After all that fuss, Lin Hongying had accumulated 1,550 units of resentment. This amount could buy 2.2 pounds of pork belly or 9.3 pounds of high-quality flour—a decent haul.  

But after dealing with those fierce neighbors in the residential building, Lin Hongying completely abandoned her method of provoking fights to earn resentment. She feared she might not live long enough to enjoy the rewards.  

What a joke it would be if an outstanding young woman like her got beaten to death over two pounds of pork belly…  

…

A week later, Lin Hongying took the written exam for the State Farm and Land Reclamation Bureau.  

The State Farm and Land Reclamation Bureau was a national department, parallel to the Ministry of Agriculture and the Bureau of Aquatic Products. Just in Heilongjiang Province’s Mudanjiang Reclamation Bureau, there were nearly a hundred state-run farms, responsible for developing the country’s border regions.  

It was the middle of winter, and students were on holiday, so the reclamation bureau had rented a local middle school to serve as the exam site.  

This recruitment drive was hiring a large number of people, and examinees were divided into nearly ten testing rooms. Due to the most severe natural disasters in decades hitting the southern regions these past two years, leading to near-total crop failure, the central government had assigned an especially heavy grain production quota to Heilongjiang this year.  

Last year, the reclamation bureau had opened 41 new farms and expanded over 700 production teams, all of which urgently needed a massive influx of talent.  

Lin Hongying had applied for the Fourth Sub-Farm under Heping Farm (Peace Farm), which specialized in grain cultivation. Heping Farm was a large-scale mechanized farm built with Soviet aid and the biggest farm in Lan County.  

The written exam was extremely simple:  

– One question asked examinees to add punctuation marks to a paragraph, testing basic literacy—essentially checking if they had finished elementary school.  

– Another asked them to identify idioms with differing connotations (praise vs. criticism).  

– There was also an elementary-level linear equation arithmetic problem.  

As she wrote, Lin Hongying grew increasingly suspicious—had she gotten the wrong test? But then she remembered the low education levels of the era and realized it made sense.  

The last four questions finally resembled something meant for agricultural professionals:  

1. “If an acute epidemic breaks out in a pig farm, how should you respond?” 

2. “Pests cause massive reductions in grain yield every year and are the enemy of the people. Analyze how to deal with pests like the rice stem borer, rice leaf roller, and rice stem borers.”

Lin Hongying frowned. Such broad topics, yet the answer space was only the width of a palm?

Though the questions felt abrupt, she buried herself in writing. She even asked the proctor for two extra sheets of blank paper and ended up writing a 3,000-word essay, attaching the pages to the exam with tape.  

…

After the exam, everyone filed out of the classroom.  

Lin Hongying, feeling hungry, went to the nearest state-run restaurant for a meal. The place was packed with other examinees.  

The food at state-run restaurants was expensive, and with limited funds, she could only afford a plate of vermicelli with minced meat. Watching others feast on stewed chicken with mushrooms and braised pork, she couldn’t help but swallow her saliva.  

Just as she was about to leave after eating, she overheard people discussing answers:  

– “The first question was comma, semicolon, semicolon, period, ellipsis.”  

– “The second answer was -5 and 3.” 

Someone sighed, “How were we supposed to answer those last few questions? They were too hard—I just wrote whatever.”

Another chuckled, “Those were for the candidates aiming for managerial positions.” Then enviously added, “A city residency permit, 60 yuan a month, and 40 jin of grain rations—what a sweet deal.”

Lin Hongying couldn’t resist correcting them:  

“Wrong. The second answer was 3 and 1.”

Instantly, dozens of eyes locked onto her. 

[Li Shengli’s Resentment +500]  

[Fang Hongjun’s Resentment +600]

[Wang Xingwen’s Resentment +700]

[Fang Wenquan’s Resentment +700]

[Zhu Zhongyi’s Resentment +1000]

Lin Hongying’s eyes lit up.  

So much resentment at once? Then it hit her—of course, this was about jobs and livelihoods.  

Originally about to leave, Lin Hongying sat back down. She wasn’t in a hurry to go anywhere now.

That guy who said the answer was “-5 and 3″… his name wouldn’t happen to be Zhu Zhongyi, would it? What a massive grudge.  

Under the crowd’s bewildered stares, Lin Hongying pulled out a sheet of paper from her pocket, scribbled down the solution, and announced loudly:  

“That was a warehouse inventory problem testing linear equations. The equations were:

2X + 5Y = 11  

3X – 7Y = 2 

The solution is X=3, Y=1.” 

