Lu Jinxia walked over to Li Shuhe and drew her aside to an open, quiet spot—where they could easily see anyone approaching, perfect for sharing secrets.
Li Shuhe looked at her curiously. Lu Jinxia smiled and leaned in, speaking softly. “Shuhe—I have news. I’ve found work. Passed the examination, too. It’s a temporary post at the printing house.”
Li Shuhe’s eyes went wide with delight. “Really?! Oh Jinxia, that’s wonderful! You won’t have to worry about being sent to the countryside!”
They huddled together and exchanged a few more quiet words. Lu Jinxia asked her to keep it strictly between them—and told no one else. Then they returned to the classroom. For the remainder of the period, Lu Jinxia sat quietly, completing the very last half-lesson of her high school years.
At dawn the next day, the apartment block stirred to life—the clatter of cooking and washing filling the corridors. Lu Jinxia rose early, readied herself quickly, and went to find Wang Xiulan.
“Mom—may I borrow our household registration booklet?”
Wang Xiulan was wiping down the dining table. She turned, curious. “Whatever for?”
“The Supply and Marketing Cooperative has just received goods marked as ‘slightly imperfect’—sold at internal discounted prices. I asked Shuhe to set something aside for me. They require the household booklet to register the purchase.”
Wang Xiulan suspected nothing. She knew Lu Jinxia’s friend well—and that her father was the Cooperative’s Director. Over these past two years, Lu Jinxia had occasionally brought home discounted cloth and daily necessities through that very connection, without ever a hitch. In her eyes, Lu Jinxia was steady, reliable, and sensible.
She fetched the booklet from the cabinet, brushed the dust from its cover, and handed it over. “Here—take it. Keep it safe, and don’t lose it. Pick out whatever catches your eye.” She pressed five yuan into her hand as well.
Lu Jinxia nodded. “I will.”
She tucked the booklet close to her chest, stepped out, and walked toward the Cooperative—only to change direction once out of sight, heading instead for the Red Flag Printing House.
The intake process was formal and orderly. One by one, identities were verified, personal details recorded, and her temporary-worker file entered into the system. When every procedure was complete, the clerk informed her: all was in order, and she should report for duty the following morning.
Standing before the factory gates, Lu Jinxia breathed a long, slow sigh of relief. Her diploma was secured. Her employment was confirmed. The heavy burden she had carried so long had finally lifted.
Now came the matter of making her story hold true.
She found an empty alleyway. From her private space she took a length of cloth—of a common, unremarkable colour. She folded it neatly, slipped it into her cloth bag alongside the household booklet, and walked home.
By the time she returned, the family were all home from work. Wang Xiulan saw her enter and hurried over, eyes bright, gaze fixed instantly upon her bag.
“Did you get it?”
Lu Jinxia nodded with a smile, and handed over the booklet, the remaining money, and the cloth.
Wang Xiulan set the booklet and money safely aside and unfolded the fabric at once.
“It cost three yuan and twenty cents,” Lu Jinxia said.
“Good—excellent value,” Wang Xiulan murmured, spreading it out. It lay smooth and even, its colour true and consistent—appearing entirely new and fine. She turned it this way and that, running her hands over it again and again, yet could find not the slightest flaw.
“This is what they call ‘imperfect’? Three-twenty is a bargain. At regular shops, this would cost all of four yuan!” Her tone shone with pleasure. “I declare—I see no imperfection at all! The quality is finer than cloth sold openly in shops!”
Lu Jinxia offered her explanation casually. “It’s mostly just a formality. They label them imperfect so employees may purchase goods at a discount—there’s rarely anything wrong with them at all. It’s simply a way to give staff a benefit.”
Wang Xiulan nodded in full understanding, running her hand admiringly over the fine material. “What a fine place to work—the Cooperative. Ordinary folk never get such opportunities.” The cloth was thick and substantial, perfect for making new clothing for the family. Wang Xiulan beamed, proud of her capable, resourceful daughter who always seemed to find bargains no one else could.
The next morning, Lu Jinxia reported for her first day at the printing house. As a newly hired apprentice, she was given no choice of assignment—all lighter posts already being filled. She was sent directly to the bookbinding workshop.
The work appeared unremarkable, yet proved gruellingly physical. The entire workshop operated by hand, with no machinery to lighten the load. From dawn till dusk she sat, sorting, aligning, pressing, folding, stitching, and binding—repeating the same motions without pause.
By the end of that first day, her arms ached, her wrists were stiff and numb, and her fingertips burned raw from rough paper. The air hung heavy with ink fumes and paper dust, oppressive and suffocating. The work was monotonous, exhausting, and endless.
Her wage as a temporary apprentice was fixed: eighteen yuan per month, paid monthly—with none of the subsidies or benefits enjoyed by permanent staff. In the early 1970s, eighteen yuan was a respectable sum—regular workers earned barely thirty-five or thirty-six. Yet the labour was punishing. If opportunity ever arose, she would do well to seek a transfer to a lighter post.
At long last, the workday ended. Workers filed out; Lu Jinxia walked calmly with the crowd.
The printing house lay some distance from the Machinery Plant’s family housing. By the time she reached home, Wang Xiulan had already finished work. Seeing Lu Jinxia arrive late, Wang Xiulan greeted her with displeasure.
“Where have you been? Why are you only just getting back?”
In the past, Lu Jinxia would have returned from school in time to have porridge simmering by the hour Wang Xiulan finished work—so that all she need do was cook a simple dish. Today, Lu Jinxia had returned later than she, leaving Wang Xiulan to begin dinner from scratch.
Lu Jinxia was worn thin after a day of labour. She met her mother’s rebuke with equal sharpness. “Must I account for every moment? Am I not permitted to have business elsewhere?”
Wang Xiulan fell silent at once. Yet inwardly she thought: She was not raised beneath my roof. She will never be as tender or dutiful as the others.
Lu Jinxia cared not at all what she thought. In these two years, she had seen clearly where she stood. It was not that Lu Jianguo and Wang Xiulan loved her not—they did, in their fashion. But their affection was limited, conditional, and thin—especially when compared to the fondness they lavished upon Lu Weidong, Lu Lichun, and Lu Xiangyang. They might stand up for her were she bullied at school—but in all things else, she would always rank last beside the other three.
That, more than anything, was why Lu Jinxia had been so desperate to secure work.
It was now 1971—and the policy of mandatory youth resettlement to the countryside was already in force.