Chapter 39

Thin and delicate, it melted the moment it entered the mouth. The chicken and egg white blended into an unbelievable flavor. The thick broth was rich and savory, leaving a lingering taste after every bite.

The soup was made from pork bone stock that had been simmered overnight—highly nutritious. A single bowl of egg-white chicken fillet soup wasn’t a lot, but it was enough for Xie Tingyu to slowly savor. He squinted his eyes, and a stream of uncontrollable joy flowed from his curved pupils.

Lunchtime each day had become the most anticipated part of Xie Tingyu’s recovery period.

Watching slice after slice of chicken fillet disappear into his mouth, Shen Weimin’s stomach began growling louder. After running around all day, he was famished. But it wasn’t just hunger—there was also a deep, hard-to-suppress craving from the bottom of his heart.

Xie Tingyu’s thumb held the porcelain spoon, scooping up a thin slice. The jade-colored chicken was coated in a glossy, thick sauce, trembling slightly—a beautiful sight, delicate and appetizing. The spoon hovered mid-air…

Shen Weimin gave it a hard look, veins bulging on his forehead, then suddenly spun around and stormed out the door with a whoosh .

Ye Qingshui couldn’t help but burst out laughing.

“Why didn’t you let your friend stay for a meal?”

Xie Tingyu lifted his eyelids calmly. “There’s no food for him.”

Ye Qingshui valued food and didn’t like leftovers, so she always cooked just enough for the number of people eating. Meals in the Ye household were particularly fragrant. In the whole village, there probably weren’t many families who could afford meat every few days like theirs. Xie Tingyu often felt like it wasn’t enough.

Every time he finished eating, he was left wanting more—especially when people like Liu Yiliang came over. That feeling became even more intense. Xie Tingyu still hadn’t forgotten about those braised pork ribs from two months ago.

Ye Qingshui hadn’t made them since.

Xie Tingyu asked, “When can you make braised pork ribs again?”

Ye Qingshui collected his spotless, clean bowl—he hadn’t left a single drop. His appetite was astonishing. With a stomach like his, he could probably bankrupt a village mother. She had no idea how he even survived back at the educated youth canteen.

Ye Qingshui glanced at him. “You can’t have too much soy sauce while recovering. The scar won’t look good.”

There was a particularly nasty scar on Xie Tingyu’s back, deep and ferocious. While the other wounds had mostly faded, that one remained. Such a beautiful back, now marred—it was like a flawed painting.

Xie Tingyu was doing some rehab exercises in the room. Upon hearing her, he stopped and leaned against the wall, staring at her directly. Suddenly he asked:

“Does it looking bad really matter that much to you?”

Ye Qingshui mulled over his words. It felt like he was the one who cared more.

Maybe people who looked good were more sensitive about this sort of thing. She had done her best with the ointments and bandage changes. Every other wound had healed nicely, except that one—it just wouldn’t go away.

She quickly replied, “Of course not.”

“A scar on a man adds character.”

Xie Tingyu’s sharp, sculpted eyebrows relaxed, and he curved his thin lips into a slight, casual smile.

“Really? Then I want braised pork ribs.”

Ye Qingshui frowned. She still thought it was reckless to eat like that while healing. Without a word, she left the room holding the empty bowl.

Xie Tingyu leaned back against the wall, enjoying the cool comfort of the solid surface. The wound had long since stopped hurting.

Liar. Clearly, he cared a lot.

……

Four days later.

The vice-captain of the First Production Team came to the Ye house, calling out for Ye Qingshui. She was diligently doing her schoolwork, so Xie Tingyu said, “I’ll go check. You keep writing, don’t move.”

He exchanged a few words with the vice-captain and quickly sent him on his way. The man left with a wide, honest grin, flashing two rows of big, white teeth.

“Good news!” he said.

“You better make sure Shuiya prepares well.”

Ye Qingshui looked up and glanced out the window.

To Xie Tingyu, those clear, expressive eyes almost seemed to speak—gazing at him expectantly. He couldn’t help but say, “What are you looking at me for?”

“What did the vice-captain want?”

Xie Tingyu looked calm. He narrowed his eyes and replied mysteriously, “Wanted to discuss having you raise two more pigs.”

Ye Qingshui was slightly annoyed but couldn’t pinpoint why it felt off. Raising two more pigs wasn’t bad news. Pigs were like walking vaults—more pigs meant more meat to split at the end of the year. But maybe for her, it wasn’t exactly good news either, since it meant less time for her side hustles.

She retracted her head and went back to her homework.

Xie Tingyu chuckled and muttered, “What a silly girl.”

He leisurely walked back into the room, pulled over a small stool, and sat beside Ye Qingshui. She wore a fitted short-sleeved top and shorts, showing off a slender waist and dazzlingly pale limbs. Her skin had that translucent, water-tinted glow.

Xie Tingyu watched for a while before awkwardly looking away. Then he seemed to remember something and casually said:

“Shuiya, why are you always looking at arithmetic? Your weakest subject is literature—you should read more of that.”

He pulled out an old, tattered poetry book from his shelf and flipped it open randomly, handing it to her.

