Yu Xiang’an heard Ke Manyun’s words and was momentarily speechless, then maintained a smile on her face. “Thank you for your concern. I’ve already figured out a solution for the summer situation. You’ll see when the time comes. As for my safety going south, you don’t need to worry about it. The way you phrased it makes it sound like I’m doing something shady. If that’s the case, you might as well not come—better not get yourself involved.”
Ke Manyun’s eyes reddened, her voice choked with emotion. “I didn’t mean it that way. You misunderstood me.”
Yu Xiang’an nodded. “Sure, if you say so. You just don’t think before you speak.” Her expression, however, clearly conveyed: *Do you really expect me to believe that?*
Liu Mingyue, not wanting the situation to escalate, coughed twice and interjected, “Alright, the pot’s boiling. Let’s put some potatoes in first—I’m craving them.”
She sighed inwardly. *Looks like I’ll have to keep my distance from Ke Manyun from now on.*
Though they had already maintained some distance, Ke Manyun seemed oblivious, and it was hard to tell whether her words were intentional or not. If they were, then there was nothing more to say. If not, dealing with someone like her was exhausting.
Her work was already demanding enough—she didn’t want to babysit someone like this. Even Wang Meng, who was actually younger, had better sense than Ke Manyun.
Wang Meng, meanwhile, suddenly understood why the deputy class monitor hadn’t invited Ke Manyun to the opening. *If it were me, I wouldn’t want to deal with her either. The deputy monitor still managed to keep a smile on her face—now that’s self-control. I still have a long way to go.*
Not wanting the atmosphere to sour further, Wang Meng chimed in, “I want to eat this! I’m adding fried dough sticks—they’re my favorite at this stage.”
Having tasted Yu Xiang’an’s cooking over their four years in university, Wang Meng knew that once the food hit their mouths, there’d be no room left for idle chatter.
*This is delicious!*
*This is amazing too!*
*That’s also fantastic!*
Liu Mingyue and Wang Meng ate to their hearts’ content, while Ke Manyun barely tasted anything. *I was just trying to be considerate—how could she interpret it like that?*
Yu Xiang’an, watching the two of them, felt her irritation fade. *Why bother with someone so clueless?* “Eat up if you like it. I still have work to do—I’ll catch up with you later.”
Liu Mingyue waved her off. “Go ahead, no need to entertain us. We’re close enough.”
Once Yu Xiang’an left, Ke Manyun tried to explain to Liu Mingyue and Wang Meng, “Did I upset her? I was just stating facts—a woman, especially a pretty one, traveling so far alone is dangerous. I really didn’t mean anything else.”
Liu Mingyue raised a hand to stop her. “I don’t know why you said it, but she’s got her own plans. Let’s just focus on eating, alright?”
She was starting to regret coming with Ke Manyun. Wang Meng felt the same. *Why did I even mention it to her?* From now on, she’d keep her mouth shut around Ke Manyun—no more unnecessary drama.
When it was time to settle the bill, another disagreement arose. The hotpot pricing was straightforward—each plate and skewer had a fixed cost, and the base price was set. When Wei Funi came to tally the bill, she said, “The boss said you’re friends—20% off.”
Ke Manyun muttered, “Isn’t she treating us?”
Her voice was just loud enough for everyone to hear. Liu Mingyue pulled out her money, pretending not to notice. *I knew Ke Manyun was a bit off, but today really takes the cake. I can’t deal with this kind of person.*
Wang Meng was stunned, then thoughtful. *She wasn’t like this before. What happened? Did she get jealous after hearing how much the deputy monitor might be earning?*
The more she thought about it, the more it made sense. *If she’s envious, she could try starting her own business—though I doubt she has the guts. I certainly don’t.*
Even if she knew it could make good money, taking that leap wasn’t easy. Unless you could earn a lifetime’s worth in a short time, most people wouldn’t dare.
Wei Funi relayed Ke Manyun’s comment to Yu Xiang’an, adding, “That classmate of yours seems two-faced. Not a good person.”
Yu Xiang’an nodded. “I know. We were never that close anyway. From now on, if she or her friends come, charge them full price—no discounts.”
Relieved, Wei Funi said, “Good. Some people seem shy and introverted, but they’re really vipers—you never know when they’ll strike.” She shook her head, as if recalling her own past experiences.
By the end of 1982, as the New Year approached, business at Yu Xiang’an’s shop boomed.
The Lunar New Year was the most important holiday—even the thriftiest were willing to splurge on better food and new clothes. Yu Xiang’an’s place catered to all budgets, satisfying everyone’s cravings.
