Chapter 58:

Lan Wangshan was encountered by chance on the train. At the time, they had heard a lot of news about the area near Tongcheng from him, and thanks to his conversation with Lin Duzhong, it alleviated their anxiety about Lin Houpu’s condition, which they still didn’t know at the time. Since they got along well, they exchanged addresses.

Later, after Lin Houpu was out of danger, Lin Duzhong specifically wrote him a letter to reassure him, naturally using Lin Houpu’s home address.

Now they had received his reply, and because Lin Duzhong mentioned in the letter that they were together, the recipient’s name was written as Lin Chuanbai.

Coincidentally, there were also letters for Yu Xiang’an’s second brother and sister-in-law in the mailroom, so both letters were given to her together.

Lan Wangshan’s letter didn’t specify who should receive it. On the first page, he first expressed his happiness for them that Lin Houpu had survived the ordeal. Then he mentioned that he would be coming to the area on a business trip and, if time permitted, would visit them in person.

Lin Chuanbai: “Grandpa will be happy. The two of them got along well.”

After saying this, he flipped to the second page of the letter, scanned the contents, and was left speechless by the coincidence.

In the letter, Lan Wangshan mentioned that his son’s comrade-in-arms had visited his home. Though his son was gone, he would always live on in their hearts. One of the comrades-in-arms mentioned was named Qin Shenghua.

Yu Xiang’an’s eldest cousin was also named Qin Shenghua.

Was this a coincidence?

Same name, same surname, both soldiers—but it still felt… too much of a coincidence.

Yu Xiang’an processed the information. It seemed her eldest cousin had returned home after many years. What bad timing—she had already moved here and missed him. She really wanted to see him.

Their package exchanges had never stopped. He sent specialties and seafood from the northeast, while she collected local specialties and homemade treats to send back, exchanging what they had.

“We’ll ask him in detail when he comes.”

The second letter was addressed in Yu Xiang’an’s name, but the first page was entirely in Wen Ruzhen’s handwriting.

It began with greetings and a rundown of family matters—for example, Grandpa had been sick earlier but recovered quickly after taking medicine. Everyone else was fine, with no major changes.

Wen Ruzhen’s family situation was known within the Yu family. So, it was also known that her father had been sent to a labor camp. Later, she wrote the reason for her letter.

Wen Ruzhen had always had a low-key presence in the Yu family. Though her looks made her hard to ignore, she rarely voiced her opinions, living almost like a ghost.

Yu Xiang’an knew why.

Because of her background.

At this time, people were classified into different social strata based on their backgrounds.

Even in Hongxing Brigade, there were rich peasants who lived more invisibly than others, hardly ever expressing their opinions. Yet, they were still the subject of gossip, and their children faced difficulties in marriage.

Wen Ruzhen and Wen Yizhen’s biological father was undergoing reform. Apart from their own family, no one else knew. She acted this way to avoid drawing attention.

On paper, there was no issue—they had moved their household registration after their mother remarried and then relocated to Hongxing Brigade after going to the countryside. But they had to be cautious.

After all, the bond with their biological father couldn’t be severed, and they hadn’t publicly denounced him.

If it were exposed, there would be endless gossip. Adults could handle it, but the children would surely be bullied.

This was also a way to protect them.

So, they often helped cover for her. For example, when they moved into their new house, Wen Ruzhen wasn’t the one hosting—though it was said she was pregnant and inconvenient, she was physically fine and could have done it.

Yu Xiang’an didn’t know much about her family beyond this. Her father had been sent for reform, and her mother had remarried, taking the three children with her. Besides Wen Ruzhen and Wen Yizhen, there was also a younger sister. Because she was still young, their mother had taken her away when she remarried, and they had lost contact.

That was all. Yu Xiang’an didn’t know where her father had been sent or where her mother had remarried.

Wen Ruzhen never spoke about these matters and never asked for help.

Now she knew—her father had been sent to a labor camp in this very province, in the far north.

