Zhao Zhi and Gu Jingwen’s smiles froze, their faces nearly twisted.
Zhou Xiaomei glanced at their expressions and said: “No new ones, but there are some old quilts. Want them?”
Once you leave the village, there’s no shop. Trading old things for good ones is still worthwhile.
She turned and carried out a quilt from her grandmother’s room. It was patched over and over, worn out, and carried a musty smell of years.
It was Grandma Zhou’s old quilt. She hadn’t used it in ages but couldn’t bear to throw it away. She had planned to send it to the neighboring village to be re‑fluffed, but since the educated youths came asking for quilts, Zhou Xiaomei simply brought it out.
Zhao Zhi and Gu Jingwen saw the quilt, smelled the odor, and immediately stepped back two paces, their faces full of disgust. They came from well‑off families. How could they use this?
Yang Hongbing scratched his head, looked at the snow falling harder outside, and gritted his teeth: “Fine, fine. But it’s so worn, it’s not worth much. I’ll give you two yuan and two feet of cloth coupons.”
Zhou Xiaomei grinned. These new educated youths were easy prey. She said: “Add one jin of white flour coupons. This quilt is my grandmother’s. Her teeth are bad—I’ll trade for white flour so she can eat it.”
“Alright.” Hearing it was for the old grandmother, Yang Hongbing felt embarrassed. He took the quilt, gave the cloth and flour coupons, and even added a packet of brown sugar, saying it was for Grandma Zhou to drink.
Seeing how kind‑hearted he was, Zhou Xiaomei felt embarrassed to take too much advantage. She rummaged around and gave him some chopsticks, bowls, and enamel mugs as a bonus.
Don’t underestimate these things—without them, daily life was inconvenient.
In the end, only Yang Hongbing gained anything from the trip.
After tidying their belongings, familiarizing themselves with the surroundings, and resting in the morning, the newcomers joined the older educated youths in the afternoon to work at the brigade’s lumber yard.
The female youths followed the village women, weaving mats and baskets from bamboo strips.
The male youths worked with the men—sawing logs, planing boards, doing carpentry, or splitting bamboo.
Xu Jianguo, leading the newcomers to the lumber yard, gave them special instructions: “You see, our brigade is deep in the mountains—remote and poor. Villagers often don’t have enough to eat. Most educated youths, when they first arrive, can’t work well. But they still need food, so to the villagers it feels like we’re taking their share. That’s why they’re wary of us at first. But actually, most are simple and kind. As long as you work hard, do well, and stick it out, you’ll find they’re easy to get along with. So when you’re new, if they’re strict or speak harshly, don’t take it to heart. Just focus on doing your work.”
Thinking back to the brigade leader’s attitude when he first learned they had been assigned here, Cheng Ning and the others immediately understood.
Yang Hongbing rubbed his hands together eagerly: “Don’t worry, Captain!”
They had already prepared themselves to endure hardship. Chopping firewood, sawing logs—he was ready!
An older educated youth glanced at him and rolled his eyes inwardly. Fool!
Everyone braced themselves for difficulties. But in reality, things weren’t so bad.
Cheng Ning and the others went over to the group of village women, each sitting beside their dorm mates.
The women looked them up and down, then laughed in their rustic dialect:
“You came at a good time. Just sit here weaving mats. If you’d come in autumn, you’d be out under the sun husking corn cobs. With your delicate skin, you wouldn’t have lasted. Back then, several of the Liu girls collapsed from exhaustion.”
The newcomers glanced at the pile of bamboo strips, unsure how to respond. Still, it was certainly better than working under the blazing sun.
The brigade had arranged for villagers to teach them.
Cheng Ning’s teacher was Aunt Zhou San.
Weaving mats wasn’t difficult: fix the horizontal strips, then weave the vertical ones up and down. It looked simple, but the bamboo edges were sharp. Their hands were too tender—even Min Ran, who often helped with chores at home, found her fingers swollen and sore after a short while. As for Cheng Ning and Zhao Zhi, who had rarely done such work, it was even worse.
