Liu Lina was taken aback, then laughed: “What you said isn’t wrong. But the locals don’t fear him. Didn’t you notice his surname is Han? Cheng Ning only has a bit of connection to Han Dongyuan’s family, and look how warmly the villagers treat her compared to us. Han Dongyuan, though, is truly from here—this is his hometown. His father joined the revolution during the war and is highly respected in the village. Oh, and earlier, you mentioned job recruitment and university recommendations? Think about it—if such opportunities really existed, the brigade would naturally favor their own people first. Not just jobs or university slots—even if they set up a primary school here, the teaching positions would go to locals first.”
Then she shook her head and smiled: “Though to be fair, Han Dongyuan probably doesn’t care about that. He’s already living boldly here.”
“A primary school?” Zhao Zhi was startled.
“Yes,” Liu Lina said with a smile. “People have been suggesting it for a while. We don’t have a primary school here. Children in the brigade must go to the commune or neighboring brigades to study. The nearest school is three to four hours away by mountain road—seven to eight hours round trip. On normal days, it’s already difficult, and if there’s wind, rain, or heavy snow like now, it’s impossible. So many villagers have never studied a single day. The brigade secretary and leader care about the villagers, and now, with so many educated youths here, they’ve been thinking of applying to the commune to set up a school. But it’s not easy.” She shook her head, ending the topic.
Zhao Zhi stayed silent, clutching her injured finger, lost in thought.
The heavy snow pressed down on the mountains.
Han Dongyuan had gone to the county on business, but was stranded at the commune by the snow.
Secretary Xu at the commune warmly invited him to stay for two days, but Han Dongyuan disliked such excessive hospitality. As soon as the snow stopped, he refused their invitation and trudged back alone through the deep drifts. He left before dawn and didn’t arrive until dusk, walking mountain roads for more than ten hours. The mountain wind had numbed his face, but his body didn’t feel cold—he was even slightly sweating from the long trek. Entering the courtyard, he headed toward his dormitory on the eastern side. In the corridor, he pulled off his gloves and reached for the door handle—when suddenly he sensed something.
Turning toward the kitchen, he saw a familiar figure. A figure that shouldn’t have been there, yet was unmistakably known to him.
He froze, wondering if he was snow‑blind or hallucinating. He stared at that back for a long time without speaking.
Finally, the figure he was staring at seemed to sense something and turned around.
A pair of sharp, piercing eyes met a pair of bright, beautiful ones.
“Third Brother.” Cheng Ning was the first to react. She paused for a moment, then broke into a smile.
Not far away—it really was Han Dongyuan.
The young, flamboyant, hot‑tempered, defiant Han Dongyuan. Even now, dressed in an old army coat, wearing a ridiculous Lei Feng hat, covered in dust and windburn, his face darkened and roughened by the mountain wind—he was still Han Dongyuan.
They stood less than ten meters apart.
Cheng Ning’s nose stung. She dropped what she was holding and ran toward him, calling again: “Third Brother!”
Han Dongyuan’s brows furrowed even tighter. He looked at her as if she were a ghost.
She reached him and, not stopping there, even grabbed his left arm, examining it closely.
Startled, Han Dongyuan jerked his arm away as if burned.
Cheng Ning stepped back awkwardly and gave him a cautious smile. Her eyes were red, shimmering with tears.
Han Dongyuan: ??? This couldn’t be the Cheng Ning he knew—the one who would immediately avert her gaze, who wished she could hang a banner between them declaring they had nothing to do with each other.
Snow‑blindness? Hallucination? Or some spirit conjured from the snow?
He frowned deeply, reached out, and poked her forehead. “You… what are you?”
But the sensation beneath his finger was unmistakably real. His brows furrowed tighter.
Cheng Ning rubbed her forehead where he had poked, the pain grounding her. The rush of emotion at seeing him eased, and she realized her unusual behavior must have startled him. She stepped back again, smiled, and said softly: “Han Dongyuan, it’s me.”
*It’s you. What kind of ghost are you?*
Han Dongyuan stood there, face dark, unmoving for a long while. He stared at her until he was sure she wasn’t a hallucination. The strangeness only grew stronger. He turned his head, looked at the swirling snow outside, the earthen courtyard walls, the kitchen behind her—then fixed his gaze back on her.
“Cheng Ning.”
At last, he was sure this person was really Cheng Ning. Word by word, he forced it out: “What are you doing here?”
In this ghostly weather—why was she here?
