Xu Jiaojiao’s look of grievance froze on her face.

The onlookers, thrilled by the drama, refused to leave. Some families who had already collected their grain even rushed back after hearing about the commotion, eager not to miss the show.

In times when entertainment was scarce, a live drama like this was a rare treat.

“What’s the matter? Are you going to lend it or not? So many people are watching; I couldn’t possibly default on you. I said I’d pay you back next spring, and I will. We’ve been friends for over a decade. Don’t you trust me?” Shen Zhihuan’s smile grew broader, her tone oozing mockery.

Xu Jiaojiao lowered her head and stayed silent.

Everyone knew that her mother, Cao Erxiang, often bragged that Xu Jiaojiao’s earnings were entirely her own and untouched by the family. It was to be her dowry when she married.

“So, now you’re silent? Turns out your concern was just lip service?” Shen Zhihuan sneered coldly.

The atmosphere in the drying yard grew tense.

All eyes turned to Xu Jiaojiao, who wished she could disappear into a hole.

Had she known Shen Zhihuan was so shameless, she wouldn’t have dared approach her in the first place.

At that moment, a loud voice came from the edge of the drying yard.

“Is Shen Zhihuan from Production Team Ten of Panshi Village here?”

“I’m here!” Shen Zhihuan quickly replied.

The crowd, driven by curiosity, turned around and looked in the direction of the voice.

A postman, around forty years old and dressed in a green uniform, stood by his bicycle, scanning the crowd.

Interest sparked in the villagers’ eyes as Shen Zhihuan walked toward the postman. Li Qiuhua, worried for her daughter, told Weidong to watch their grain and hurried after her.

“I’m Shen Zhihuan.”

“I went to your house, but the door was locked. A passerby said you were here,” the postman said as he pulled two magazines and a bulging envelope from the canvas bag on his bicycle.

“Thank you for the trouble!” Shen Zhihuan said, smiling as she accepted the items.

“It’s no trouble at all! You wouldn’t believe it, but the postman from Chuancheng insisted we take extra care with your letters and packages. He said you’re not just the pride of Shuangsha Town, but of the entire Chuancheng region!” the postman said enthusiastically.

“You’re exaggerating,” Shen Zhihuan said with a soft laugh.

She had only managed to get a piece published by riding the coattails of opportunity. How could that make her a source of pride?

“Not at all! You’re the first writer from Chuancheng to be published in a prestigious Beijing magazine. You’re the golden phoenix from our little mountain village!” the postman said excitedly.

“Wait, you mean my daughter wrote an article that’s in this magazine?” Li Qiuhua asked, her face filled with disbelief.

“Yes, ma’am! Your daughter is incredible. You can expect a prosperous life ahead!” the postman said with a wide grin.

Writing articles? Published in a magazine?

The crowd erupted in whispers of astonishment.

Most villagers had never even seen a magazine before, let alone thought about having an article published in one.

“Postman, are you saying that Zhihuan’s article is really in that magazine?” Wang Tiezhu, afraid he had misheard, stepped forward and pointed at the magazine in Shen Zhihuan’s hands.

“That’s correct!” the postman confirmed with a nod.

“Comrade Shen Zhihuan, may I make a bold request?” the postman asked hesitantly.

“Borrow money? No. Borrow grain? Also no,” Shen Zhihuan said, blinking innocently.

“No, no, not that!” The postman waved his hands quickly.

“Could I trade some grain tickets for one of your magazines? My daughter loved your article, but the magazines sold out in Beijing as soon as they were published…” the postman trailed off awkwardly.

Without hesitation, Shen Zhihuan handed him a copy of the magazine.

The postman tried to give her the grain tickets, but she shook her head.

“No need for that. It’s my honor that your daughter enjoys my work. How could I charge you for it?” Shen Zhihuan replied warmly.

Wang Tiezhu, watching the scene unfold, felt a pang of regret.

Why didn’t I think to ask Zhihuan for a copy earlier? Now I’ve missed my chance!

“This doesn’t feel right!” the postman protested.

“What’s wrong with it? To those who appreciate it, it’s fine literature. To those who don’t, it’s just kindling,” Shen Zhihuan said casually, waving him off.

After the postman left, Shen Zhihuan handed the remaining magazine and letter to Weidong, then turned to help Li Qiuhua with their grain.

In a shadowy corner, someone kicked Li Jiabao, who immediately ran up to Li Qiuhua’s family.

“Aunt Li, let me carry that for you!”

Before Li Qiuhua could reply, Li Jiabao hefted the sacks of grain onto his shoulder and strode off toward the west end of the village.

The family had no choice but to follow.

“Zhihuan, could I, uh… borrow your magazine for a bit?” Wang Tiezhu asked sheepishly, clearly afraid someone else might snag it first.

Shen Zhihuan took the magazine from Weidong and handed it over.

“Take it, Uncle Tiezhu. It’s no use to us.”

“Are you sure? This must be…” Wang Tiezhu hesitated.

“It’s fine. My brother is too young to read, and my mother can’t. It’d just gather dust at home. Better for you to have it,” she said with a smile.

After the family left, the drying yard buzzed with gossip.

“Did you see that envelope? It was stuffed! Must’ve been full of cash.”

“No doubt. Didn’t the postman say Zhihuan is the pride of Chuancheng?”

“Who would’ve thought? That third daughter of the Shen family has really made it! Wang Chunmei and her husband must regret it now.”

“What’s the use of regretting? What’s said can’t be taken back!”

“I’m telling you, Zhihuan is bound for greatness.”

Amid the chatter, Xu Youcai clenched his teeth in frustration.

Regret? Why would Wang Chunmei and her husband regret anything?

Wasn’t his daughter, Xu Jiaojiao, just as good?

Writing an article—what’s so impressive about that? His daughter could have done the same if she wanted. She just didn’t care to!