Lu Qinian closed the booklet and set it down upon the table. He sat back and lit a cigarette. Through curling smoke, his voice came deep and steady: “Two characters misread, and one entire line mixed up.”
Jiang Yuan fell quiet for a moment. She recited the two lines she had just read aloud, then tilted her head and offered him a bright, knowing smile.
“So I misread words and mixed up the lines — just as you expected, Division Commander Lu! Disappointed, are we? My apologies!”
Her words spoke of apology, yet her tone and expression held not the faintest trace of remorse.
Lu Qinian accepted it all with remarkable composure. “I offer my apologies for my earlier conduct.”
Whether he was truly being a gentleman or simply did not care one way or the other, Jiang Yuan did not stop to wonder. She seized the moment. “As compensation — may I request room and board in this household?”
Without waiting for his nod, she smiled brightly. “Thank you, Division Commander Lu! When I earn my own wages, I shall surely repay you.”
Lu Qinian stood by the study window and lit another cigarette. Through drifting smoke, he watched Jiang Yuan cross the courtyard and leave. She moved with the light, bounding step of a young rabbit, her military-green satchel bouncing cheerfully at her back. In that moment she looked as innocent and fresh as any ordinary girl of nineteen.
Once the household had cleared, Song Yuhua lost all restraint. She paced and flounced about the room in a frenzy, so wild that Aunt Liu half-convinced herself the woman had been possessed by spirits. Fearful of being caught in the crossfire, Aunt Liu hastened to soothe her.
“Do not let it vex your health! She possesses nothing but a glib tongue and a talent for twisting facts. Next time we shall gather proper evidence — and then I am certain the Division Commander and Young Master Lu will stand firmly on your side. The Division Commander above all else — he detests craftiness and trickery. He shall not let her go unpunished, you may be sure of that.”
Jiang Yuan, the one destined to be “not let go unpunished,” was walking the streets of the capital — a city she had never seen in all her life, even counting two lifetimes.
In the cemetery through all those years, she had listened to long-dead souls describing the wonders of this great capital city — its streets, its changes, its endless bustle. She, who had never set foot in a city while alive, had listened in a haze of bewilderment, half suspecting they exaggerated everything.
That morning she had hurried toward the military compound and paid little heed to her surroundings. Now, stepping out into the open, she finally understood what they had meant. Everywhere roads stretched out; everywhere people hurried past. The supply stores and department stores were filled with goods of every kind, dazzling the eye. Everyone dressed neatly and brightly — nothing like the countryside, where clothes were mended and worn until they fell apart. Beside them, Jiang Yuan’s own clean but faded outfit could be described in but one word: rustic.
Nearly every girl her age loved beauty and fine things. But Jiang Yuan was poor — too poor to be pretty, and soon perhaps too poor to eat. She had to find work quickly. Any work would do, so long as she could settle somewhere and survive.
After asking about, she realised the truth: educated youth were returning in droves, and young people stood idle everywhere. For a girl with no schooling, no skills, and no connections — finding work was scarcely easier than winning a lottery.
Then she remembered what Wang Yajuan, that unfortunate soul buried beside her, had once told her: in the capital of the late 1970s, things were opening up. Great fortunes had not yet appeared — yet there were ways enough for a clever soul to earn a little money. Wang Yajuan’s very first earnings in life had come from selling tea eggs at the railway station. She had even passed her secret recipe down to Jiang Yuan.
Jiang Yuan decided to try. She went to the supply cooperative and asked the price of eggs — and promptly abandoned the idea. Fresh eggs cost five cents apiece. Tea eggs might sell for seven at most. Deducting tea, fuel, and time… there was barely profit enough to speak of. And it would mean endless, wearying work.
That life was not for her.
Still, she could visit the railway station. She might even catch a glimpse of Wang Yajuan — alive, young, and beautiful, just as she had described herself in life.
The railway station had been crowded enough the first time Jiang Yuan passed through. It was no less crowded now. She searched in vain for Wang Yajuan — and instead had the ill fortune to run straight into Lu Ze.
She had stood on tiptoe looking about and had not noticed his approach until he stood right before her. She turned at once to leave — but Lu Ze hurried after her and blocked her path.
“Yuan Yuan… have you come here looking for me?”
Lu Ze kept his hands to himself, mindful of the many soldiers and comrades nearby — yet Jiang Yuan stepped back, repulsed by his very presence.
“Certainly not!”
“Then what are you doing here?”
Jiang Yuan found herself quite speechless.
“Yuan Yuan, I know you have come to see me,” Lu Ze said softly, his voice warm and certain. “You knew I was on duty here, and so you came. And I have missed you too — truly. I shall not laugh at you.”
The words hung between them, carrying the unspoken rest: do not pretend otherwise.
If not for the crowd, and if not for his uniform, Jiang Yuan would have struck him then and there. Annoyed as she was, she did not fail to catch his meaning. “You are not standing guard here, are you?”
Lu Ze shook his head and lowered his voice. “Our Commander says the railway station is full of all sorts of people — a perfect place to watch for saboteurs and troublemakers. He sent us here to keep watch.”
Jiang Yuan understood at once. After the morning’s events, Lu Qinian had clearly seen his son for what he was — unable to distinguish good from evil, blind to what stood before his very eyes. So he had sent Lu Ze here to learn, to observe, to open his eyes. Truly, a father’s care knows no bounds.
“This place is full of bad sorts,” Lu Ze said earnestly. “You must go home at once. I shall return to see you this evening.”
“See your great-uncle!” Jiang Yuan snapped. “I am your mother.”
She rolled her eyes, brushed past him, and walked away.
Long after she had gone, Lu Ze remained standing where she had left him, his gaze fixed upon her retreating figure. His comrade, Company Commander Hu, nudged him in the ribs and followed his gaze — then grinned with unmistakable mischief.
“Who is that girl? Pretty as a peach — and what a temper!”
Until matters were properly settled, Lu Ze saw fit to say little. He glared at his friend. “Do not ask questions that are none of your business.”
Commander Hu chuckled and repeated her words, mimicking her tone: “‘See your great-uncle!’ and ‘I am your mother!’ — speaking to you like that! She is no ordinary girl, that one.”
“Have you caught any troublemakers yet?” Lu Ze grumbled. “So many words.”
Jiang Yuan wandered the streets the entire day. She made observations, yet found no clear path forward. She had bought steamed buns earlier, yet the scent of cooking food still made her stomach rumble — loudly, and more than once. When one’s body lacks fat and nourishment, hunger becomes a bottomless pit, impossible to fill.
Aunt Liu, watching from the veranda as Jiang Yuan paused to glance toward the dining table, let out a sharp, disdainful huff. Her voice dripped with sarcasm as she set down bowls and chopsticks.
“Truly a favoured one, aren’t you! Nowhere to be found when cooking needs doing — yet the moment food is set upon the table, here you are, right on time.”
Earlier that morning, once everyone had left, Song Yuhua had torn into Aunt Liu — berating her for being stupid, blind, useless, and incapable of speaking or acting properly. She had endured it all, head bowed, and stayed only because Lu Qinian paid well and reliably. Her two sons relied upon those wages to marry and raise families — she dared not lose her position. Choked with resentment and having nowhere else to vent it, she turned her malice upon Jiang Yuan.
In her past life, Jiang Yuan would have bowed her head in shame. She would have stepped forward meekly to help, declared she had already eaten, and slipped quietly to her room — only to emerge later, humbly and contritely, to clear the dishes and wash the bowls once everyone else had finished.