The next day, Jiang Rou carried plenty of food and accompanied Chen Ailan to see Han Yuanzhi off.
This time he was heading south because the third brother, Han Yuanzheng, had gotten into a dispute with local villagers and ended up in the hospital. The injuries weren’t too serious, but the incident had caused quite a stir. Given Han Yuanzheng’s introverted nature, the Han family couldn’t believe he would start a quarrel on his own, which was why Han Yuanzhi decided to go investigate in person.
Joining the send-off were Han Yuanshang and Zhao Xiaolu. Thinking of how the wedding was just around the corner yet the groom had to travel far away, Zhao Xiaolu’s eyes brimmed with reluctance.
In a few days, Han Yuanshang would also return to the army for a mission. He patted Han Yuanzhi’s shoulder, his words tinged with concern: “When you get there, don’t act rashly. No matter what happens, trust the third brother, understand?”
“Don’t worry, I know what I’m doing.” When it came to serious matters, Han Yuanzhi was always earnest.
Under Zhao Xiaolu’s tearful gaze, everyone saw him onto the train. Amid heartfelt farewells, the train slowly pulled away, disappearing from sight. Only then did Zhao Xiaolu break into sobs.
Jiang Rou didn’t know how best to comfort her, so she stroked her back gently, offering quiet solace.
Seeing that everyone else remained calm, Zhao Xiaolu wiped her tears and asked Chen Ailan, “Mom, Yuanzhi is going so far away—aren’t you sad at all?”
Facing this somewhat love-struck second daughter-in-law, Chen Ailan spoke plainly: “When I was forty, I sent off my husband. Ten years ago, I sent the eldest to the army. Two years ago, I sent the third to the countryside. What haven’t I been through? My tears have long since dried. Now the second is just going on a trip—what’s there to cry about?”
Zhao Xiaolu pouted, still on the verge of tears.
Afraid she might cry herself into a fit, Jiang Rou racked her brains for words of comfort. But before she could speak, a familiar male voice rang out behind them, tinged with surprise: “Jiang Rou, Yuanshang—what are you doing here?!”
Turning at the sound, Jiang Rou saw Tang Ce, whom she hadn’t met in a long time. Dressed in a green military uniform and carrying a travel bag, he looked bright and vigorous, his smile radiant.
Han Yuanshang greeted him with a knowing grin. “Why are you suddenly back? Did the family arrange a blind date for you?”
Tang Ce instinctively glanced at Jiang Rou, then quickly denied it: “No, I’m not planning to marry just yet.”
Han Yuanzhi caught the look and frowned slightly.
Wanting to avoid suspicion, Jiang Rou linked arms with Zhao Xiaolu and said to the others, “I’ll go with Second Sister-in-law. You all head home first.”
“Alright, just remember to come back early tonight.” Han Yuanshang shifted his steps to block Tang Ce’s lingering gaze.
Jiang Rou noticed and chuckled softly. “It’s fine—Chengdong will come pick me up.”
Once Jiang Rou and the others had left, Han Yuanshang met Tang Ce’s eyes and said pointedly, “Jiang Rou and her husband are very close, always together. You’re a few years older than her—it’s about time you found someone yourself.”
Tang Ce’s smile faded instantly. Making up an excuse, he left ahead of them.
Watching him go, Chen Ailan nudged her son’s arm and whispered, “What’s that supposed to mean? Is he trying to steal someone else’s wife?”
Tang Ce’s character wasn’t bad—he would never do such a thing. At most, he couldn’t let go and would have to endure a period of heartache.
Chen Ailan clicked her tongue twice, thinking to herself that these two families were truly bound by ill-fated ties.
Meanwhile, Jiang Rou accompanied Zhao Xiaolu to a nearby park. After sitting for a while and letting her mood settle, they took a bus to Zhao Jie’s home. Her family lived in the broadcasting station’s residential building, a half-hour bus ride away.
On the bus, Zhao Xiaolu shared stories about the broadcasting world. Listening to her vivid and lively accounts, Jiang Rou asked again: “Why don’t you come with me to the broadcasting station? The audience there is far larger than at the machine factory.”
Zhao Xiaolu waved her hand, utterly uninterested. “The broadcasting station demands more from its announcers. I don’t like being constrained. Besides, I’m about to get married. Once I have children, I won’t be able to handle the pressure of work. The machine factory is better—things aren’t so strict there.”
As the conversation ended, the bus arrived at their destination.
Since it was her first visit, Jiang Rou brought fruit and pastries.
Zhao Jie greeted them warmly, ushered them inside, and invited them to sit on the sofa. She then brought two cups of warm water and sat opposite them.
“Jiang Rou, how have you been doing with the daily practice I assigned you?”
Jiang Rou answered honestly: “I read the newspaper every day, and in the mornings I spend half an hour reading articles aloud. Would you like to hear me?”
Zhao Jie picked up a newspaper from the rack and casually pointed to an article. “Read this one for me.”
