Faced with Yu Xiangju’s question, Yu Xiang’an pondered for a moment on how to dispel his suspicion. If she didn’t act quickly, he might blurt it out in front of the adults, and she could foresee a heap of trouble.
“No, he’s my friend.”
“Then why were you talking there?”
“Because he wanted to ask me for a favor, but he was too shy to say it in front of others.”
“What kind of favor?”
Yu Xiang’an showed him the sesame seeds in her hand. “He asked me to make something delicious for him.”
Yu Xiangju believed her—after all, his sister’s cooking was always amazing.
Yu Mingjie suddenly chimed in, “Auntie, is he your colleague?”
“No, we met under different circumstances. He works at the county hospital. Guess how we met?”
Yu Mingjie thought about how often his mother had gone to the hospital while pregnant with twins and suddenly understood. “Oh, so that’s how it was!”
“So, don’t go around spreading rumors, okay? It could cause misunderstandings.”
The two children dragged out their voices in unison, “We understand.”
Yu Qingbao and Yu Manwu hadn’t just come for the wild boar meat—they were also bringing good news.
The commune had taken notice of their workshop’s achievements, and after their efforts, it was approved to be upgraded to a factory. This was a political accomplishment. However, since the factory’s income wasn’t high yet, there were only a few worker positions available. The factory director would naturally be Brigade Leader Yu Shunwen, while Yu Qingbao became a technician. They still needed to hire one more technician, and the rest would remain temporary workers for now. If the income continued to grow over the next two months, they could formalize the arrangements.
If everything went smoothly, Yu Xiangqing could return by early next year.
This wasn’t too far off, which was why Yu Qingshan had called them back to share the good news.
Yu Xiang’an was genuinely happy for Yu Xiangqing.
Over the past several months, Yu Xiangqing had worked extremely hard. She had already had one article published—just one, but it represented significant progress and, more importantly, gave her the confidence to keep going.
As for Yu Xiangyan, his return would have to wait. For now, there were only three confirmed permanent positions, with more to be added gradually.
They all agreed to keep this news to themselves for the time being. If things didn’t work out, they didn’t want to raise false hopes. It would be better to wait until everything was confirmed before telling them.
Before they knew it, the end of 1971 arrived. As the year drew to a close, Yu Xiang’an took stock of her achievements.
First, in terms of work, she was likely to be rated as an outstanding employee this year—a well-deserved recognition.
In cooking, with access to beef and mutton, she had experimented with more ingredients. She had recorded over twenty new dishes, all of which were her own innovations. She kept them for future use, knowing that when she reopened her restaurant, these recipes would be her foundation. Keeping the menu fresh was key to retaining customers.
Her XiXi Farm hadn’t suddenly leveled up—it still only had the farm and ranch. Yu Xiang’an guessed it would take a long time for the next upgrade.
For now, all the farmland was in use, and her warehouse was stocked with plenty of fresh fruit. She could eat whenever she wanted, and when supplies piled up, she’d sell some, instantly padding her wallet.
She no longer lacked meat—she had plenty of duck, fish, mutton, and beef. The only regret was the lack of pork, but pork and chicken were relatively easier to buy, and beef and mutton could often serve as substitutes.
In this era, having a steady supply of meat was a luxury.
In terms of friendships, she maintained close ties with Yan Yuzhen and Gao Yimei. Her relationship with Lin Chuanbai had grown significantly this year, while others remained casual acquaintances.
But true friends didn’t need to be numerous. With so many loving relatives and a couple of good friends, she was content.
Family-wise, things were moving in a positive direction. If all went well, those sent to the countryside might return next year—not to the county town, but to their hometown. Still, they’d be close by and have worker status, which was as good as it got in this era. How many families with multiple children could keep all their kids nearby?
Even those with power and influence had to be discreet, lest a single anonymous report ruin everything. At best, they could arrange for their children to work in nearby rural areas so they could visit anytime.
Financially, she owned a house (still paying it off), a bicycle, various coupons and supplies, and nearly a thousand yuan in savings.
When Yu Xiang’an counted her money, she was surprised. After careful calculation, she realized most of it came from selling fruit. But the ducks and fish had also contributed significantly—being meat, they weren’t cheap. Once the cattle and sheep in the ranch matured, each could fetch anywhere from dozens to hundreds of yuan, meaning even more income in the future.
All this money was stored in her farm’s safe. She saw no need to deposit it in a bank—the farm was secure. If questioned about the source of her funds, what could she say?