Even the employees, usually frugal, bought treats to take home. Only during the New Year, with some extra cash, could they justify the expense.
Despite the booming business, Yu Xiang’an and Lin Chuanbai returned to Qincheng for the holidays. The shop would close for a few days—everyone deserved a break.
Before leaving, Yu Xiang’an prepared gifts to appease Lin Duzhong and Lin Houpu, who kept urging her to return to a “proper” career. The gifts had to be meaningful—proof of their prosperity, so they wouldn’t worry.
Lin Houpu already had a TV, radio, sewing machine, watch, and bicycle, so Yu Xiang’an decided to bring an air conditioner.
But air conditioners were scarce, so she took one of the two units reserved for the hotpot shop, planning to replace it before summer.
They hadn’t installed one at home yet, but there was still time before the heat arrived.
Lin Yihong and Lin Yining, now in second grade, were popular at school. Their good looks and the snacks they shared made them well-liked.
Excited to visit their grandparents, they packed gifts for their friends in the compound.
At the Qincheng Machinery Factory housing complex, Lin Duzhong beamed at his great-grandchildren. “Come here, let me see how much you’ve grown!”
Retired and relaxed, he spent his days chatting with friends or studying medical texts. His only regret was the lack of liveliness at home.
With Zhang Ying in the military and Lin Tiandong reserved by nature, the twins’ arrival brought much-needed cheer.
Lin Tiandong adored the twins, especially Yining, who was sweet and clingy. The only annoyance was explaining why their names didn’t follow the family’s herbal tradition (e.g., Duzhong, Houpu, Guangbai, Yunling, Chuanbai, Tiandong).
The twins’ names were chosen by their parents, breaking the pattern.
Lin Tiandong loved playing soccer, and today, when friends called him to the field, the twins eagerly joined.
On the field, Lin Tiandong was magnetic. Yining watched him adoringly, while Yihong, despite being the youngest, held his own.
After a few games, they returned sweaty and exhilarated.
Back home, Yu Xiang’an had dinner ready—a lamb stew and roujiamo (Chinese burgers).
After the meal, the adults talked. Lin Houpu cut to the chase: “How’s your business going?”
Yu Xiang’an: “Great.”
Lin Houpu sighed. The gifts spoke for themselves, but he had to ask. “You really don’t want a stable job? Being self-employed is risky.”
Yu Xiang’an: “If things change, I’ll adapt.”
Lin Houpu relented, then turned to Lin Chuanbai. “And you? Can’t you rein her in?”
Lin Chuanbai grinned. “I respect her choices.”
Lin Houpu scowled. “No backbone!”
Lin Chuanbai laughed. “It’s called mutual respect. There’s nothing wrong with her work. Just wait—she’ll achieve even greater things.”
Lin Houpu shook his head. “What about you?”
Lin Chuanbai: “I’ll continue research with my mentor after graduation. We’ll see after that.”
Lin Houpu sighed. “You don’t want to take over my position.”
Lin Chuanbai: “Even if I did, I’d have to earn it. Times have changed.”
Lin Houpu’s expression shifted. “What about Tiandong?”
Lin Chuanbai smiled. “He’s your son too.”
Lin Houpu stared at him, then chuckled. “You’re something else.”
Lin Chuanbai: “…I wouldn’t hold it against a child. Everyone has their own path. If he wants to take this road, you should help him make it happen naturally.”
Lin Houpu fell silent.
Not holding it against a child meant he *would* hold it against an adult, didn’t it?
So there really was still resentment between them.
Lin Houpu felt a pang of frustration. Fine, fine—just as his father said, he shouldn’t interfere too much. If he meddled too much, the child would resent it, and what good would that do? He had thought there might be something here that the child would be willing to compromise for, but in the end, he didn’t know whether to call it ambition or just stubborn naivety.
His heart felt like a bottle of mixed flavors had been overturned inside him.
“You’re all my children. To me, you’re all the same.”
Lin Chuanbai said nothing.
Words were one thing, but those raised by his side and those raised elsewhere were bound to be treated differently, just like fingers—some longer, some shorter.
Their conversation had been private. Once it was over, they returned to normal, celebrating the New Year with smiles. Life was getting better for everyone now.
With private trade no longer banned, buying pork, poultry, and the like had become much easier.
This New Year was more abundant than any before.
After the festivities, they returned to the capital. The hotpot and braised food shops reopened, and Yu Xiang’an expanded her wholesale business, earning even more. As she counted her savings and prepared to head to the southern Special Economic Zone, she received devastating news—her grandfather, Yu Changyou, had passed away.