Whether she had truly been practicing would be clear the moment she opened her mouth.
Jiang Rou took the paper. The article was familiar—she had read it before. So she began fluently, though without much professional technique.
After listening, Zhao Jie nodded with satisfaction. For a non-professional, being able to read the newspaper to this level was already quite good. But if she wanted to be accepted by the broadcasting station, this alone would not be enough.
“You could share some of your own thoughts on that article.”
The piece was about the hard work and perseverance of Shougang steelworkers, meant to inspire readers to learn from their spirit. Jiang Rou gathered her words and explained its meaning, though she felt nervous inside.
Zhao Jie was surprised by her insight, and then revealed the day’s main lesson: “Today I’ll teach you voice training. From now on, you must practice every morning, and don’t stop reading the newspaper aloud. As the saying goes, three minutes on stage takes ten years of effort offstage. If you want to become a good announcer, you can’t be afraid of hardship—only persistence leads to success.”
Jiang Rou listened in a haze, and when she actually began practicing, she realized how difficult it truly was.
Watching from the side, Zhao Xiaolu also hoped she would persevere, unlike herself—always inconsistent, unable to endure hardship.
But Jiang Rou really did have talent. After Zhao Jie explained a few times, she remembered everything, and her vocal exercises were already taking proper shape. They practiced the whole afternoon. By the time they left the residential building, the sun was nearly setting.
On the bus ride back to the machine factory dormitory, Jiang Rou kept replaying the day’s lessons in her mind. She suddenly realized that when she devoted herself to something seriously, the feeling was wonderful—her whole body seemed filled with endless energy. She liked it very much.
After dropping Zhao Xiaolu off at home, Jiang Rou went to the factory gate, where she had agreed to meet Shen Chengdong so they could walk back together.
The man stood tall and straight in the glow of the setting sun. She hurried a few steps, smiling. “How long have you been waiting? I had such a great time learning today.”
Her joy was infectious. He curved his lips into a smile, took her hand, and asked, “Are you tired? What do you want for dinner tonight?”
“Not too tired. But from now on I can’t eat spicy food, or anything too cold or too hot. Aunt Zhao Jie said I need to protect my voice.”
It seemed that becoming an announcer meant giving up many small pleasures in life.
Shen Chengdong took note of all these precautions carefully. Hand in hand, they went to the market to buy vegetables. Seeing watermelons for sale, Jiang Rou bought two—one to keep, the other to give to Chen Aihe.
Together, the melons weighed over thirty jin. She wanted to carry one, but he stopped her. “You can’t manage it. I’ll carry them.” With that, he lifted the net bag of melons, his breath steady, as if it were effortless.
Watching the veins stand out on his arm, Jiang Rou felt a little dazed, thinking: in another couple of months, once they saved enough wages, they would buy a bicycle.
When they arrived at the three‑courtyard compound, Chen Aihe saw Shen Chengdong carrying such heavy watermelons and quickly reached out to help.
“Xiao Rou, how could you let Chengdong carry them all by himself? That’s so thoughtless.”
“…” Jiang Rou glanced at her and replied, “I offered to help, but he wouldn’t let me.”
Chen Aihe shot her a look, then turned with a bright smile to pour Shen Chengdong some water. “Here, drink this to cool off!”
Jiang Rou hadn’t been given any, and watching the scene made her a little jealous. Shen Chengdong, flattered, accepted the mug but immediately handed it to Jiang Rou. “Here, you drink. I’m not thirsty.”
“You drink it. I’m not thirsty either.”
Seeing the deep red marks across his palms, Jiang Rou’s heart ached.
While cooking, Chen Aihe pulled her into the bedroom and whispered, “I’ve found a very famous old Chinese doctor. He’s been retired for years and doesn’t usually see patients. Tomorrow, take the day off—I’ll bring you to him.”
“How could such a renowned doctor agree to treat me?”
“Your grandfather knew him. It took me a long time to remember, but back then he treated our whole family. He’s truly remarkable.”
“Oh.” Jiang Rou didn’t expect much from the visit, but to put Chen Aihe’s mind at ease, she agreed.
Chen Aihe’s eyes reddened as she added, “You should treat Chengdong better. After all, he gave up having children for your sake. He’s a good man.”
“Mm, I will.”
“And don’t let anyone know you can’t get pregnant. Gossip is cruel—once it’s in their mouths, who knows how ugly it will sound.”
Only after repeating all her warnings did Chen Aihe finally relax. She cut open half a watermelon and asked Jiang Rou to deliver it to the Meng family. Even half a watermelon was heavy. Afraid she’d tire herself, Shen Chengdong quickly took it from her hands.
The Mengs lived in the west wing, the Tang family in the east. Whatever happened in the central courtyard was always under everyone’s watchful eyes.
Seeing the Jiang family once again bring food to the Mengs, Liu Meifeng curled her lip and said sarcastically to Tang Ce beside her, “Did you see that? Birds of a feather. No wonder every time there’s a quarrel, Meng Shuge always sides with the Jiangs.”