“…Xiao An, your sister-in-law originally didn’t want to burden you with this, but it’s been over half a year since I last received a letter of reassurance. The journey is long, so I can only shamelessly ask you—if it’s convenient, could you help me inquire about his situation? If the worst has happened… I’ll find a way to go and bring him home.”

Yu Xiang’an felt a heavy weight in her heart.

“Bring him home”—meaning his remains.

Later in the letter, the handwriting switched to Yu Xiangyan’s.

“Xiao An, do what you can. Your sister-in-law has been carrying this in her heart, never telling anyone.”

“If it’s convenient, help gather some information. I’ve hidden fifty yuan in the shoe sole for expenses. If he’s already gone, send a telegram. If not, but he’s unable to send a letter for some reason, see if this money can help in any way.”

The money was hidden in the shoe sole to prevent anyone from tampering with the letter.

The letter didn’t mention any names directly, using only “her” to avoid causing trouble for Yu Xiang’an if someone saw it.

Yu Xiang’an: “…”

Her mood suddenly darkened.

She didn’t see those people as monsters—this was the pain of the era. Many were innocent.

Because of this turmoil, they had been implicated.

Yu Xiang’an pried open the shoe sole and found the fifty yuan. On three of the bills, the name “Wen Yanjun” was written—presumably her father’s name.

Lin Chuanbai patted her shoulder comfortingly.

He understood why she was upset.

She had a good impression of her sister-in-law. Despite such a heavy blow, she had remained true to herself.

Her father must have been an extraordinary person.

His suffering wasn’t because he had done anything wrong—it was because he had studied abroad.

Coming from the future, they understood his innocence, but in this era, their understanding was meaningless.

Some things were beyond their control.

Yu Xiang’an memorized the address and burned the letter, planning to ask around later.

Lin Chuanbai: “I’ll help ask too.”

After regular letters of reassurance, the sudden silence made it hard not to fear the worst.

Wen Yanjun was undergoing reform at Nanxi Farm—the same Nanxi Farm in Tongcheng where Lan Wangshan was going for his business trip.

Coincidentally, Lan Wangshan had mentioned he might visit. If he came, wouldn’t he be the perfect person to ask?

Of course, they wouldn’t pin all their hopes on him, nor could they delay too long. With contact broken for so long, the outlook seemed grim.

But it would be a shame if he were still alive, unable to write for some reason, and they could have saved him with timely help.

If he had endured for so long only to fall just before dawn, it would be truly heartbreaking.

Lin Chuanbai supported the idea. Whether or not they intervened, gathering information wasn’t difficult.

They picked a day off, saying they had heard about Tongcheng’s specialties and wanted to buy some.

Hearing their excuse, Lin Duzhong: “…”

Was this how young people were these days? Still, a trip wasn’t a bad idea. He nodded. “Fine, go travel. Leave the child with me.”

Looking after a child wasn’t hard.

Nanxi Farm had originally been woodland and wasteland, later converted into a farm. There were people sent there for reform, as well as educated youth sent to assist. Both groups had it tough.

They were there to reclaim wasteland—never an easy task.

With more and more people and limited land, food rations grew scarcer, especially for those sent for reform. They were assigned the dirtiest, hardest work and given the worst food. They weren’t allowed to leave.

They were under the strictest control.

Even if they had money, there was nowhere to spend it—a pitiful situation.

Since there were educated youth there, Yu Xiang’an and Lin Chuanbai used them as an entry point to gather information, learning about the farm’s scale and restrictions.

While talking to the shopkeeper about an unanswered submission, Yu Xiang’an casually steered the conversation to Nanxi Farm. “Shopkeeper, do you know anything about this farm? A friend asked me to inquire. I’m new here—how would I know about Nanxi Farm?”

Liu Hengbo’s eyes flickered. “Why does your friend want to know?”

Yu Xiang’an glanced around. No one was nearby, but she still lowered her voice. “Shopkeeper, this isn’t easy to say. She has a relative undergoing reform there. Before, she’d get a reassurance letter every so often, but it’s been over half a year with no word. She’s worried something’s happened. But it’s so far away, and since I’m here, she asked if I knew anything. How would I? This isn’t something to ask openly. It’s really troubling.”