She hastily packed, and together with Yu Xiangyan, Wen Ruzhen, and the children, they immediately bought tickets to return home.
*
Yu Mansheng had just returned to the Special Economic Zone after a triumphant New Year when he received the terrible news. Handing over his stall to others, he rushed to buy a ticket back.
Being closer, he could return quickly.
He never expected his grandfather to leave so suddenly.
Before he left, his grandfather had stood at the door, watching him go, telling him to come home more often when he had time. How could he be gone in the blink of an eye?
Last year had been his start, and this year he was ready to go all out—but now his grandfather wouldn’t see it.
This year, over fifty young men had followed him out to seek their fortunes—some from their brigade, some from neighboring ones, even some from his uncles’ remote mountain village.
He had become their leader.
Yu Mansheng thought back to when he first arrived in the Special Economic Zone—just a country bumpkin who had never seen the world.
He had some money, but not much. To make ends meet, he took on all kinds of jobs—washing dishes, carrying goods, odd jobs. Later, he worked on construction sites, building houses. He knew how to do that, and he picked up more skills by watching the skilled workers.
Eventually, he organized his fellow villagers into a construction team and started taking contracts.
Having worked in a brick factory, he knew how to build houses.
Big projects still made him nervous, but smaller and mid-sized ones were no problem. The young men from Hongxing Brigade all had some experience, so it worked out.
At first, business was tough—no reputation meant only small jobs. But as demand for housing grew and labor became scarce, they moved from small jobs to bigger ones.
Once they got a foot in the door, more opportunities followed.
They sent wages, letters, and gifts home regularly, and gradually, their families stopped opposing or worrying so much.
There was strength in numbers—just from Hongxing Brigade alone, there were over a dozen young men, and with others joining, it was even more reassuring.
Later, his cousins joined too, and even his mother’s side of the family stopped worrying.
Yu Mansheng thought of his maternal uncles—he had *seven* of them!
Unlike their area, which had a paper mill and a brick kiln, his uncles’ mountainous region had little arable land. They survived by living off the mountains, often relying on wild produce to supplement their meager harvests. Life was hard.
His uncles and cousins were all tall and strong—excellent hunters and hard workers. With so many strong men banding together, who would dare bully them?
Yu Mansheng thrived in the Special Economic Zone.
When they all returned for the New Year, the whole neighborhood was abuzz.
Proud of their success and with money to spend, they splurged on new things.
He bought a television.
Others bought radios, watches, or, if they hadn’t saved enough, new clothes and shoes.
The spectacle made the New Year anything but peaceful—people flocked to their doors, asking about life outside, eager to join him.
Looking back, Yu Mansheng had been overjoyed.
As long as they were decent people, he welcomed them all.
More hands meant faster work, quicker payments, and more contracts—more money.
Of his three brothers, the eldest knew brick-making, the second had gotten into college—was he the only one destined to be a failure?
Wasn’t he happy?
He was.
But now, all he felt was regret.
That New Year, he had barely spent any time with his grandparents, too busy basking in his own glory.
Thinking back, Yu Mansheng burst into tears on the train, wailing loudly.
Hearing him cry and call out for his grandfather, others sighed in sympathy.
The moon waxes and wanes; people are born, grow old, fall ill, and die.
All they could do was grieve.
*
It was Zhang Juhua who found Yu Changyou, and by then, it was already late.
Older people slept lightly, and Zhang Chahua usually woke early. That day, as usual, she got up to light the stove in the kitchen. Soon, her daughter-in-law joined her, and together they made breakfast.
When it was time to eat, Yu Changyou still hadn’t emerged. Thinking he was sleeping in, she called for him—but there was no response.
Her heart sank. She went into the room and found his body cold, lifeless.
He had passed in his sleep.
The first half of his life had been hardship, but after his second son succeeded, things improved. By the time his grandchildren flourished, he had lived a life of comfort.
Why couldn’t he have enjoyed it longer?
At his age, his passing could be called a “happy funeral”—he was in his seventies, with four generations under one roof, descendants who were workers, officials, and teachers. In Hongxing Brigade, who wouldn’t envy his good fortune?
Once the news spread, capable helpers arrived.
Notices were sent, preparations made.
Nowadays, funerals were more elaborate. Given the Yu family’s standing, skimping would invite gossip about unfilial descendants, so they followed tradition meticulously. They even slaughtered a half-grown pig Zhang Chahua had been raising—originally meant for the busy farming season—for the funeral.
The cold weather preserved the meat for days. Yu Xiangyan, Yu Xiang’an, and the others didn’t delay, so when they returned, the burial hadn’t yet taken place.