Tang Ce looked through the window at Shen Chengdong, feeling a pang of bitterness. “Mom, can you stop picking fights with Aunt Chen? Anger harms the body—in the end, you’re only hurting yourself.”
“Stay out of grown‑ups’ business! Your aunt wants to introduce you to someone. Tomorrow you should go meet her. The girl’s conditions are good—she works at the textile factory.”
“I’m not going. I didn’t come back this time to look for a match.” He muttered, grabbed the water bucket from the corner, and strode out of the house. Just as he stepped outside, he saw Shen Chengdong coming out of the Mengs’ home.
Tang Ce slowed his pace, studying him, wanting to see what was so special about this man— that Jiang Rou liked him.
Shen Chengdong sensed someone’s gaze and turned back.
Their eyes met, both cold and sharp.
The next day, Jiang Rou took half a day off to accompany Chen Aihe to visit the old Chinese doctor. He lived in the suburbs, nestled by mountains and water, in a truly secluded spot. They knocked on several wrong doors before finding the right place.
The old man’s house was shabby, with a small vegetable patch in the yard. His clothes were plain, covered in patches. It was a stark contrast to the spirited figure Chen Aihe remembered, and for a moment she almost thought she had mistaken him.
Sensing her doubt, the old man smiled kindly. “In times like these, it’s better to live humbly.”
Chen Aihe understood and said no more. She pushed Jiang Rou forward and explained their purpose.
Out of old friendship, the doctor agreed to help. He had Jiang Rou sit down and began to take her pulse.
Chen Aihe watched nervously, afraid to disturb the diagnosis, holding her breath.
Jiang Rou, however, wasn’t nervous at all. She even had the presence of mind to recall the newspaper article she had read aloud that morning. She realized she was remembering things faster and wondered if reading more had sharpened her mind. While she drifted in thought, the doctor released her wrist, the pulse reading complete.
“Doctor, how is she? Is it true she can’t have children?”
The old man stroked his beard, his face grave. “She must have fallen into water as a child. Her body is cold, which makes pregnancy difficult—but it doesn’t mean impossible.”
Thinking of the faint signs of a happy pulse he had just felt, he added:
“Back home, eat more warm, nourishing foods. Keep yourself well covered—even in summer, don’t indulge in cold. Avoid strenuous exercise, avoid spicy food. Come back in ten days for another check.”
Chen Aihe’s heart leaped with joy. She asked eagerly, “Doctor, could you prescribe some herbal medicine for her?”
“No need. First, let her adjust her body for a few days. When she comes back next time, I’ll tell you how to treat it.”
Whether she was pregnant or not could only be determined after another pulse reading in ten days. The treatment would differ depending on the outcome.
The old doctor offered no further explanation and sent them on their way.
On the way back, Chen Aihe frowned, still puzzled by his words. She asked Jiang Rou, “What do you think he meant? One moment he says it’s hard to conceive, the next he says it’s possible. And he won’t even prescribe medicine. Can a sickness really be cured without medicine?”
Jiang Rou thought it over and felt the doctor’s words were meant to comfort them. Since he had said so, they might as well return in ten days and let things take their natural course—less worry that way.
Chen Aihe fell silent, finally deciding: if nothing changed in ten days, they would go to a big hospital for tests. And if it truly couldn’t be treated, then so be it—she would save more money to provide for her daughter in old age.
In the following days, Jiang Rou’s meals were strictly “health‑conscious”: no spicy food, only warm, nourishing dishes, endless soups and broths—life felt joyless.
Fortunately, good news arrived: Jiang Qiuyu and Zhong Fang had registered their marriage! Though there would be no wedding banquet, at least the two families would sit down together for a meal.
The last roast duck feast had been unforgettable. Jiang Rou swallowed at the thought, hoping this time they would dine at the same roast duck restaurant.
Perhaps the Jade Emperor heard her wish—sure enough, the dinner was held at a Beijing roast duck restaurant. Besides the Zhong and Jiang families, Han Laosan’s family also joined.
This was Jiang Qiuyu’s shining moment. Dressed in a red dress, she flitted around the table like a butterfly. Zhong Fang lounged lazily to one side, unwilling to join her antics.
Facing the Zhong family, Han Laosan fawned, “Our Qiuyu has been clever and sensible since childhood. Back in school, she often skipped grades; even teachers and principals praised her as a prodigy. Standing beside Zhong Fang, they’re truly a perfect match—talented man and beautiful woman.”
Madam Zhong curled her lip in disdain, not bothering to respond. At Old Madam Zhong’s instruction, only a few members of the Zhong family had come today.
One might have thought Jiang Qiuyu would recognize reality and behave modestly. Instead, she thickened her skin and carried on as if nothing mattered.
Jiang Rou sat quietly in the corner, watching the drama. When the roast duck was finally served, she picked up a piece, wrapped it in a pancake, and was just about to eat—when a strong fishy smell hit her nose. She nearly gagged.