A sea of heads immediately crowded around her table.  

“Comrade! Comrade! What about the other answers?”  

Obliging them, Lin Hongying wrote down all the answers:  

– “The third answer is 6.”  

– “The fourth question—the key elements of soil fertility are ‘water, fertilizer, air, and heat.'”  

As she explained in detail, the sound of shattered dreams echoed in the background—along with the sweet, sweet chime of resentment points.  

[Qian Baoxiang’s Resentment +200] 

[Zhang Guangliang’s Resentment +300] 

[Zhou Ayu’s Resentment +500]  

The more flawlessly she broke down each answer, the more the crowd’s expressions shifted from frustration to awe.  

Finally, someone asked timidly, “Comrade… what about the last question?” 

“Ah, the emergency epidemic response question? Let me summarize.”

Lin Hongying leaned in, her tone authoritative:  

“I approached it from two angles—government and farm management.” 

1. Government Measures:

– Public awareness campaigns and medical intervention, with scientific deployment of resources.  

– Technical guidance for farmers and state farms.  

– Early detection and warning systems.  

– Emergency protocols, including stockpiling quarantine supplies to prevent outbreaks.  

2. Farm-Level Actions:  

– “All-in, all-out” breeding cycles to minimize losses.  

– Vaccination programs to curb transmission.  

– Strict sanitation: Daily disinfection, proper manure/effluent treatment (e.g., composting to kill pathogens via high-temperature fermentation).  

The entire restaurant hung on her every word. Some frantically took notes; others, lacking paper, scribbled on their palms or arms.  

One man, mocked for “wasting effort post-exam,” shot back without looking up:  

“This is priceless knowledge! A rare opportunity!”  

Their hunger for learning moved Lin Hongying—so she taught a little more.  

And, of course, harvested a little more resentment.  

…

Meanwhile, the Heping Farm recruitment committee, fresh from collecting exam papers, huddled over lunch.  

Heilongjiang’s Reclamation Bureau oversaw hundreds of farms, and Heping Farm alone had 18 sub-farms. Yet talent was scarce—no top-tier agronomists wanted to endure the harsh, frozen “Great Northern Wilderness.”  

One official sighed:  

“Your Fourth Sub-Farm’s offer this year nearly matches an 8th-grade machinist’s salary!” 

Another groaned:  

“We’re desperate. Pigs are dying in droves before New Year’s. Our director’s so stressed he’s got ulcers—he’s begged experts from Beijing himself. At this point, he’d pay 100 yuan/month to fix this.”

Then—they overheard Lin Hongying’s impromptu lecture. 

Their eyes widened.

“See? The Northeast does have talent!”  

By the time they rushed outside to recruit her, she’d already vanished on her bicycle. 

They slapped their foreheads in regret.  

Lin Hongying calculated the resentment points and decided to reward herself by going to the supply and marketing cooperative to stock up on some daily necessities.  

This era was rather unique—resources of all kinds were extremely scarce, and there were no conditions for a market economy. As a result, the state adopted a planned economy system of “unified purchase and sales.” Every month, urban residents were issued fixed quotas of food and daily necessities coupons, which they used to purchase goods.  

The supply and marketing cooperative was the place where people bought goods with these coupons.  

It was the most impressive building on the street, packed with customers coming and going.  

The shelves were stocked with goods, though the variety was limited. There were tiny matchboxes the size of tofu cubes, old-fashioned enamel basins with glossy surfaces, stark white sneakers, and flashlights—still a rare luxury in this era.  

Yet, the cooperative was crowded with people buying daily necessities, the line stretching over ten meters long.  

Inside, salesclerks and customers practically had to shout to communicate. A customer asked in shock, “What? No more Fuqiang flour? What about Jianshe flour or Shengchan flour?”  

The shrewd salesclerk replied briskly, “None at all! Sold out. Come earlier tomorrow.”  

The customer hesitated, then asked, “Then I’d like a pound of eggs, but I didn’t bring egg coupons. Can I exchange a pound of national grain coupons instead?”  

“Comrade, are you dreaming? Eggs are precious!” the salesclerk scoffed. “Poultry farming is struggling right now, so supplies are low. Two jin of grain coupons can be exchanged for one jin of eggs. With just one jin, you can only get four eggs.”  

Lin Hongying, overhearing this, fell into thought.  

At this time, the state issued dozens of different coupons, and buying anything required both coupons and money. However, goods in the cooperative were often in short supply. Sometimes, what people wanted was sold out, and if they switched to another item, they might not have the right coupons. Over time, a habit formed—coupons of equal value could be exchanged.  