Beyond this, she had also collected items that might appreciate in value—books she didn’t fully understand, stamps she found pretty, calligraphy and paintings of uncertain authenticity, and what appeared to be antique vases and dishes.
She dedicated a whole cabinet to these things. Even if only a few turned out to be valuable, the storage space would be worth it. If luck wasn’t on her side, she’d only lose a small patch of empty land. But if she got lucky, the returns could be enormous—investing mere cents or dollars for potential profits of thousands, millions, or even tens of millions.
Enough to buy a house.
Some of these items came from Qin Songsong’s recycling station, others from city recycling centers and bookstores. A few she’d even found abandoned in roadside bushes—likely discarded by people afraid of trouble. Most were broken, but she salvaged what she could.
Looking back at how things were when she first arrived, she now felt like a hamster with a stash of food—secure and satisfied.
With resources at home, there was no need to panic. Even in emergencies, she had enough to last a while.
Lin Chuanbai also did a year-end review. His herb garden remained unchanged, still filled with medicinal plants—many of them ginseng, the most valuable single item. Ginseng was versatile, appearing in almost every kind of tonic, and the older it got, the more valuable it became.
If he ever needed money, selling just one root could sustain him for three years.
Beyond herbs, he didn’t have much else. His savings amounted to just over three hundred yuan—most of his money went toward food and drink. He had built up a small pharmacy in his space, stocked with both homegrown and purchased herbs.
Thanks to his ginseng, he had also acquired some rare items that others couldn’t afford to trade for—small gold bars, jade pendants, gemstones, and pearls.
These treasures would have to remain hidden for a long time, admired only in private.
And truthfully, they weren’t exceptionally valuable—their quality wasn’t top-tier. After all, his ginseng wasn’t that old yet. If someone truly had priceless items, they wouldn’t part with them easily unless desperate.
In medicine, he had worked hard and seemed to have some natural talent. His grandfather was now very pleased with him, often bragging to others.
He boasted that he finally had a worthy successor. Lin Chuanbai tried to stop him, but the old man insisted—he wanted everyone to know.
Of his three children, only one daughter had studied medicine. Among his grandchildren, none had shown interest until Lin Chuanbai stepped up—and with both talent and diligence, he was poised not just to inherit his grandfather’s legacy but to elevate it.
How could the old man not be overjoyed? How could he not boast? For years, his peers had teased him about having no heir. Now, he could finally hold his head high.
At the factory’s year-end review, Yu Xiang’an was indeed rated as outstanding. Some wondered how such a young girl could earn the honor, but most had no doubts.
In this era, many literate people read newspapers—if not the latest paid editions, then older ones to stay informed. Seeing their factory’s name in print had filled them with pride.
Their factory had been featured in the newspaper—visible not just to them, but to the entire city. The thought alone was thrilling.
Yu Xiang’an had never made any mistakes and had always worked diligently. Her recognition was well-deserved.
Sun Qingchun watched enviously. He had joined the food factory earlier, but an outstanding rating still seemed out of reach for him.
Naturally, her achievement sparked another round of praise among her relatives.
In their family, only Yu Qingshan had ever received such an honor—but how old had he been then? Yu Xiang’an was much younger.
Each generation was surpassing the last.
*
This New Year, Yu Xiangqing also returned. Yu Xiangyan and his wife didn’t—Wen Ruzhen was too far along in her pregnancy, so it made sense for him to stay.
Though he didn’t come back, he sent gifts—a bolt of locally woven fabric from his area. Though called “homespun,” it was vibrant, ethnic, and durable. Yu Xiang’an loved it.
Wearing a dress made from it turned heads. After seeing her in it, Gao Yimei insisted on buying a piece to make her own dress.
She was currently seeing someone, and both seemed interested. This was a critical time.
Dressing to impress, she wanted to look her best.
Since Gao Yimei kept asking Yu Xiang’an for beauty tips, Yu Xiang’an even DIY’d a lipstick—light in color and not long-lasting, but it added a healthy glow.
Gao Yimei had store-bought lipstick, but it was too bold for her conservative taste. Yu Xiang’an’s homemade version was just right—natural enough that no one would suspect she was wearing anything.
Along with hand cream and a light foundation, Yu Xiang’an’s DIY beauty products became a hit in their small circle. What young woman didn’t love looking pretty?
Even if the prices were a bit steep, they were willing to pay.
Unintentionally, Yu Xiang’an had stumbled upon another lucrative side hustle—one with bright prospects.
When Yu Xiangqing heard about the paper mill, she realized what her family had done for her. She was shocked—and overjoyed.
She hadn’t expected it.