Stepping off the train, adults and children alike looked haggard.
Even the twins, at their age, vaguely understood what was happening.
This was their first experience of a loved one’s death.
Death meant never seeing or hearing them again.
Besides Yu Xiang’an and Yu Xiangyan, Yu Manwu had also rushed back from Shanghai—alone.
Years had passed, and he and Ruan Chenxi still hadn’t resolved things.
Her absence now suggested they hadn’t reconciled.
Yu Qingshan was usually reserved, rarely showing strong emotion. But at Yu Changyou’s funeral, he broke down, wailing alongside Yu Qingbao.
With their descendants, siblings, and relatives joining in, the mourning was overwhelming.
Yu Changyou had four brothers and two sisters who survived to adulthood—he was the eldest.
The second brother, Yu Changcun, had a son who was the brigade leader, Yu Shunwen.
The third brother had disappeared as a teenager.
The fourth died young, leaving a son who lived quietly in Hongxing Brigade.
Of the two sisters, the elder married into a neighboring brigade but died young, before her son could marry. The younger, unable to survive at home, was sent away as a child bride before she turned ten. When that family moved, contact was lost.
Except for the third brother and youngest sister, all had children, who in turn had grandchildren.
Yu Changyou himself had only two sons—Yu Qingbao and Yu Qingshan—but both had large families.
The eldest, Yu Qingbao, had two daughters and three sons. Apart from the youngest two, all were married with at least two children each.
The second, Yu Qingshan, had three sons and two daughters. Apart from the youngest, Yu Xiangju, each had at least two children.
Combined, they filled a house.
When Yu Xiang’an and the others returned, the family was complete. At the burial, the procession drew envious glances.
Who would have thought?
Some elders remembered when this family had been left with only children after their parents died—Yu Changyou, barely a teenager, had been forced to take his brothers and seek survival. Everyone said they’d never return.
Yet three of the four brothers came back, married, and had children. In the blink of an eye, they had reached this point.
Thirty years east of the river, thirty years west.
Those who once prospered had fallen, while this family had risen.
Yu Xiang’an was worried about Zhang Chahua. While others cried and vented, her grandmother didn’t shed a tear—she even smiled.
She must have been forcing herself to reassure them, but they’d rather she cried and released her grief.
When others were around, she seemed fine, but alone, her dazed expression was concerning. At her age, if she lost the will to live…
Hoping to give her something to hold onto, Yu Xiang’an brought up the past.
Seeing so many relatives—some rarely seen, others unfamiliar to her, having grown up in town—she asked Zhang Chahua to explain their relations.
Elders loved reminiscing, and soon, Zhang Chahua spoke of Yu Changyou’s regrets.
“Your grandfather lived a full life. In his later years, he lacked nothing—food, clothes, comfort. Even the landlords’ elders didn’t have it so good. He told me many times he was content.”
She mentioned him voluntarily. Yu Xiang’an watched her carefully and asked, “Did Grandpa have any regrets?”
Zhang Chahua paused. “If there was one… you wouldn’t know, having grown up in town and visited rarely. Your father’s generation had several siblings. There was a third brother who disappeared and a sister given away as a child bride. The brother vanished at fifteen or sixteen; the sister was just eight or nine when she was sent away—not for dowry, just for survival. All these years, he kept hoping for news. He said if he died first without hearing anything, and I outlived him, I should pass on any word—where they went, whether they lived or died. If they died far from home, their spirits wandering, he wanted them brought back to rest beside their parents. If they were thriving elsewhere, then let them be.”
This was the first Yu Xiang’an had heard of it.
Zhang Chahua sighed. “When I first married him, he spoke of it often. Later, less so. After decades, when you children were born, he hardly mentioned it. After so long, finding them seemed impossible.”
Seeing how much it weighed on her, Yu Xiang’an pressed, “What were their names? If I’m lucky, I might find them. Even if not, I could put an ad in the paper. If they see it, they might reach out.”
Zhang Chahua was stunned. “An ad? You can do that?”
“Yes—it’s called a ‘missing person notice.’ Tell me their names, Grandpa’s parents’ names, and I’ll write it all down with our address and phone number. If they see it, they’ll know we’re looking.”
Zhang Chahua’s spirits lifted. “Good! After all these years of him talking about it, how could I ever forget? If they can be found… that would be truly wonderful. When my time comes, I can tell him. Your grandfather was stubborn—‘the eldest brother is like a father.’ He never spoke of it, but he never forgot either. If he knew, he’d be waiting for me at the Naihe Bridge…”
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