The scarcity of daily necessities created intense supply-demand tension. So much so that whenever people saw a line forming, they’d just join it without question.  

By the time Lin Hongying had thoroughly reviewed Agricultural Microbiology, Agricultural Meteorology, and Genetics several times in her mind, it was finally her turn.  

She rubbed her sore, numb thighs—they ached so much they hardly felt like her own. Stepping forward to the counter, she asked, “How much for rice?”  

The salesclerk snapped impatiently, “No rice, no rice! How many times do we have to say it? Are you deaf?”  

Lin Hongying was scolded outright. In this era, salesclerks were formal state employees with excellent benefits and perks, so they were notoriously arrogant. The idea of “the customer is god” wouldn’t exist until much later.  

Lin Hongying didn’t get angry. Patiently, she asked, “Alright then, how much is coal per jin?”  

She went on to inquire about the prices of cloth, oil, sugar, biscuits, and soy sauce. The salesclerk, annoyed, pointed at the price list for her.  

Finally, “cash-strapped” Lin Hongying pointed at the list and said, “I’d like a bar of soap and a tube of toothpaste. I’ll pay with grain coupons.”  

Lin Hongying didn’t lack food, but she hadn’t yet unlocked access to slightly more advanced daily necessities like toothpaste and soap, so she had to buy them at the cooperative.  

Fortunately, industrial coupons hadn’t been introduced yet in 1960—versatile grain coupons could still be used as substitutes for all kinds of vouchers.

As soon as Lin Hongying finished speaking, not only was the salesclerk puzzled, but the crowd around her also found it strange. They had seen people exchange soap coupons, toothpaste coupons, or coal coupons for grain, but rarely did anyone trade precious grain coupons for such “useless” items. What a wasteful woman!

The salesclerk warned her, “Once you trade away your grain coupons, they’re gone for good!”  

But Lin Hongying, buoyed by the resentment points she had earned and the prospect of securing a job soon, was in high spirits. “It’s fine, just go ahead and exchange them for me,” she said cheerfully.  

She briskly bought a pile of daily necessities—toothpaste, soap, Bai Que Ling cream, and a wooden comb.  

The salesclerk swiftly pulled out a hemp string from under the counter and deftly tied the soap and toothpaste together.  

The toothpaste cost 1 yuan. Lin Hongying quickly did the math—workers in this era typically earned around 30 yuan a month, which was considered a decent income, roughly equivalent to over 5,000 yuan in modern times.  

That meant a single tube of toothpaste was effectively worth over a hundred yuan by later standards—an eye-watering price!

She also bought 100 jin of coal. Shao Qingfeng’s dormitory was running low, and winters in the northeast were brutally cold. The meager coal ration provided by the military family compound wasn’t enough.  

After all her shopping, Lin Hongying’s savings dwindled rapidly, leaving her with a mere 12 yuan.  

She couldn’t help but smile bitterly—money really doesn’t last long!

….

Outside the Supply and Marketing Cooperative 

Shao Qingfeng had come to the department store with a comrade to purchase supplies. A textile factory in the city had delivered a batch of high-quality cotton and linen, which they needed to buy as part of the New Year’s welfare subsidies for martyrs’ families.  

As they were leaving, both he and his comrade spotted Lin Hongying.  

Han Weidong pointed inside the cooperative. “Am I seeing things, or is that your little country wife in there?”  

Shao Qingfeng’s gaze cut through the crowd, landing on the woman at the counter, who was inquiring about prices.  

She acted as if it were her first time in a supply and marketing cooperative—ignorant of all the unspoken rules, endlessly asking questions.  

Unsurprisingly, the salesclerk scolded her impatiently.  

Shao Qingfeng’s expression darkened as he turned away, as if the mere sight of her gave him a headache.  

I’ll have to buy her some clothes, he thought irritably, so she won’t have an excuse to keep wearing mine. 

He had once asked Granny Xu to take her shopping, but she had stubbornly refused. Only later did he learn from Granny Xu that she was afraid of leaving the military compound—terrified she wouldn’t be allowed back in. 

Han Weidong didn’t have a favorable impression of Lin Hongying either.  

He genuinely looked down on her. The gap between her and Shao Qingfeng was simply too vast—they were mismatched in every way. Forcing them together would only lead to misery. Better if she just gives up and leaves.

So for now, Han Weidong simply watched the scene with amused interest.