Because she had realized something—none of her family members, whether her cousins or her grandparents, had ever doubted her from beginning to end. That inevitably made her think. Could it be that she actually was the original Lin Shiyao?
On Lin Shiyao’s day off, the whole family went to visit her grandparents. Today she finally met her eldest uncle and aunt.
Her uncle looked very much like her father, but he had a steadier, more astute air about him. Perhaps it was because he worked as a diplomat—he carried an aura of authority.
Her aunt, on the other hand, had a rather heroic, sharp-featured appearance and a cheerful personality. She bustled about taking care of big and small matters, making the house lively and full of warmth. The moment she saw Lin Shiyao, she pulled her into a room and took out a dress.
“Come, Yaoyao, try this on. Your aunt went to the capital for a meeting last time and saw it at the department store. I thought it would suit you perfectly, so I bought it,” Aunt Li Xiuqin said lovingly. She had three sons and no daughter, so she truly treated Lin Shiyao as her own.
The dress was a popular bulaji style. It had a white base and a cinched waist design. When Lin Shiyao put it on, it accentuated her slender waist, full chest, and rounded hips. On her, it was both charming and innocent at the same time.
“Thank you, Auntie. I really like it,” Lin Shiyao said sweetly, leaning against her aunt’s arm.
She wouldn’t say things like “You shouldn’t have bought it.” Her family sincerely cherished her. When she had the means in the future, she would definitely repay them.
“Oh, no need to thank me. As long as you like it. But it’s cold now—wait until spring when it’s warmer to wear it.”
Li Xiuqin adored her coquettish and cute manner, gently stroking her hair.
When they returned to the living room, everyone looked at her, their elders’ eyes filled with affection.
“Wow, Sis, you’re so pretty…” Lin Zhengbin stared in awe. His sister was truly beautiful.
“Our Yaoyao has grown up into such a graceful young lady…” Grandma said proudly.
Father Lin felt a pang of melancholy. His daughter had grown up—she wouldn’t stay by his side for many more years. He really didn’t want her to marry off, but that wasn’t realistic; people would laugh. No one knew what the old father was thinking. Everyone kept praising Lin Shiyao until she grew embarrassed.
After a lively family dinner, her father, uncle, and grandfather went into the study, likely to discuss something important.
Lin Shiyao was then pulled into a room by her grandmother. She looked puzzled—why did everyone in her family love dragging her into rooms?
Grandma took out a wooden box from a drawer in the wardrobe. Inside, the money was neatly stacked. She counted out five ten-yuan notes and handed them to her.
“Grandma, I have money. Keep yours to buy yourself something nice to eat,” Lin Shiyao quickly waved her hands in refusal.
“Take it. This is Grandma’s pocket money for you. A girl shouldn’t be without money on her. What you have is yours; what Grandma gives is Grandma’s love. Be good, listen to Grandma.” She stuffed the money into her hands without room for refusal.
As she did, she sighed, “My little darling has grown up. You’re almost eighteen. Grandma gets to see one less day with you each day.”
“Grandma, what are you saying? You’re going to live to a hundred and see Yaoyao get married. Let’s not say such things,” Lin Shiyao said, hugging her tightly.
“Alright, alright. Grandma still has to see you get married. Looks like our little darling has really grown up—already thinking about marriage, huh?” Grandma teased with a laugh.
“Grandma…” Lin Shiyao blushed, shaking her arm shyly.
“Hahaha…” Grandma’s laughter echoed through the room.
Ever since Sister Wang had asked her to host the factory’s cultural performance, Lin Shiyao had already written her script. Sister Wang was very satisfied after reading it and told her to familiarize herself with the flow.
Their factory wasn’t very big, so there was no permanent stage. The stage would only be built three days before the performance.
The factory had also set prizes for participants: first prize was a bicycle voucher plus a thermos; second prize was a radio voucher plus an enamel mug; third prize was two enamel mugs.
But time and slots were limited. Lin Shiyao didn’t concern herself with the arrangements—she just needed to host well.
In the blink of an eye, the day of the performance arrived. Lin Shiyao chose a pair of black trousers from her wardrobe, put on a light yellow down jacket, wore black leather shoes, styled her hair into two fluffy braids, and applied light makeup.
Her skin was naturally fair, and the pale yellow jacket made her look youthful and lively.
The host was the first to appear. When the lights came on, Lin Shiyao slowly walked out from the side of the stage.
Standing at center stage with a wired microphone in hand, she began her opening remarks:
“Respected leaders, comrades, and fellow workers, good evening! In this golden autumn under fluttering red flags, we gather beneath the brilliant sunlight of Chairman Mao’s thought. Let us ignite our auditorium with the fullest revolutionary enthusiasm!”
Applause erupted from below.
“There is no professional stage here, but there is the most sincere passion. No splendid costumes, but the most moving spirit. Every program embodies the wisdom of our textile factory workers. I now declare the Rongcheng No. 1 Textile Factory Cultural Performance officially open. The first performance, ‘We Workers Have Strength,’ please welcome it with applause!”
Amid the applause, Lin Shiyao slowly stepped offstage. The workers’ performances followed, and she watched from the side with great interest.
It all felt very fresh to her. Though no one performed flawlessly, everyone’s faces were filled with enthusiasm, showcasing the passion of the working people of that era.
After the program ended, she walked out of the factory gates. It was already late. Her father was worried about her going home alone, so he waited outside on his bicycle. As soon as she came out, she saw him. Seeing his cheeks reddened from the cold, her heart filled with guilt.
“Dad, why didn’t you wait inside? It’s so cold out here.”
“It’s fine. I just got here myself—came when I figured it was almost over. Come on, girl, let’s hurry home so you don’t catch a chill.”
He knew his daughter was afraid of the cold. Every winter she wrapped herself up like a rice dumpling. When she was little, she wore so many layers that if she fell, she’d roll like a little snowball—always drawing laughter from her brothers. Thinking about it now, his daughter had always been adorable. She was still adorable even now that she’d grown up.
Well, that was just how a father’s filter worked—extremely thick.