Fortunately, Cheng Ning was calm and patient. Aunt Zhou San taught her, and she didn’t rush—she carefully found the right angle, using steady pressure to tuck the bamboo strips in.
Watching her, Aunt Zhou San smirked and muttered: “You really are something. Weaving a mat like a landlord’s daughter doing embroidery. At this rate, you’ll only finish half a foot in a day—might as well make a hair ribbon instead!”
Everyone turned to look at Cheng Ning and burst out laughing.
Cheng Ning was speechless. *A hair ribbon? You think you can make a hair ribbon out of a mat?*
But of course, she wasn’t foolish enough to argue with Aunt Zhou San. She wasn’t affected either—she continued weaving slowly and carefully, pausing now and then to blow on her hands and rest. Aunt Zhou San kept twitching her mouth at the sight.
Cheng Ning didn’t mind. She said calmly: “Auntie, I’m just learning this, so of course I’m slow. But once I get used to it, once my hands toughen up, I’ll get faster. If I rush now and hurt my hands, then later I won’t be able to do anything at all.”
Aunt Zhou San’s mouth twitched again. *Lazy is lazy,* she thought. *That little mouth of hers—she doesn’t look like an honest girl at all.*
Cheng Ning had wanted to say: *As for work points, I’m just an apprentice these two days, so you can record fewer for me.* But she swallowed the words, knowing it would affect the other newcomers.
Just then, a cry of “Ah!” came from the other side.
Everyone turned to see Zhao Zhi clutching her right hand with her left, eyes red. Her right index finger was bleeding.
“Oh dear.” Her teacher, Aunt Luo—the brigade leader’s wife—hurriedly put down her work to check. Seeing Zhao Zhi’s pale, tender hand swollen and bleeding from the small cut, she sighed: “Comrade Zhao, this is skilled work. You have to be careful. Start slowly. If you hurt your hand like this, how will you keep working later?”
Her words echoed exactly what Cheng Ning had just said. Zhao Zhi, already in pain and discomfort, couldn’t hold back anymore—tears rolled down her cheeks.
Aunt Luo was taken aback. Her own daughter, pampered as she was, had gone to the fields at ten years old to cut wheat. She’d accidentally sliced her hand with a sickle, blood pouring everywhere. Aunt Luo had nearly fainted, checking if the finger was gone—but her silly girl hadn’t shed a single tear, and even smiled. And here was Zhao Zhi, a grown woman in her twenties, crying just because a bamboo strip nicked her hand?
And that wasn’t all.
The male educated youths noticed the commotion. Hearing that a new girl had cut her hand, Gu Jingwen and Liao Sheng dropped their work and rushed over, one after the other.
Gu Jingwen, deeply distressed, turned to Aunt Luo and asked: “Auntie, Comrade Zhao’s hand is injured. Could she rest for a while and do some other work later?”
Aunt Luo: …
But she was kind‑hearted. She sighed again and said: “Alright, alright. Stop crying. Rest for now.” *Anyway, I doubt you’d produce anything even if you worked all day.*
She glanced at Zhao Zhi’s small piece of mat—sparse, uneven, useless. Shaking her head, she thought: *This won’t do at all.*
Liao Sheng stood nearby for a while, glancing at Zhao Zhi, then at Cheng Ning, looking troubled. At last, he resigned himself, scratched his head, spoke briefly to the brigade leader, and turned back toward the dormitory.
The brigade leader shouted: “Hurry back, or I’ll deduct work points!”
He was yelling at Liao Sheng and at Gu Jingwen, who was still hovering around the girls.
Gu Jingwen frowned and returned to his work.
Meanwhile, Liao Sheng quickly came back. He tossed Cheng Ning a pair of half‑finger leather gloves and said: “Dongyuan’s.”
Everyone: ??? They were baffled. Why was he coaxing a girl with Han Dongyuan’s belongings?
Cheng Ning’s dorm mates: … speechless.
Ma Tingting, who had felt awkward when she saw Liao Sheng hand over the gloves, immediately relaxed when she heard they were Han Dongyuan’s.
