Chapter 13: Going to the Countryside, Encountering a White-Eyed Wolf

Song Yun wanted to say: she wasn’t delicate in the slightest.

She looked at Zhang Hongmei with a bright smile, though her eyes were red-rimmed and her voice slightly choked. “Aunt Zhang, I know you’re thinking of me, and I know this path won’t be easy. But don’t worry—I believe that no matter how hard the road is, as long as I keep my feet on the ground and work hard, step by step, I’ll make it through.” She glanced at Song Ziyi, whose eyes were also red, then continued, “Now that I’ve severed ties with Song Weiguo and Li Shulan, and I have no job, I really have no other option but to go to the countryside. Since I have to go anyway, why not choose a place where I have family?”

Zhang Hongmei’s heart softened completely. How could Song Weiguo and his wife bear to throw away such a good child? They would regret it one day—definitely.

“Well, since you’ve made your decision, then that’s that. Honestly, it’s been difficult to get young people to volunteer to go to the countryside these days. Especially here in Beijing—many families meet the criteria, but when it comes time to assign people, they always find ways to weasel out of it with all kinds of documentation. No one wants to go to the mountain villages in Heilongjiang—everyone’s using connections to switch destinations. That region’s youth quota is always underfilled. If you’re willing to go, this can be arranged—there’s actually a group leaving in three days.”

When Song Yun confirmed she could bring her little brother with her, the weight that had been pressing on her heart finally lifted.

“Aunt Zhang, can I trouble you with one more thing?”

Zhang Hongmei immediately nodded. “Of course! Whatever it is, if I can help, I will.”

Song Yun was truly moved. She silently vowed to repay their kindness in the future.

“My brother is young, and still injured. The doctor said he needs to rest and get his medicine on time. It’ll be hard for him to handle a crowded hard seat on the train. Would it be possible for you to help us get sleeper tickets?”

As a neighborhood committee director with a husband who worked as a district cadre, getting two sleeper tickets wasn’t difficult. She agreed right away.

They agreed on when to pick up the tickets. Song Yun happily left the money for the tickets, greeted Yang Lifen (who had just returned from the toilet), and left the factory residential compound with Song Ziyi.

Three days passed quickly. Before dawn, Song Yun got up and first went to the Yang home to collect the tickets.

Aunt Zhang had risen early too. She had prepared a hot breakfast for them and packed a whole bag of boiled eggs, a lunchbox full of oil-braised dried fish, and a package of Beijing-style jujube cakes. Each item was a rare treat in those days. Song Yun tried to refuse, but in the end, she could only accept.

She turned down Zhang Hongmei’s offer to see them off at the train station, promising again and again to write as soon as she arrived. Then, eyes red, she waved goodbye to Zhang Hongmei and Yang Lifen.

Once Song Yun’s figure had disappeared into the distance, Zhang Hongmei sighed heavily. “She’s gone… Who knows when we’ll see her again.” What she didn’t say was: Maybe never.

Because of her concern for Song Yun, she’d gone through past records of those who had been sent down to the countryside in Heima Mountain. To her horror, nearly no one had lasted more than a year. Most had died—either from illness or from the cold.

The educated youth sent to that area didn’t fare much better. Though they didn’t die off in droves like those thrown into cowsheds, the casualty rate was still high. That was exactly why no one wanted to be assigned there.

Those who did end up in Heima Mountain either had no connections or were sabotaged into going—unlucky ones forced into switching destinations.

Zhang Hongmei now regretted helping Song Yun sign up. But it was too late. Even as the neighborhood director, she couldn’t change it now.

Still deep in the sadness of parting with her friend, Yang Lifen reached into her pocket for a handkerchief to wipe her tears—and pulled out a piece of paper instead.

“Shu Gan San Yu Tang?” she read aloud.

Zhang Hongmei peered over and saw it was a traditional herbal prescription. Alongside the names and dosages of the ingredients, it even included preparation instructions and a description of its effects.

Her heart began pounding. She snatched the paper, folded it tightly, and stuffed it into her coat pocket. Then she glanced around cautiously. Luckily, it was still early—no one else was around. Only then did she breathe a sigh of relief.

“Don’t tell anyone about this,” she warned.

Yang Lifen nodded immediately. “Don’t worry. I can keep a secret.”

In this era, many skilled traditional doctors had been labeled as capitalists. Their clinics were shut down, and many were persecuted—some even to death. No one dared write prescriptions anymore, fearing denunciation and terrible consequences.

Though hospitals had traditional medicine departments, they only sold basic herbs. The truly skilled old doctors were long gone.

To Zhang Hongmei, this prescription was a lifesaver.

Very few knew she had liver disease. She’d seen every major hospital in the city, taken countless Western meds, and gotten nowhere. Her mother had often recalled how a relative once recovered from liver disease thanks to an old traditional doctor’s prescription. But that doctor had been denounced and didn’t survive the struggle sessions.

Just last month, her checkup had shown signs of worsening. The doctor said if the disease couldn’t be controlled, it could develop into liver cancer.

No matter how cooperative she was with treatment, the condition kept worsening. She hadn’t slept well in months, haunted by thoughts of her unwed children and her husband—still in his prime. If she died, how long would he stay faithful?

She didn’t want to die.

Her hand clutched the prescription tightly in her pocket, and a feeling surged in her heart: This prescription might just change my fate.

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Song Yun, unaware of Zhang Hongmei’s emotions, had already entered the train station with her brother.

They carried a lot: two quilts, a new suitcase Song Yun had bought, a small wooden box for Song Ziyi, and a large bag stuffed with food. Thankfully they had sleeper tickets, and a helpful train attendant even assisted them—otherwise, just boarding would’ve been a challenge.

The other youth bound for Heilongjiang were all in the hard seat cars. Song Yun didn’t seek them out on the train. It wasn’t until they arrived in the provincial capital, disembarked, and gathered for roll call that the group realized there had been another girl traveling with them all along.

When Zhao Xiaomei saw Song Yun jogging over, carrying a heavy bag, her eyes nearly popped out of her head.

Song Yun saw her too, and thought wryly, Small world, huh.

“Song Yun? Is Song Yun here?” the team leader shouted.

“I’m here!” she called out, jogging up breathlessly and placing a heavy bag at her feet. Then she turned and took the quilt bundle off her brother’s back, leaving him with just a small box and a net bag.

The leader, already aware that Song Yun was bringing her brother, gave them only a passing glance and said nothing.

“Why is there a kid here? Is he an educated youth too?” someone asked.

The team leader ignored the question, pretending not to hear.

Song Yun understood—it was her cue to explain. She smiled and said, “This is my younger brother. We don’t have any adults left in the family.”

Just a few words, but they carried a heavy weight. Many people instantly imagined a tragic backstory.

But not everyone was sympathetic.

“This isn’t proper, is it?” Zhao Xiaomei sneered, glaring at Song Yun with eyes full of hatred.