Tears welled up. Did she want to return?
Of course she did—desperately. But she had resigned herself to the difficulty. So many educated youths were sent to the countryside—how many ever made it back?
Their family had no powerful connections.
That was why she refused to give up on writing. It was her only hope.
But now she saw—her family had been fighting for her too.
If she could return, she felt giving half her salary wasn’t enough—she should give two-thirds.
Yu Xiang’an refused. “Two-thirds? What would you live on? It’s too early to discuss this—wait until the official notice comes.” She didn’t need the money.
After the New Year, Yu Xiangqing returned to Niu Jiao Brigade with renewed hope, resuming her life as a female educated youth. Outwardly, she worked and laughed with the others, no different from the rest.
But she alone knew the truth.
If word got out, others might not help her—but envy could lead to sabotage. The brigade leader might block her household registration transfer.
It was best to leave quietly.
If she really left, Liang Yong—still a temporary worker in the commune—would surely be stunned.
Would he regret his choice? Whatever the case, she wanted him to know he’d picked the wrong path. Without him, her future would only get brighter.
She carried this determination in her heart.
When the Niu Jiao Brigade leader saw her transfer documents, he was surprised but had no reason to refuse. He signed off, letting her go.
Apart from him, only Granny Chen, who shared meals with her, knew she was going home—likely for good.
Others simply thought she had some family matters to attend to and had gone home for a visit. But as ten days passed, then half a month, then a full month, she still hadn’t returned.
The educated youths began to gossip, and eventually, news spread that her household registration had been transferred back home.
She went back to the city?!
How did she manage that? The other youths were stunned. Zheng Ke, who had a good relationship with her, was bombarded with questions. He could only smile bitterly and say, “I really didn’t know beforehand.”
He only received a letter from her afterward. She hadn’t returned to the city but had gone back to her hometown, which was also a village. However, she had indeed secured a job. “I don’t know the specifics, so stop asking me. She didn’t say.”
Mo Wenwen confirmed it from him and, no matter how reluctant she was to believe it, had to accept the truth. She fell into a depression, became ill, and took a long time to recover.
If even she reacted this way, one could only imagine Liang Yong’s state. He was practically choking on his own anger, nearly vomiting blood on the spot.
How could she have gone back?!
He knew her family situation—they were just ordinary folks. If he had known this would happen, he would never have made that choice back then.
Now, though he appeared successful on the surface, he was powerless to do anything. He couldn’t voice any objections—everything was dictated by others.
Here, he had crushed his own pride to the lowest point, forcing smiles, only to end up with a temporary job.
But no matter how much he regretted it now, it was too late.
The small paper mill currently had only three permanent employees: Yu Shunwen as the factory manager and salesperson, Yu Qingbao and Yu Xiangqing as clerks. The rest were temporary workers, and the villagers had no complaints.
Even a temporary job was fine—there was a good chance of becoming permanent after some time. Besides, with a factory like this, wouldn’t they expand in the future?
Given the proximity principle, they stood to benefit a lot. Right now, they might not have a spot, but if the Yu family hadn’t contributed the technology, they wouldn’t have gotten any advantages at all. It was only fair that the Yu family reaped the first rewards.
Yu Xiangqing’s position was also as a technician. Yu Qingshan had taught all the key techniques to Yu Qingbao—there was no reason he’d withhold them from his own daughter.
Moreover, during the New Year, he had already given her some guidance, and she had picked it up quickly.
After arriving at Hongxing Brigade, she lived with Yu Changyou and his family. There had always been a room reserved for their family, and now she occupied it, sharing meals with them.
The factory was still small, and since everyone was local, there was no need for a canteen.
This was still the countryside, but it was worlds apart from Niujiao Brigade.
Here, she had grandparents, an uncle, and various cousins and relatives. The familiar dialect surrounded her. If she wanted to see her father, she could leave in the morning and return by evening without any trouble.
Some tasks in papermaking were labor-intensive, while others required meticulous attention. As a girl, she was assigned work that demanded patience and care, which wasn’t too difficult.
She quickly integrated into the community.
Watching the steadily increasing output, she felt nothing but joy.
Their business was doing well. Why?
Because with the introduction of cheaper and better-quality straw paper, people could buy more for the same amount of money. Some stocked up in bulk and used it faster. When they only had a few sheets before, they were constantly thinking about saving. But now, with the affordability of this paper, they no longer fretted over half a sheet or a small scrap, unconsciously increasing their usage.
It was a business of small profits but quick turnover, thriving steadily.