“Here, take a look.”

Ye Qingshui had been writing for a long time, and her brain was tired. She held the old book in front of her and started reading. After a bit, Xie Tingyu asked her to read out loud.

It was a hot early autumn noon, the sun high and blazing, making people sweat. But Ye Qingshui felt calm and refreshed. She began reading aloud.

She read a piece called Reduced-Form Magnolia Flower , then Lone Fury —starting from the oaths of the Northern Expedition all the way to…

Then she read, “You, little sister, are water—”

Xie Tingyu raised an eyebrow, listening closely. Her voice was soft and airy, like birdsong. He loved listening to her—perhaps she had noticed, because she usually read in a stiff, serious tone. But this time, there was a touch of shyness in her mellow voice.

He said casually, “Keep reading. Why stop?”

Ye Qingshui looked at his serious face and cold, lazy tone.

Looking at his solemn expression, she bit her tongue, blushing slightly. What kind of flirtatious poem is this? But she couldn’t just stop mid-way—skipping would seem even more awkward. So she quickened her pace slightly and continued:

“You, little sister, are water—

You are the water of a clear stream.

Cheerfully you flow all day,

Innocently you always smile,

Naturally, you make me forget the way home.”

After those brief lines, she flipped the page—only to find the rest missing. She touched the yellowed paper. The book was old, and missing pages were no surprise. She seamlessly moved on to the next poem.

Xie Tingyu watched her from the side—her soft braid, the long lashes casting shadows over her embarrassed yet clear eyes. Her jade-like delicate face was turning faintly red from the neck up.

Hidden beneath the mask, who knew what her expression really was? He couldn’t help but imagine.

Xie Tingyu was absentmindedly lost in thought.

He said, “You keep reading.”

From the very back of the cabinet where he kept his books, he took out his diary. In the deep sunlight, his thumb lifted a yellowed page, playing with it idly. The aged paper had turned yellow, and the writing had become slightly blurred, as if touched many times and the ink had worn off. But the words were still vaguely legible:

“Sister, you are water, you are the water in the lotus pond. Borrow a lotus leaf for a little boat, borrow a lotus stem for a pole, and sister, I want to come to the depths of the lotus flowers.”

Ye Qingshui read several pages of the book and let out a sigh of relief. She asked, “I don’t have to memorize all of this, do I?”

Xie Tingyu said coolly, “Of course you do. Memorize all of it—to fix that bad memory of yours.”

Ye Qingshui scrunched up her face but still began to memorize it. After all, she really couldn’t remember written words, like she was missing a nerve, but when it came to formulas and numbers, she never forgot after seeing them once.

Xie Tingyu was sorting through his large boxes, picking out the books he didn’t need and putting them on the shelf. He said seriously:

“I’ve taken out all the books you might see—don’t go rummaging through my boxes anymore, got it? They’re my personal belongings now.”

Ye Qingshui didn’t care one bit. She said, “Not interested in reading them anyway.”

Xie Tingyu smiled, “Mm, that’s better.”

“Are the clothes done? Let me see them.”

Ye Qingshui brought out a set of student daily wear she had finished long ago—a black knee-length skirt made of poplin, a brand-new white cotton shirt, and a gray wool coat for winter. Simple and low-key, yet it had a kind of youthful and fashionable charm.

Xie Tingyu praised, “You made these really well.”

He took the clothes and walked out.

While Ye Qingshui was reciting the book, she could see Xie Tingyu outside in the courtyard washing the clothes. After washing them, he hung them neatly on the bamboo poles.

The midday sun, hot and intense, quickly dried the clothes.

Xie Tingyu brought them back in and found that the edges were no longer as neat as before—there were creases. He frowned and asked Ye Qingshui, “Shui’er, do you know how to get them smooth again?”

Ye Qingshui didn’t even glance at him, thinking: Even if I knew, I wouldn’t tell him.

Xie Tingyu’s thick, ink-dark eyebrows knotted. “This… what should I do? I need them for tomorrow.”

He stammered and changed his words: “I mean, I need to send them out tomorrow.”

Ye Qingshui taught him: fill a metal can with boiling water and use it to repeatedly press the clothes—then the fabric would smooth out.

Xie Tingyu frowned, boiled a kettle of water, and poured it into an enamel can. The moment he touched the handle, he nearly spilled it from the heat. Clumsily, he managed to press the skirt smooth. He breathed a sigh of relief and boiled another kettle to press the shirt.

Ye Qingshui couldn’t stand watching anymore. She suspected that if she let him continue, he’d burn himself.

She took the can from him and resignedly began pressing the shirt. She thought: Xie Tingyu really is a good older brother.

Xie Tingyu asked casually, “You don’t have anything going on tomorrow, right? Are you busy?”

Ye Qingshui said, “Not busy, but I do have to go to the county.”

She had heard that the black market had gotten a new batch of foreign-made bicycles—she wanted to go have a look. Ye Qingshui didn’t have a purchase ticket, and even if she had enough money, she couldn’t buy one from the store. She’d been waiting for this shipment forever.

