Lecturer Liu stood utterly silenced by Jiang Yuan’s questions. He turned toward Chief Cheng Fangping, observing the lesson, and looked close to tears. He had simply followed instructions to give a standard lecture — he had never expected to face such sharp scrutiny.
Cheng Fangping had seen his discomfiture clearly — yet his eyes remained fixed entirely upon Jiang Yuan. Recalling his duty as a superior, he stepped forward to spare Liu further embarrassment.
“Comrade Jiang Yuan speaks rightly. We have approached this matter too narrowly, viewing it only from our own perspective. Our intent has always been to protect women’s safety — yet we failed to see that asking victims to yield is never the correct answer. Your words are a valuable reminder: our duty is to uphold public order and punish wrongdoers — not to instruct or admonish the victims.”
With that, Cheng Fangping stood and saluted Jiang Yuan with full military formality.
A military man by background, he bore himself with striking uprightness. Jiang Yuan, having never witnessed such ceremony, hesitated briefly before returning the salute in kind.
“You are too kind, Comrade Chief.”
Whether her bearing had impressed him, or he simply decided further instruction served no purpose — her seven‑day sentence was reduced to three. On the fourth day, word came that they were free to go.
Jiang Yuan stood stunned for a moment. Wang Yajuan’s first thought, by contrast, was regret — all that fine food someone had sent, still uneaten.
“Take the rest with you,” Jiang Yuan said generously. “And bring that special‑issue quilt as well.”
Wang Yajuan’s family were both employed, yet with three children their means were stretched thin — her father sent the greater part of his wages home to his parents in the countryside. Her own bedding was patched so many times it felt like hard bark. Lu Ze would never miss a quilt — Wang Yajuan had far greater need of it.
Wang Yajuan hesitated. “What if the person who sent it comes to reclaim it?” In those days, a new cotton quilt was precious indeed.
“Someone too coward even to leave his name — what sort of person could that be? If he comes asking for it — I shall return it then.”
Jiang Yuan had not expected Cheng Fangping to be so thorough. He had recovered their goods abandoned at the station — and sold every last piece.
*“Your wares are well‑made. My men bought them to take home to their wives.” He handed over the sum. “One hundred and fifty‑six yuan exactly.”
Jiang Yuan thanked him warmly, never pausing in counting the notes. Not a single copper missing.
When she finished, Cheng Fangping added gravely: “Unlicensed trade at the station remains unlawful. Do this again — and it will not be merely three days’ detention. Count on no leniency. Orders have come down to increase patrols — and troops have been seconded in to enforce them.”
Though no proof existed, Jiang Yuan felt certain the measure was aimed at her. You cannot fight authority — but if one gate closes, another opens. She would trade elsewhere. If barred entirely, she would choose another livelihood. A resourceful soul never starves.
“We understand, Comrade Chief,” Jiang Yuan said. “Thank you for your guidance. We shall take our leave.”
“I am bound for the Military Officers’ Rest Home. Allow me to escort you.”
It was not a request — it was a decision delivered. Jiang Yuan recognized that tone; Lu Qinian spoke exactly the same way. Doubtless it was drilled into every man in uniform.
Wang Yajuan’s home lay in the Textile Mill Compound — scarcely ten minutes away. When they reached the gate of the Military Family Compound, Cheng Fangping stopped short, astonished.
“You live here?”
“Yes,” Jiang Yuan said smoothly. “For the time being. I have come from the countryside to stay with distant relatives.”
She had hoped that would be the end of it — but Cheng Fangping said: “I live here too.”
Plainly he wished to ask which relative she had come to stay with. Jiang Yuan heard the question in his pause and evaded it with a laugh. “How very fortunate — what a coincidence.”
Try as she might to deflect — she could not escape. Lu Ze came running and gave the game away.
He had sought leave to collect her that morning, only to be delayed; when he reached the station, he was told she had already departed. He hurried back — and found her at the gate.
Cheng Fangping understood at once. “So — your ‘distant relative’ is Lu Ze!”
Everything fell into place.
Lu Ze frowned at those words — distant relative. He looked toward Jiang Yuan, seeking an answer — only to find her face composed, indifferent, unwilling even to meet his eye. His heart sank. She blamed him. Blamed him for refusing to acknowledge her publicly as his betrothed. Yet the time was not right — he could not speak of it openly.
“Thank you for seeing her safely home,” Lu Ze said formally to Cheng Fangping. “I must invite you to dinner one of these days.”
Ordinary courtesy — yet Cheng Fangping’s face lit up. He clapped Lu Ze upon the shoulder. “Truth be told — we have lived in this compound all these years, and never once have I dined at the Commander’s table! Why wait for ‘one of these days’? Tomorrow shall suit me perfectly!”
The boys of the compound had long been sent to the ranks for discipline. Lu Ze remembered Cheng Fangping had been his superior officer during summer training in high school. By the time Lu Ze formally enlisted, Cheng Fangping had risen to Battalion Deputy Commander — then transferred to the police as Chief. They had scarcely spoken in years.
Lu Ze understood perfectly: dinner at his home was merely an excuse. Cheng Fangping sought audience with Lu Qinian. Cheng Fangping had not said it openly — so Lu Ze chose not to hear it. Whether Lu Qinian would be at home tomorrow depended entirely on fortune. Even Lu Ze himself seldom saw his father these days.
Cheng Fangping gone, Jiang Yuan ceased pretending. Ignoring Lu Ze entirely, she walked straight past him into the compound. She was exhausted from rising before dawn and returning late each day. She needed rest — several days of rest — before thinking of trade and earnings again.
The child was still small within her. As the months advanced, growing heavy, travel and work would become impossible. Her weariness was partly physical — yet far more than that, it was prudence. Medical standards were severely limited. Giving birth was a perilous journey through the gates of death. In her past life, many among the departed had perished in childbed — three had fallen while labouring, bleeding out before help could reach them. Some survived only to lose the child. Others — mother and babe both lost.
She had been granted a second life. She had no wish to die.
She must earn all she could now, before it grew too late. Later she would rent a quiet room, rest, and hire help for the birth. Every step required money.
Lost in thought — Lu Ze stepped before her and blocked her path. Jiang Yuan looked at him unamused, raising an eyebrow in open demand: stand aside.
“When you enter, you will apologize to my father — and to my mother. Had my father not consented — you would not have been released after three days. Had my mother not agreed — you would not remain in this house.”
Had your father not consented — I should never have been seized, locked up, and fined in the first place, Jiang Yuan thought bitterly. As for Song Yuhua — a guest under another’s roof had no right to grant or deny permission to stay.
She held her tongue. She knew Lu Ze’s nature all too well. To argue would only invite another half‑hour of tedious, circular pleading.