“Comrade Liao, is she your sweetheart?” asked Aunt Qian, a nosy villager, squinting at him.
“Wouldn’t dare!” Liao Sheng quickly raised his hand to stop the idea. “They’re Dongyuan’s…!”
He wanted to say *“Dongyuan’s sister,”* but stopped short, remembering how much Dongyuan hated anyone mentioning that. He decided it wasn’t his business—better to let Cheng Ning, or Dongyuan himself when he returned, explain. So he cut himself off, lifted his head proudly, and strode back to the male youths.
Everyone: ???!!!
All eyes turned to Cheng Ning. Some glanced at the gloves in her hands.
Cheng Ning: …
She squeezed the gloves, then met their curious gazes with a calm smile:
“I grew up in the same compound as Comrade Liao and Comrade Han.”
Everyone looked again at the gloves.
“Oh,” Aunt Qian laughed. “So you’re Comrade Han’s sweetheart? Then that makes you practically our Shanghan village daughter‑in‑law, doesn’t it?”
Even though Cheng Ning had already been misunderstood by her dorm mates before and was mentally prepared, she nearly choked at hearing the phrase *“our Shanghan village daughter‑in‑law.”*
She coughed twice, waved her hand, and said: “No, no, no. Comrade Han and I are distant relatives. I suppose I’m his cousin?”
Because Han Dongyuan hated that connection and hated anyone discussing his family, she didn’t want to elaborate. She quickly added:
“And since we lived in the same compound, Grandma Han treated me like her own granddaughter—just like siblings.”
Her words immediately piqued the curiosity of the village women.
*Han Dongyuan’s distant relative?* His ancestors for generations were all from Shanghan village, and his mother was from neighboring Luo village. How could she be his distant relative?
“What kind of distant relative?” Aunt Qian asked.
Cheng Ning forced a smile and said: “I don’t really know. I think my father and Comrade Han’s father were comrades‑in‑arms. My father died before I was born. Because of that, Comrade Han’s father and grandmother pitied me and treated me very kindly since childhood.”
That part was true.
Han Qishan had been her father’s comrade. Her grandfather was a veteran mechanic at the factory, and it was said that Han Qishan chose to work at the factory after retiring from the army partly to look after her and her grandparents.
As soon as she said this, everyone’s attention shifted. She was the child of a martyr!
And since Han Dongyuan’s father was from Shanghan village and his grandmother was someone they all called “Auntie,” Cheng Ning’s saying Grandma Han treated her like a granddaughter made her feel closer to them, too.
Their gazes toward her changed instantly. Even the stern Aunt Zhou San looked at her with sudden affection, took her hand, and said: “No wonder you seem different from the others. You’re a martyr’s child. Come, rest a while. Your hands are swollen. Let me weave for you.”
The educated youths: ??? *Wait, that works?*
Cheng Ning hadn’t expected her attempt to deflect attention to have such an effect. She quickly said: “No, no, I don’t need to rest. I can work.”
She raised her gloves: “With these on, it’ll be fine.” *Ugh, I’ll just have to work harder. I don’t want special treatment.*
The village women cherished her even more.
Min Ran & Zhao Zhi: … sour.
Zhao Zhi unconsciously squeezed her bamboo strip, pain shooting through her injured hand. She let out a soft “ah,” and tears welled up again.
That evening, back in the dorm, the others looked at Cheng Ning as if they wanted to ask something but didn’t dare.
Cheng Ning, however, was calm. She had been reborn—her background no longer mattered to her.
“Cheng Ning, are you really a martyr’s orphan?”
“Yes.”
“Do you live with your mother now? Do you have siblings?”
“No. My mother passed away, too. I live with my aunt.”
Cheng Ning didn’t want to dwell on it, nor did she want pity or strange looks. She took out a small box of dark ointment from her drawer, scooped out a bit, and handed it to Min Ran: “Try this. I bought it from the pharmacy back home. It reduces swelling and pain. It works well.”
Her aunt had prepared it for her before she came down, knowing farm work would be hard.
Seeing she didn’t want to talk more about her past, everyone shifted the topic to the ointment.