Liu Hengbo was silent for a moment, then lowered his gaze. “You want to know if her relative is still alive?”

“Yes. I just want to know if he’s okay. If he is, that’s enough. If not… I’ll have to tell my friend. Fallen leaves return to their roots.” Her tone was pessimistic.

Liu Hengbo understood. He nodded slowly. “I get it. Nanxi Farm… I do know a little.”

He sighed. “It was wasteland at first, then chosen for reclamation. Initially, it was educated youth, but later, those sent for reform joined the labor. I remember the farm was established in ’67—eight years now.”

Yu Xiang’an: “I see.” That matched what she’d heard.

“Do you know your friend’s relative’s name? I have an old acquaintance there. Maybe I can ask for you.”

Calling him a “relative,” but usually only close family would care this much.

Yu Xiang’an was overjoyed. Not only did he know about it, he had a contact!

She immediately wrote “Wen Yanjun” on the table with water. Liu Hengbo memorized the name. “I’ll ask. Wait for my reply—no guarantees.”

“Thank you, Shopkeeper! I understand. Whatever the outcome, I appreciate it!”

A few days later, Liu Hengbo looked at her with a heavy expression. “There’s news. His condition isn’t good. He fell ill and never recovered. There’s a lack of medicine and food, and it’s cold now.” Though he was alive, he wouldn’t last much longer.

Yu Xiang’an was startled, then pleaded earnestly. “Shopkeeper, I know this is abrupt, but I have no other options. Can your friend help? I can’t just stand by. My conscience won’t allow it. Can I buy medicine and supplies to send in, or give money for a doctor?”

If he had already passed, there was nothing to do. But if there was still a chance, she couldn’t ignore it. She’d feel guilty facing her niece and nephew later.

She didn’t ask who Liu Hengbo’s contact was, and he didn’t offer. Hearing her request, he wasn’t surprised. His gaze softened slightly. He had asked about Wen Yanjun and sympathized with his situation. Yu Xiang’an’s reaction earned his respect.

Many would rush to cut ties, afraid of being implicated. But some wouldn’t abandon their principles.

Liu Hengbo nodded. “Getting a doctor isn’t easy, but his symptoms are known. There’s a doctor there with a pharmacy. I’ll have medicine prepared and brought in.”

“Good. I’ll get the medicine right away. Can anything else be sent? Like food or clothes?” Getting medicine was simple—just ask Lin Chuanbai.

“Give the items to me. Don’t hide anything inside.”

“Then let’s go over them together, Shopkeeper.”

Yu Xiang’an copied the prescription for Lin Chuanbai, who brought the medicine the next day.

She also packed an old padded coat, hiding a bag of brown sugar, a pound of rice, three pounds of dried sweet potatoes, and a small bag of salt inside. She opened each for inspection. “I don’t know if this is allowed, but I’ve tucked ten yuan in the corner.” There was also a clipped newspaper character for “zhen,” signaling it was from Wen Ruzhen.

“Fine. Keep this quiet.”

“I know, I know. I wouldn’t dare spread this. Thank you, Shopkeeper. As friends, if her family elder is suffering like this and doesn’t make it, it’s a life lost. Helping eases my conscience.”

Liu Hengbo understood completely. Who wouldn’t?

“I know.”

Several days passed with no news. Ten days later, he returned with a note—torn from the blank edge of an old newspaper. It bore three words: “Thank you” and “Safe.”

The handwriting is quite beautiful, but somewhat unsteady—probably due to physical weakness.

“The medicine he’s taking is effective, and with the food and warm clothes you sent, he’s already improving.”

Yu Xiang’an breathed a sigh of relief. “That’s wonderful.”

“Then don’t interfere further. There are still some taboos to consider.”

Yu Xiang’an nodded in understanding. “Just knowing he’s safe is enough.” Now she could reply to Yu Xiangyan and Wen Ruzhen back home.