Their commune didn’t have a paper mill before—straw paper had to be imported from other communes. Now that they had their own, there was no reason to go elsewhere.
It seemed it wouldn’t be long before Yu Xiangyan could return. But on this matter, Yu Xiangqing had a concern.
She secretly discussed it with Yu Xiang’an: “What if Second Brother can’t bear to leave his wife, or if his wife can’t bear to leave her younger brother and refuses to come back?”
Yu Xiang’an fell silent for a moment before replying softly, “That would be his choice.”
The question hit the nail on the head—it was a real possibility.
“But there might still be a way for all of them to come.”
Yu Xiangqing perked up. “What way?”
“If Second Brother secures a permanent worker position here, his wife and child can follow his household registration. Even if they can’t become workers, they can still join Hongxing Brigade. Transferring from one production team to another is possible, especially with Second Brother’s connections. His wife’s younger brother could also be transferred along with her.”
It was feasible—as long as it could be arranged, there was a way.
Hearing this, Yu Xiangqing sighed in relief. “That’s good to hear.”
Returning here would naturally be much more comfortable than being an educated youth in a foreign place. At the very least, they wouldn’t have to worry about so many trivial matters.
The brigade leader here was even a relative. He didn’t need to show favoritism—just treating them fairly would be a blessing.
Yu Xiangqing was reassured.
Yu Xiang’an asked her, “How are you adjusting?”
Yu Xiangqing grinned. “What’s there to adjust to? This is our hometown! I left smoothly back then. The only regret is not being able to see Liang Yong’s face when he heard the news. If only I could’ve taken a photo—I’d savor it for the rest of my life.”
Yu Xiang’an laughed too.
“His parents are here. He’ll come back eventually.”
Deep down, Yu Xiang’an also felt satisfied. She wasn’t some saint, but the family here was so harmonious. They considered each other, gave without being purely self-sacrificing, knew their limits, and were grateful. Such families were rare—it always reminded her of her past life’s family, her elder brother and sister. Yu Xiangqing resembled her a bit, or rather, resembled her elder sister, which evoked some transference. Of course, now that transference had shifted to Yu Mingyao, who resembled her elder sister even more.
“But the factory won’t expand too quickly in the short term. By my calculations, Second Sister-in-law should have given birth by now. Maybe the announcement letter is already on its way. Once the child is a bit older, the journey back will be smoother.”
The announcement letter was indeed on its way.
They had a daughter, born full-term and healthy. Experienced elders said the baby looked like her mother and would grow up to be a striking young lady. She cried delicately, tugging at heartstrings, and demanded constant attention—difficult to care for. The letter was full of complaints that were actually thinly veiled bragging.
Yu Xiangyan was now in a state of bliss with his daughter. Wen Ruzhen, who had initially worried he might favor sons over daughters, couldn’t help but write in the letter that he spoiled the child too much—if no one held her, she’d cry endlessly.
Seeing them so happy, Yu Qingshan sent fabric and wrote a letter detailing the paper mill’s situation.
Yu Qingshan was thorough in his considerations.
He had long realized that if he alone returned, Yu Xiangyan would likely refuse.
So he prepared him mentally in advance, suggesting that if he could make connections in this field, it would be even better. Eventually, all four of them could return together.
When Yu Xiangyan received this letter, he was stunned for a long time.
In the previous letter, his father had hinted at it, but he hadn’t expected progress to be this fast—Fourth Sister had already returned!
If that was the case, his own return might not be far off.
He immediately shared the good news with Wen Ruzhen.
Wen Ruzhen naturally also hoped to return. If they could bring her younger brother along, that would be the best outcome. But if she had to leave him behind alone, she couldn’t do it—his health wasn’t great. What if something happened to him?
If they returned to Hongxing Brigade, even if they had to work in the fields, at least people wouldn’t look at them with the wariness reserved for outsiders.
Their child would also get to meet his grandfather, uncles, and aunts—having family support meant others wouldn’t dare bully them easily. Here, even though Yu Xiangyan had some influence, many still distrusted them.
Later, when the child grew up, he’d still be set apart from the local children, which wouldn’t be good for his development.
Lately, Yu Xiang’an had been feeling irritable. She knew many aunties saw her as a prime candidate for a daughter-in-law, but her situation was special. When they approached Zhao Qiaoniang, she turned them all away, not daring to make promises. If they went to Yao Cuifen, she had long retired and had a limited social circle.
It wasn’t proper to approach Yu Xiang’an directly, so most resorted to having their sons/nephews/nephews-by-marriage show up and express interest—after all, young people could pursue love freely.