Bicycles and radios—big industrial goods like these—were in high demand and low supply on the black market. Though expensive, there were always people who could afford them. In the city, when getting married, the bride price included the “three rounds and one sound,” and it brought a lot of pride. So bicycles were in hot demand on the black market.

Xie Tingyu thought for a moment and said, “Oh, that’s good.”

…

The next day, Ye Qingshui clutched about two hundred yuan in her pocket, dressed lightly, and prepared to set out on her bicycle.

Xie Tingyu packed the clothes into a military rucksack and sat on the back seat of her bike.

Very naturally, he took out his harmonica and started to play. He even let Ye Qingshui choose the tune.

“Shui’er, what do you want to hear?”

Ye Qingshui remembered a little tune she had heard from him last time and said, “That one… is it called ‘Moscow’?”

“It’s called ‘Evenings in the Suburbs of Moscow’ , not ‘Moscow.’ Moscow is a city,” Xie Tingyu corrected seriously.

Ye Qingshui said, “Okay, I got it.”

Xie Tingyu lifted the harmonica and began to play softly. The melody was low, light, and cheerful. A romantic, foreign charm quietly rippled through the air. The gentle tempo was played tenderly—like the music could speak, expressing deep emotion.

On the road to the county, there was a stretch that passed through sunflower fields. These were a specialty crop of Yaoshan Commune, commonly known as sunflowers. The seeds were aromatic when roasted, but these particular ones were for oil extraction. The commune made more profit from sunflowers than from rice at year-end.

When Xie Tingyu saw the brilliant field of flowers, his eyes lit up—the vast, bright sea of yellow looked like a painting. He squinted against the light.

“Shui’er, the flowers are so beautiful—stop for a bit.”

Ye Qingshui didn’t stop. She said, “These aren’t ornamental flowers—they’re grain, for oil. See those commune members guarding the field? If you pick one, forget about getting to the county today.”

Xie Tingyu said, “I won’t pick any. I just want to look.”

Ye Qingshui paused briefly to let him have a good look.

In her heart, she thought, Xie Tingyu is rarely this childish.

After just a few glances, Xie Tingyu said, “There are flowers like these in the capital too, but those are for people to admire.”

After a while, he teased, “I can’t pick the big sunflowers, but… I can pick the little ones.”

“Here, for you.”

Ye Qingshui heard him pluck something and nearly died of fright. She hadn’t seen him pick a flower at all just now.

After some rustling sounds, she felt something ticklish near her ear—his warm breath gently brushed her ear, making it very itchy. Soon, a cool object was placed on her ear.

Ye Qingshui slammed the brakes and reached back to take the flower off, bracing herself for the worst.

But what she touched was a tiny little flower, with soft, fuzzy stem—a chrysanthemum. Bright gold, miniature and adorable. It really was a “little sunflower.”

Xie Tingyu took out his harmonica again and played a cheerful tune as they continued toward the county.

…

Upon arriving at the county, Xie Tingyu told her to take a different road to the supply and marketing cooperative. The other road went through many busy streets, with lots of people, passing by the County Revolutionary Committee, the County Propaganda Department, the Youth Resettlement Office, the Armed Forces Department… and finally reaching the cooperative.

This was a route Ye Qingshui usually didn’t dare to take.

But she slowly pedaled along it, seeing many familiar faces along the way. The more she saw, the more confused she became. Some people even waved at her.

The newly appointed deputy captain, Ye Dazhi, shouted loudly, “Hey, Shui’er, we’ve been waiting for you!”

A small red flower was pinned to his chest, and his weathered, rugged face broke into a rare beaming smile, full of joy.

But he quickly frowned, looking at Ye Qingshui’s plain, dull outfit. “Didn’t we tell you to wear something neat? This ragged look—aren’t you embarrassing socialism? Quick, Xiaojun, swap clothes with Shui’er.”

“No need, I brought a new outfit,” Xie Tingyu said steadily.

Ye Qingshui was completely bewildered, staring at all the familiar faces—all from Ye Family Village, along with some sent-down youth.

Xie Tingyu brought her to a residential house. While pulling out the clothes, he said, “This is Monkey’s place. You change here. Don’t ask too many questions—you’ll find out soon enough.”

“But… but these clothes are for your sister…”

Xie Tingyu shook his head and smiled. “Just change.”

His tall figure stood proudly in the bright August sunlight outside the door—so upright it was hard to look at directly.

His hand was large and broad, the fingertips covered with a thin layer of calluses—warm, dry, and strong—as he gently pushed her into the room.

Ye Qingshui, still dazed, slowly changed into the new clothes. “Is something important going on?”

Xie Tingyu took her hand and led her into a large room—it looked like an auditorium. The moment they stepped in, the celebratory music “Singing of the Motherland” burst out—lively and majestic.

Suddenly, everything before Ye Qingshui lit up. Reflected in her clear eyes were rows and rows of smiling faces.

Zhou Ke clapped his hands, his toothy grin full of joy, his eyes tender and bright as he gazed toward the stage.

Author’s note:

Ping Shengjun: What a grand scene all of a sudden.

Brother Yu: Cost me a lot of money.

Ping Shengjun: “…”

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