She sent back the note with the three characters. Just then, Lan Wangshan arrived.

He had come for a reason. His business trip to Tongcheng was to purchase machine parts for their factory, but the parts there weren’t suitable. Even after bringing them back, they still didn’t work. The supplier then suggested he visit the machinery factory in Qincheng. The moment they mentioned Qincheng, he immediately recalled the family he had met on the train—they were heading to Qincheng and had left an address at the Qincheng Machinery Factory. He assumed they were employees there. Being unfamiliar with the area, he thought of seeking their help to guide him and ensure he found the right person to resolve the parts issue quickly.

But he never expected that Lin Duzhong’s son was actually the director of the machinery factory!

Lan Wangshan was stunned. He had assumed Lin Duzhong’s son was just an ordinary worker!

Lin Duzhong chuckled. “You never asked before.”

Lan Wangshan: “…”

He felt a bit foolish. Knowing they had secured five sleeper tickets at once, how could he have thought they were just regular employees?

Because of this connection, Lin Houpu easily resolved his issue, arranging for technicians to customize the required parts and providing him with a receipt to take back.

His problem was solved in no time, leaving him with free time afterward.

All he had to do was wait for the parts to be ready before returning.

During casual conversation, Yu Xiang’an mentioned Qin Shenghua.

Only then did Lin Duzhong learn that Lan Wangshan’s deceased son had been comrades-in-arms with the cousin of his second grandson’s wife, and they had been very close. Touched by the fact that Qin Shenghua, who rarely returned home, had made a special trip to visit Lan Wangshan, Lin Duzhong was deeply moved.

Upon learning of this connection, Lan Wangshan’s attitude toward Yu Xiang’an immediately warmed. “So you’re Shenghua’s cousin!”

Yu Xiang’an smiled. “I also find it quite a coincidence.” Now they were practically relatives!

Lan Wangshan sighed emotionally. “Your cousin and his comrades were good men. They had sworn an oath—if any of them fell, the others would treat their parents as their own. Over the years, they’ve sent many things to my family, keeping their promise. My grandson has been under their care.”

Though his grandson had lost his father, he still had several “uncles” looking out for him, ensuring no one dared to bully him.

Yu Xiang’an listened with a heavy heart.

The only soldier in her life was Qin Shenghua, who was far away and always avoided mentioning hardships in his letters. He never spoke of injuries or fallen comrades, leaving her with little understanding of the sacrifices behind the glory. Now, facing Lan Wangshan, she felt a piercing sorrow, as if countless needles were pricking her heart.

The reverence for soldiers was not without reason—they shielded ordinary people with their flesh and blood, securing a peaceful life. They were truly great.

Such honor was rightfully theirs.

Lin Houpu, a former soldier himself, treated Lan Wangshan with even greater respect after learning of this bond.

“Take the opportunity to explore the area while you’re here. It’s a rare chance.”

*

Later, Yu Xiang’an seized the chance to ask Lan Wangshan about the Nanxi Farm in Tongcheng. He did have some knowledge of it.

“Life there isn’t too harsh. The newly cultivated land is fairly fertile, so the yield barely meets their food needs. There haven’t been large-scale famines, which is already something. Besides farming, they also raise poultry to supplement their livelihood.”

Yu Xiang’an wondered how he knew so much, given that Tongcheng was just a business trip destination for him.

Lan Wangshan laughed. “This is what Technician Li from the Tongcheng Machinery Factory told me. His son is a sent-down youth at that farm. Are you looking for someone? I can ask around for you.”

“No, just gathering information.” Without knowing the other party’s character, Yu Xiang’an wasn’t willing to take risks.

Knowing Wen Yanzhen was safe there was enough for now. As long as he recovered and had the money she managed to send in, he could likely endure.

After finishing the first round of medicine, Liu Hengbo prescribed a second formula.

Traditional Chinese medicine worked this way—adjusting prescriptions based on the patient’s condition.