But their efforts were wasted.
She really wasn’t in a hurry—thanks.
Most of them weren’t thick-skinned. Once Yu Xiang’an made her stance clear, after a few attempts, they backed off on their own.
But now, there was one particularly self-assured individual who couldn’t take a hint.
He was Director Chen’s nephew.
Back when she joined the factory, Director Chen had helped.
His name was Chen Jingkun, 22 years old. He didn’t work at the food factory but at the pharmaceutical plant. A high school graduate, he loved slicking his hair back with pomade into a greased-back style, convinced it made him look dashing.
After visiting his uncle’s house and accidentally meeting Yu Xiang’an, he fell head over heels.
He had refused to marry all this time because he hadn’t found a woman who truly dazzled him—until now.
He asked his aunt to play matchmaker, but she refused—she didn’t want to be a go-between.
But after she turned him down once, her mother-in-law stepped in. Left with no choice, she called Yu Xiang’an over and broached the subject.
Not being a sincere matchmaker, she got straight to the point. “Xiao An, my mother-in-law insisted, so I’m just asking for your thoughts. I have a nephew on my husband’s side—Chen Jingkun, 22, works at the pharmaceutical plant. He has his own room at home. What do you think?”
Yu Xiang’an declined. “Auntie, you know me—I’m not looking for a relationship right now.”
Yang Yi didn’t press further, nodding. “Alright, I understand. No worries—just passing on the message.”
She relayed the rejection to Chen Jingkun and washed her hands of the matter. She’d done her part—if the girl wasn’t interested, what more could she do? Force her into a meeting?
Personally, she didn’t care for this nephew. She quite liked Yu Xiang’an—she was poised, sociable, and made delicious food. A few times, drawn by the aromas, she’d asked for tips, and Yu Xiang’an had patiently shared.
Her nephew, on the other hand, was somewhat arrogant without the credentials to back it up. Privately, she felt they weren’t a good match, so she had no intention of playing matchmaker.
But her refusal didn’t deter Chen Jingkun. He assumed Yu Xiang’an hadn’t seen him yet and decided to promote himself directly.
When someone told Yu Xiang’an she had a visitor, she assumed it was family. Instead, it was a stranger in black pants and a white shirt—a clean-cut outfit, but paired with that greased-back hair, Yu Xiang’an: “…”
Did he dump an entire bottle of pomade on his head?
“Are you looking for me? You must have the wrong person—I don’t know you.”
“No mistake—it’s you, Comrade Yu Xiang’an. I’m Chen Jingkun from the pharmaceutical plant. The first time I saw you, I wanted to be friends.”
Yu Xiang’an: “???”
Friend, are you okay? Or am I hallucinating?
In this context, “being friends” between a man and a woman was the equivalent of asking for a romantic relationship in modern terms. Was she being harassed?!
Her expression darkened instantly. “Comrade Chen, I don’t know you. Are you trying to harass me?”
Chen Jingkun was startled. “No, no! I’m not! I’m Director Chen’s nephew—the Chen family next door to yours. I’m not a bad person!”
He hurriedly explained, “My aunt should’ve mentioned me to you? I thought I should express my feelings directly.”
“Aunt Yang did mention you. I refused.”
Chen Jingkun regained his composure. “Comrade Yu, we’re young people of the new era. We don’t need introductions from elders—we’re free to choose.”
Confidently smoothing his hair—now practically reflective under the sunlight—Yu Xiang’an couldn’t bear to look, subtly stepping back.
“Right, we’re free. So I have the right to refuse. Understand? Sorry, I have work to do. Bye.”
Yu Xiang’an had made herself perfectly clear, but Chen Jingkun took it as playing hard to get. How could anyone not like him?
He was a permanent employee at the pharmaceutical plant with excellent benefits, his own room at home, and decent looks. He’d always been the one rejecting others—how could a woman reject him?
So he seized every chance to hover around Yu Xiang’an.
Even when she rebuffed him coldly, he persisted. Others couldn’t hear their conversations, but seeing them often together—an unmarried man and woman—some began whispering that they were a match.
When faced with such questions, Chen Jingkun never denied it. Instead, he’d smile sheepishly, tacitly confirming the rumors.
Yu Xiang’an: “……”
She needed to think—was this person engaging in nonviolent noncooperation? If so, then he shouldn’t blame her for what came next.
Upon hearing the message, Lin Chuanbai felt a pang of emptiness. Had she really… started dating someone?
Just the thought of that possibility made something inside him suddenly sink, weighing heavily in his chest.
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