Cheng Ning then asked more about local matters, and the dormitory atmosphere grew warm and friendly, their relationships closer than before.
The others weren’t upset that the villagers were warm toward Cheng Ning.
On the contrary, since they all lived in the same dormitory and Cheng Ning had a good temperament and got along well with them, her closeness with the villagers only brought benefits, not harm.
Meanwhile, Zhao Zhi returned to the dorm, lying on her bed, touching the burning wound on her hand, feeling miserable. She was both aggrieved and upset. On the road earlier, she had tried several times to be friendly with Cheng Ning, but Cheng Ning always seemed to target her.
She had thought Cheng Ning was just strange. Now she realized Cheng Ning wasn’t strange at all—she was deeply calculating.
Every time Zhao Zhi thought of Cheng Ning smiling brightly with the village women at the lumber yard, her chest tightened with frustration. And the worst part was—the village women adored her.
“Zhao Zhi, put some clam oil on your hand. It works better than Snowflake Cream.”
As Zhao Zhi lay dazed, her dorm mate Liu Lina handed her a tin of clam oil.
Zhao Zhi pressed her lips together. She didn’t like clam oil—it felt greasy and suffocating on her skin. But she didn’t want Liu Lina to think poorly of her. So she sat up, accepted it with thanks, then took out some dried meat from her drawer to share in gratitude. She opened the clam oil, scooped a little with her finger, and rubbed it on her hand while chatting, asking Liu Lina how long she had been here and how she had adapted.
“How to adapt? With time, you just do.”
Liu Lina held the dried meat, gave a bitter smile: “Honestly, Aunt Luo wasn’t lying. You came at a good time. Even though it’s cold, at least there’s the heated bed, and the work is indoors, sheltered from wind and rain. When we arrived, it was harvest season. Every day we were under the blazing sun, cutting wheat and digging sweet potatoes. Our skin blistered from the sun. We’d come back and collapse on the bed, too exhausted to move. Look at us now.”
She stretched out her hand, turned it over, and smiled bitterly again:
“See? We’re all dark and rough. When we first came, we were just as delicate as you.”
Zhao Zhi opened her mouth, staring at Liu Lina’s face, feeling waves of panic. She murmured: “Isn’t there another way? The commune secretary said there were jobs, even university recommendations…”
Liu Lina glanced at her, wanting to say: *What nonsense. You just arrived and are already dreaming of jobs and university?* Their brigade was remote, and in recent years, no quotas had come. Even if there were, did she really think it would go to her?
But Liu Lina was kind‑hearted. She didn’t say it aloud. Facing the endless mountains and daily labor, every educated youth had thought the same at some point. She sighed, looked out the dark window, and after a long pause said: “First, adapt. Once you settle in, then you’ll have the energy to think of other things.”
She popped a piece of dried meat into her mouth—it had been so long since she’d eaten meat that the taste made her nose sting.
Grateful, she added a few more words: “The villagers here are simple. Some are wary, but most are kind. They won’t make things hard for us. As long as you don’t despise them or take offense at their jokes, you’ll find they’re easy to get along with. And you’re pretty. Some bachelors here can’t find wives. They might help you with work. But if you don’t want trouble or marriage proposals, don’t take advantage of it. If anything happens, go to Xu Jianguo, the brigade leader, or the secretary. Don’t be fooled by the leader’s fierce look—he’s fair and will help. Of course,” she smiled, “you have Comrade Gu already, so you won’t run into that kind of trouble.”
Hearing this, Zhao Zhi felt even more restless, her chest tighter. After a pause, she said: “What about Cheng Ning? She’s even more eye‑catching than me.”
Liu Lina smiled and looked at her: “Her? Don’t worry. Didn’t you hear her say? She grew up in the same compound as Liao Sheng and Han Dongyuan. Her father and Han Dongyuan’s father were comrades. Grandma Han treats her like a granddaughter. Once you meet Han Dongyuan, you’ll understand—who would dare have designs on her?”
Zhao Zhi froze: “Why? This Han Dongyuan, is he so fierce that even the locals fear him?”