Yu Xiang’an hadn’t paid much attention to the first prescription, but this time, she examined it closely and noticed something odd.

She wasn’t trained in medicine, but she had studied medicinal cuisine and recognized some herbs.

For instance, cinnamon bark.

This wasn’t native to the north, so why did the batch Lin Chuanbai brought back look so fresh?

Did his hospital’s pharmacy have such extensive resources? In the dead of winter, the herbs appeared as if freshly processed.

The second batch of medicine, along with two pairs of thick socks, a pair of old shoes, and some ginger, was sent in through Liu Hengbo’s hands.

At Nanxi Farm, Wen Yanjun received the package. Unwrapping it and seeing the socks and shoes, he let out a long sigh.

Staring at his own withered, calloused hands, he realized his life could still drag on.

If he gave up now, how could he face his daughter’s hopes?

Soon after, Yu Xiang’an wrote a second letter home, though her heart remained heavy—a helpless melancholy in the face of the era’s relentless tide.

Lin Chuanbai noticed her mood and pulled out a stack of practice questions he’d collected. “Let’s solve more problems.”

Why? Because studying reinforced knowledge and improved their chances of excelling in exams. Only then could their sense of powerlessness ease slightly.

Beyond these covert efforts, there was little more they could do.

An individual’s strength was too feeble. Without greater influence or capability, they could only do their best within their means.

Both resolved to leverage university as a springboard to expand their networks.

The first few batches of college students after the Cultural Revolution produced countless outstanding figures.

This was another reason they insisted on taking the college entrance exam—not just for a legitimate path forward, but also for the invaluable connections it offered.

*

Lin Chuanbai’s medicinal garden defied seasons. The herbs inside grew ten times faster than in the outside world—one year outside equaled ten within.

Though limited to the ingredients for Ginseng Nourishing Pills, it was still a massive advantage.

Lin Chuanbai was certain that if he ever entered the ginseng market, he could disrupt it beyond recognition.

Besides the herbs for the pills, he also stored a medicine cabinet inside. These items followed normal time flow, so he didn’t have to worry about them losing potency over time.

As days passed, he grew less cautious in certain areas.

He assumed Yu Xiang’an knew little about herbs, except for common ones like ginseng, codonopsis, wolfberries, or prepared rehmannia.

He didn’t realize she had studied medicinal cuisine.

Because her dishes weren’t particularly refined—the medicinal flavors often lingered—and she rarely cooked them after arriving here, Lin Chuanbai remained unaware.

After noticing the unusual freshness of some herbs, Yu Xiang’an inspected their home more carefully.

They had a medicine cabinet similar to those in traditional pharmacies—a large cabinet with numerous small drawers, each labeled with the herb’s name.

When she checked the astragalus drawer, she froze.

It was midwinter, so why did she spot a not-yet-fully-dried leaf clinging to the root?

Yu Xiang’an: “???”

*

Winter in the north turned the outdoors into a natural freezer. Placing a vat under the eaves and storing perishables inside, then sealing it with a heavy lid, created a makeshift refrigerator.

Their household had stockpiled plenty of food this way. Though they hadn’t brought their old fridge, winter provided its own chilling solution.

Yu Xiang’an had prepared meatballs, frozen tofu, and lamb chops in advance. When they wanted to eat, they just thawed a portion.

Though not as fresh, this method avoided questions like, “Why can you buy this when others can’t?”

So whenever supplies were available, she stocked up, deducting the expenses from their household funds to maintain the illusion of legality.

Lin Chuanbai never suspected a thing.

Until the day he craved fish but couldn’t find any locally—only to be served a southern dace.

As a food lover, he wasn’t overly sensitive to ingredients, but he knew his favorites well.

This fish… did it even survive in the north? It thrived in temperatures above 20°C, and here, it was below freezing.

Lin Chuanbai: “…”

He even made rounds to both official stores and the black market but never found another.

Yu Xiang’an: Why does he have fresh southern herbs?

Lin Chuanbai: Where did she get this fish from our hometown? How?