “Comrade Han, Comrade Xu, I have a question. Besides these three production stages, will the factory also need other staff? Like publicity, accounting, that sort of thing?”
The hall fell silent. Those writing stopped, lifting their heads toward Han Dongyuan and Xu Jianguo.
Xu Jianguo turned to Han Dongyuan.
Han Dongyuan said: “We’ve already made arrangements for that. Comrade Cheng, why don’t you explain our management structure to everyone? Since you’ll all be working in the factory, you should understand it. And Comrade Cheng, you’re recruiting an assistant, aren’t you? Tell everyone how that will be handled.”
Cheng Ning nodded, stood up, first acknowledging Shen Qing, then addressing the group: “Comrades, the structure of our bamboo-and-wood products factory has been tentatively set. Let me introduce it. First, our factory director—you all know—is Comrade Han Dongyuan.”
“Besides Director Han, we have a Production Director, Comrade Xu Jianguo, responsible for production management; a Business Director, Comrade Liao Sheng, in charge of business dealings; and myself, temporarily serving as Office Director, responsible for administration, accounting, and product design.”
“If you have questions or suggestions in the future, you can come to any of us. One more thing: our office still needs an assistant. This role will mainly help with administrative paperwork—writing publicity drafts, handling correspondence, organizing documents, and so on. After consulting with the director, we’ve decided to select the assistant through an exam, to ensure the most suitable comrade is chosen.”
She lifted the paper in her hand. “I’ve already prepared the test questions. Anyone interested can sign up now and take the exam.”
The room fell into silence.
After a long pause, someone raised their hand: “Comrade Cheng, about the office assistant—since you’re the Office Director, does that mean the assistant will be *your* assistant? Or will they serve all the factory leaders?”
Of course, everyone wanted an office job. But to be assistant to Cheng Ning? She had only arrived a few days ago, hadn’t endured the sun and wind like the other sent-down youths, her face still soft as a flower, and she was practically the youngest of them all.
This…
Cheng Ning smiled, without the slightest guilt or hesitation. Standing calmly under their gaze, she said: “It should be said, mainly my assistant. If the other leaders need something, they’ll have to ask me to borrow the person.”
She had to stake her claim clearly from the start.
Everyone: …
“By what right?” Jiang Shanshan jumped up. She had just filled out her paper, choosing the third stage of production. But in truth, her marriage to Li Sheng was already set for the third day of the third lunar month—barely a month away. After the wedding, she would likely move to the commune.
Li Sheng was also helping her find a way to become a private teacher at the commune’s primary school. So she wasn’t afraid of offending anyone. If she didn’t like something, she would say it outright.