The air in the room seemed to freeze.
Lu Huaizhou’s entire body stiffened. He could clearly feel the fleeting softness and warmth lingering on his lips, carrying a faint scent of her, a subtle fragrance of rice flour.
His mind went blank.
He had imagined countless possible reactions from Su Hongxia.
She might panic, she might continue to play dumb, she might vehemently deny it.
But he had never imagined she would answer his question with… a kiss.
Simple, direct, yet with a delicate force that instantly shattered all his defenses and scrutiny.
“I’m your wife.”
Those words, paired with the kiss, were like a warm current, brazenly flooding into the hardest corners of his heart, melting away all doubt and caution.
Yes, who was she? She was the wife he had officially brought home under the village secretary’s witness.
What was there left to doubt?
Looking at this small-faced woman, eyes clear and innocent, Lu Huaizhou suddenly felt ridiculous.
He, a grown man, had been completely disarmed by a little fool.
Embarrassed, he averted his gaze, let go of her wrist, his ears reddening at a rate visible to the naked eye.
“Cough… go wash the dishes,” he muttered, turning away, his steps a little unsteady, almost like a hasty retreat.
Su Hongxia watched his back, the curve of her mouth rising higher and higher.
Got him!
She knew that for a man like Lu Huaizhou, stubborn and secretly passionate, a direct “first strike” was the most effective.
If you tried to reason with him, he could debate for three days and nights. But kiss him first, and his mind would be in chaos.
Humming a happy tune, she carried the bowls into the kitchen.
She could feel that this little “skirmish” had torn a small hole in the thin paper wall between her and Lu Huaizhou. Repatching it would be difficult.
Meanwhile, the news of “Lin Wan’er is coming back” spread through the entire military compound in just a single day.
Lin Wan’er—who was she?
Everyone at the forward base knew her.
A star of the Art Troupe, the lead in The Red Detachment of Women, once earning applause from military leaders.
Beautiful, with a strong family background—her father a cadre in the division headquarters.
Most importantly, everyone knew she and Lu Huaizhou were childhood sweethearts.
Even if that “sweetheart” narrative was mostly Lin Wan’er’s own claim, to everyone, they were a perfect match.
If not for Lu Huaizhou’s sudden injury, if not for the urgency of Lu’s grandmother wanting a grandson, if not for Su Hongxia appearing… the rightful lady of the Lu compound would have been Lin Wan’er.
Now the original contender was returning. What would become of this “foolish substitute” who had jumped in midway?
The household’s wives, especially those who loved gossip, were hyped up, eagerly awaiting the spectacle.
Wang Saozi was among the most active.
Her son, Wang Xiaohu, had been “bought over” by Su Hongxia’s buns, running to the Lu household daily and complaining about the meals at home.
This stoked a simmering frustration in Wang Saozi, looking for an outlet.
That afternoon, seeing Su Hongxia washing clothes in the courtyard, Wang Saozi approached, holding a basin of old clothes to mend, swaying her hips, and spoke in a sarcastic tone over the fence.
“Oh, Hongxia, washing clothes? So diligent.”
Su Hongxia looked at her once, said nothing, and continued scrubbing.
She knew this was a weasel wishing her harm.
Seeing no reaction, Wang Saozi pressed on, lowering her voice as if confiding for her own good:
“Hongxia, listen. Lin Wan’er, she’s coming back. You know, she’s been with Commander Lu since they were kids. If not for his accident, she would have long been the lady of this compound.”
“You? Well, you’re just the temporary substitute, brought in because Lu’s grandma wanted a grandson quickly. Now the real lady’s back—you better watch your step, or you might get kicked out without even knowing why.”
Any other woman would have felt her heart churn hearing that her husband had such an exceptional “first love.”
But Su Hongxia merely paused her washing, looked up seriously at Wang Saozi, and asked:
“Can she make Nine-Turn Large Intestine?”
“Huh?” Wang Saozi was dumbfounded by the odd question.
“Can she make scallion pancakes? When she braises pork, can the fat melt in your mouth?” Su Hongxia asked three questions in a row.
Wang Saozi gaped, unable to answer.
How would she know? Lin Wan’er was the Art Troupe’s lead; her hands were for dancing, not cooking.
“Oh, then she can’t,” Su Hongxia concluded, lowering her head and continuing to scrub, muttering to herself, “Can’t even cook… how could she be a wife?”
Wang Saozi was speechless at Su Hongxia’s reasoning, finally storming off, clutching her clothes basin in frustration.
Having dealt with Wang Saozi, Su Hongxia felt nothing, even slightly amused.
An ex-girlfriend? Childhood sweetheart?
To her, those were distant matters.
Her mind was full of one thing—how to make money.
Men? Their careers were irrelevant.
A man can’t be relied upon; only money in her hands was real.
Lu Huaizhou treated her well, and his allowances and coupons went to her, but they were ultimately his.
Using them comfortably didn’t mean she could passively be a “rice bug” for life.
She needed her own savings, her own venture.
That way, whatever happened in the future, she’d have a foothold.
But in this era, making money was not easy.
Private trade was “speculation and profiteering,” punishable with criticism or even imprisonment.
What should she sell? And where?
While washing clothes, her mind raced.
Large dishes were out—cost too high, targets too limited.
Only small, easy-to-make, low-cost snacks could work.
Recipes flashed through her mind: mung bean cakes, pea jelly, Sachima, “Kāikǒuxiào” (sweet fried dough), peach cookies…
Simple ingredients: flour, sugar, oil, some beans. Delicious. In a material-scarce era, they’d be popular.
Location? Not at the supply-and-marketing cooperative—too bold. Only the black market.
Near the forward base, there was an informal black market by abandoned factories.
People came at night, secretly exchanging coupons or selling home-grown vegetables, chickens, and ducks.
Su Hongxia decided to scout first.
With her plan set, her movements became lighter.
At dusk, she claimed she wanted to pick wild vegetables on the hillside and informed Lu Huaizhou.
He glanced at her and said only: “Be back before dark.”
Su Hongxia changed into drab gray old clothes, wrapped most of her face with a scarf, leaving only her eyes visible, pocketed a few coins, and slipped out.
Relying on memory and gathered information, she zigzagged her way to the rumored black market.
As twilight fell, figures flitted around the abandoned factories.
People were cautious, covering their goods with rags or baskets, speaking in low voices.
She hid in a corner, observing.
She saw eggs for sale, homemade cloth shoes, and secret coupon exchanges.
Suddenly, a middle-aged man with a basket passed by her.
Inside were several dark, dry-looking snacks, like burnt peach cookies.
A man in a cadre uniform stopped him, pinched a piece to smell, then shook his head and walked away.
The seller looked disappointed.
Su Hongxia’s eyes lit up.
Where there’s demand, there’s a market!
Just as she prepared to leave, her peripheral vision caught a familiar figure.
In another corner of the black market, a well-dressed woman, seemingly a cadre’s family member, was secretly trading with a small, thin man.
That woman—wasn’t she Liu, the clerk from the supply store who had deliberately overcharged her for pork a few days ago?
Su Hongxia’s lips curved into a sly smile.
Enemies meet unexpectedly.
She quietly followed Liu, curious about her schemes.
They reached a more secluded alley.
The thin man pulled out a wax paper package and handed it to Liu.
She opened it, nodded in satisfaction, and handed him several “Big Unity” tickets.
Suddenly, the alley erupted with sharp whistles and shouts:
“The Red Armbands are here! Run!”
Chaos erupted in the black market.
People scattered like frightened birds.
Liu and the thin man also panicked, running in separate directions.