Jiang Yan was tall, with long, well-proportioned legs—especially from years of exercise, his lines were smooth and his muscles well-developed. When Sang Zhi clung to his leg, she could almost feel the warmth and the wild tension carried in his muscle lines. Jiang Yan was in trouble. With her tight grip, his tall frame wobbled precariously, and fortunately, his hands and feet were agile enough to grab the window and stabilize himself. Otherwise, with his weight falling, Sang Zhi would have been injured.
Being treated this way would naturally make anyone angry, but he maintained his composure and didn’t lose his temper. Seeing that she hadn’t let go for a long time, he said irritably, “Let go!”
Sang Zhi wasn’t doing it on purpose; she released him while apologizing. Captain Cai, taking in the whole scene, looked at them with a complicated expression.
“Sang Zhi, if you have difficulties, just speak up. No matter how troublesome, we can discuss and solve it. We don’t do the old society’s exploitative stuff.” Then he glanced at Jiang Yan disapprovingly. “You too—how can you let someone kneel to you? Isn’t that against how the Party and organization educate you?”
Jiang Yan had no words for this, but fortunately, Sang Zhi realized and explained the situation.
“Uncle, don’t blame Captain Jiang. It’s all my fault. I shouldn’t have scared him without warning. I’m actually glad it was Big Brother Jiang—otherwise, I would have broken bones in that situation.”
Her words were three parts flattery, seven parts sincerity. Honestly, not everyone could relax in such a critical moment. Hearing her praise, Captain Cai nodded in satisfaction—both for her sensibility and, sincerely, pride in Jiang Yan.
After this small incident, the elder asked about her plans for the future. After all, she wasn’t a cat or dog—you could feed her, but her future development also needed guidance. When Sang Yun first arrived, he had asked this and was told she wanted to work near a hospital. She had previously attended a health school, where assignments were handled by the school.
But now, the trend was “education must serve proletarian politics” and “focus medical and health work on rural areas.” If she went the school-assignment route, most internships and jobs would be in the countryside. Sang Yun had finally escaped rural life and wasn’t keen to root herself like a young educated youth. He also knew Sang Zhi was delicate and couldn’t endure the hardships of medical studies. Thinking she might prefer a supply and marketing cooperative or a department store—less strenuous but respectable work—he had already started considering who could help her get a job.
Sang Zhi thought seriously for a moment. “My ideal is still to be a doctor.”
Jiang Yan, sitting on the sofa with legs together and back straight, rarely lifted his gaze—until he heard she knew medical skills. Captain Cai looked troubled. The medical profession treated human life; even if he had the power to pull strings, he couldn’t treat it lightly.
“This won’t work. Pick something else,” he said.
Sang Zhi understood his concern. Unlike the modern era, traditional Chinese medicine then emphasized learning through mentorship and practice; formal degrees weren’t a strict requirement. Many people leaned on family prestige to become doctors, but when people were ill, they mechanically prescribed herbs with no real effect. He assumed she might be that kind of person.
“I’ve studied under Grandma Cai for years. I wouldn’t call myself a master of medicine, but I’m definitely not a layman. Of course, being a doctor is sacred. I’ll rely on my own abilities to take exams and apply for positions—you don’t need to worry about that.”
The elder, realizing the misunderstanding, felt slightly guilty. He wondered if she was just saying it to please him, but seeing her serious, pale little face and sincere eyes, his mind settled. She also noticed the elder’s approval. Then she turned to Jiang Yan, who watched her critically, and gave a confident smile. When she wanted to do something, she could even warm up a stone.
Seeing the opportunity, Sang Zhi quickly took out a sketch.
“Uncle, I need to trouble you with something else. This is my younger brother. He went missing four years ago. Whether he was lost or sold remains to be verified, but my parents are gone, so as his older sister, I can’t just sit by. You and Big Brother Jiang have broad connections and knowledge, so I’m shamelessly asking for your help in finding him.”
Captain Cai glanced at Jiang Yan and left it to him. The man’s knuckled fingers brushed the lines on the sketch before lifting his sharp gaze.
“You drew this?”
“Yes, from memory. I can’t guarantee it’s identical, but it’s about sixty to seventy percent accurate.”
Jiang Yan folded the sketch and put it in his chest pocket, stretching his long legs and rarely smiling.
“I’ll have a comrade who transferred to the police help. But I haven’t asked yet—where’s your hometown? What do you like to eat?”
Sang Zhi’s smile stiffened. She didn’t think he was this considerate; he was asking out of caution, trying to probe her? After all, she had no memories from the original owner. As a minor character, the author didn’t bother elaborating much. If someone couldn’t even say where they’d lived for years, that would be absurd.
Now, not only Jiang Yan, but even Captain Cai looked at her several times.
“Comrade Sang is truly one to forget the favors of many,” Jiang Yan’s voice was chilly. Seems his earlier instinct was right—she was unusual. But if she were a spy, would she be dumb enough not to know her own background?
“Not at all,” Sang Zhi’s sweet dimples spread across her mouth. “My hometown is Sanzhai County. There’s a saying there: ‘Out of ten mountains, nine have no peak; the southern water flows north.’”
“My favorite is monkey head mushrooms—they’re a local specialty. Our braised red monkey head mushrooms are even one of the Eight Delicacies of the Manchu-Han Imperial Feast.”
Monkey head mushrooms are a type of fungus. They’re large, meaty, and delicate in texture. Because of the harsh conditions they grow in, they’re closely tied to Sanzhai County.
“Yes, I’ll have someone bring some next time. Xiao Jiang, you should try it too,” the elder continued, once he started talking, he couldn’t stop.
Sang Zhi was still young; starting work a couple of years later wouldn’t be a problem. But Jiang Yan couldn’t delay. He spoke earnestly, “Your mother called last night. She was worried and angry when she heard you were hurt. If I hadn’t persuaded her, she would have come right away. She also said you’re not a child anymore and need to consider personal matters, so let me see if there’s someone suitable nearby.”
Jiang Yan didn’t want to listen to this and moved to rest, slipping outside. Sang Zhi ran to catch up, warmly thanking him. A smile always opens doors, and given her attentiveness, he would surely put more effort into helping find her brother.
Jiang Yan lowered his eyes, his voice slow and low: “With such a vivid portrait, finding someone will be twice as effective with half the effort.”
It was a normal conversation—even rare for him, a small smile appeared—but Sang Zhi felt an inexplicable unease. Watching him leave, she began replaying her earlier answers about her background. She had spent 80 merit points to exchange for that information—there was no way it could be wrong. So where did the unease come from?
Then she saw Sang Yun sweeping dust off the framed picture and it hit her.
In her previous life, she had received elite education. Besides medicine, she had excelled in many areas, including art. Sketching was the foundation of all visual expression—a necessary stage in studying art. Even if she only used pencils and hadn’t focused on line relationships, cross-sections, or rhythm, or neglected plane, volume, tone, and texture, she still emphasized capturing the essence. But it was still sketching!
No wonder he had specifically asked about sketching, then about her hometown and favorite food—he was probably testing her. A lone girl from a rural school, with education halted, knowing what sketching was and being able to execute it? That was a glaring loophole. He suspected something—he definitely did!
Sang Zhi clutched her hair, silently screaming.