“I came down to the countryside,” Cheng Ning said with a smile.
Han Dongyuan: ???
He stepped back, staring at her. “Are you out of your mind?”
Then, as if realizing something, his face darkened. He said coldly: “Work. I’ll find someone to arrange it and get you sent back. I’ll explain to Big Brother and Sister. Me going to the countryside has nothing to do with you—it’s the Han family’s business. Your father was a martyr, you’re a martyr’s orphan. No one would blame you for not coming down.”
Did he think she’d been forced here by his siblings’ attitude?
Cheng Ning shook her head: “I chose to come. I couldn’t rest easy about you, so I asked my aunt and uncle to let me.”
“My job—I sold it. Got a thousand yuan and a stack of ration tickets. I brought them all. I’ll give them to you later.”
*Not at ease about him?*
Han Dongyuan felt like he’d been struck hard in the head. No—the abnormal thing was this person standing before him, who seemed to have appeared out of nowhere. Nothing about her felt right. He muttered a curse under his breath, turned, opened the door, and went into the dormitory.
Cheng Ning watched his back. Her lips curved into a smile, but her eyes were hot. She sniffed, holding back tears.
After walking all day through the snow, even Han Dongyuan’s strong body couldn’t escape the cold—his face, hands, and feet were frozen stiff.
Scowling, he washed up and climbed into bed. He pulled the quilt over himself—then suddenly his expression changed. He turned to Liao Sheng, who was sitting nearby, distracted and hesitant.
“What’s that smell?” Liao Sheng jumped.
Looking at the quilt in Han Dongyuan’s hands, he thought: *What are you, a bloodhound?*
But hiding it was impossible. And why should he hide it? Wasn’t this his sister?
Liao Sheng straightened up, suddenly confident. “Oh,” he said. “Smell? Fragrance, maybe? A few days ago, Cheng Ning came. She didn’t bring a quilt—you couldn’t let her freeze, right? So I lent her yours for a day. The next day, I took her to trade with a villager for another quilt and returned yours.”
Han Dongyuan’s face shifted again and again. His grip on the quilt tightened, loosened, tightened again. He wanted to curse, but found nothing to say. Finally, what came out was: “What’s going on with her? Why did she come down?”
*Not at ease about him. Not at ease about him.*
The words echoed like a spell.
*You’re asking me? How should I know?*
But glancing at Han Dongyuan, remembering Cheng Ning’s earnest work these past days, Liao Sheng hoped he would look after her, make her life easier.
“She’s stubborn. Felt guilty that you went down in her place, couldn’t get past it, so she came. You forgot? That girl’s been headstrong since childhood. You bullied her, she’d hold back tears, never let them fall. I—damn it, Han Dongyuan!”
Before he could finish, a flying sock smacked him in the face. Furious, he lunged to retaliate—but Han Dongyuan had already lain down, pulled the quilt over his head, and gone to sleep.
Liao Sheng looked at him hiding under the quilt. His fist only landed on the bedding, and he sighed. He spoke toward the quilt: “Hey, brother, don’t be so petty. She’s the girl you watched grow up, under the same roof for more than ten years. I remember she was raised like a little princess in your house, never suffered like this. These past two days, weaving bamboo mats, her hands are swollen, but she hasn’t uttered a word of complaint—still smiling and chatting with the village women…”
Han Dongyuan found him noisy, but didn’t throw off the quilt to silence him.
Though Cheng Ning’s coming down had shaken him, and Liao Sheng’s chatter was irritating, after trudging through snow for over ten hours, exhausted and drowsy, sleep soon overtook him despite the noise.
“Brother, Cheng Ning said you can’t date while in the countryside these years—it’s unlucky, right?”
Han Dongyuan jolted awake, sleep gone. “What nonsense?” He threw off the quilt, sat up, and glared at Liao Sheng.
Liao Sheng stammered: “Well, Cheng Ning said you can’t date here, said it’s unlucky…”
Seeing Han Dongyuan’s dark expression, he quickly added in a low voice:
“She said it was your grandmother who told her… You didn’t know about this?”
Han Dongyuan closed his eyes.
Liao Sheng pressed on: “Not true? Cheng Ning isn’t the type to lie. Oh—maybe after you came down, your grandmother asked a fortune‑teller to calculate it?”
Han Dongyuan: …
*Endure. Endure.* He pulled the quilt back over himself and went to sleep.
Liao Sheng finally breathed out in relief. Then he thought: *What kind of business is this anyway? What’s it got to do with me?!*