CHAPTER 6 

The wind in the compound changed direction faster than a weather vane.
Right now, Su Yin had no idea she’d already become the talk of the town — and not the flattering kind.

Until Sunday morning, that is.

Qian Jingfang was enjoying her day off at home. Breakfast had barely settled when she heard the front door open and the sound of a small crowd bustling in.

“Jingfang!”

“Is it true? I heard your Cheng’an’s… you-know-who just arrived?”
Everyone’s eyes were full of knowing looks — no one needed to say the name aloud.

“Your father-in-law really wants Cheng’an to marry some girl from the countryside?”

The visitors were all military wives from the compound, women about Qian Jingfang’s age. The biggest gossip lately was that Gu Cheng’an’s childhood betrothed had come to town. Plenty were curious; some were just here for entertainment.

Among them, one mother-and-daughter pair stood out — the wife and daughter of the Sixth Brigade commander, both brimming with enthusiasm.

“Your old man must’ve lost his mind! Some country bumpkin thinking she can latch onto your family? What’s he thinking?” Yīn Zhiyan, the square-faced, broad-featured brigade wife, pitched her voice high with disdain.

Her daughter, Xin Mengqi, chimed in with a sweet yet troubled smile. “Auntie Qian, are you really letting Brother Cheng’an marry her?”

Teenage emotions were written all over her face, and Qian Jingfang knew perfectly well about the Xin girl’s interest in her son. She didn’t disapprove — but Cheng’an…

“They’re both still young. No need to rush into such things,” she said smoothly. Whatever her private thoughts, this was no time to grumble in front of outsiders.

“Heh, true enough.”

“You’d better make sure Cheng’an chooses carefully.”

Xin Mengqi blinked, eyes darting around the room, but she didn’t see the rumored ugly duckling. Her friend, Sun Ruoyi — the Third Battalion commander’s daughter — tugged her sleeve and whispered comfortingly, “Don’t worry, Mengqi. No way she’s prettier than you. Didn’t Old Lady Hou say yesterday her face was all crooked? Cheng’an wouldn’t like her anyway.”

“Hmph.” Mengqi’s pride as a compound-born girl flared right back. “You’re right. Why should I worry about some country hick? Brother Cheng’an would never like her.”

Upstairs, Su Yin was oblivious to the commotion. She had just been reading one of the math textbooks she’d brought with her, and decided it was time to go downstairs and help Aunt Wu in the kitchen.

Today, she was wearing the third outfit Qian Jingfang had had made for her — a bright red, plaid, plum-blossom-button jacket in plain cotton. She’d never worn it before; the cheerful color made it feel almost too new. But when Aunt Wu mentioned it this morning, Qian Jingfang had urged her to put it on.

Downstairs, the Gu household’s living room was buzzing. The moment Su Yin stepped off the staircase, she sensed something was off. Seven or eight people were chatting away — until they heard footsteps.

Heads turned.

A fresh-faced young woman came into view, stepping lightly down the stairs. Two glossy black braids rested neatly on her shoulders; her skin was pale and smooth, her oval face framed delicate, charming features. Her almond eyes shone like clear water, almost speaking for themselves, and her soft pink lips pressed together in quiet poise.

Gone was the washed-out gray clothing — now, in a cinched-waist red plaid top and straight black trousers, she looked bright and lively, a picture of youthful grace.

Even Qian Jingfang and Aunt Wu, who’d already been surprised by her beauty once, found themselves staring again.

That girl’s too pretty, Aunt Wu thought privately.

“You look wonderful,” Qian Jingfang said aloud, smiling. “Youth really does wear color well.”

The visitors, on the other hand, were struck silent. Weren’t they promised a hideous country girl? Crooked mouth? Squinty eyes?

Xin Mengqi fixed her gaze on Su Yin, as if she could bore a hole through her with sheer willpower. This was supposed to be Gu Cheng’an’s betrothed?

She prided herself on her own beauty — strong brows, bright eyes, and a touch of girlish sweetness. But seeing this girl now, that little cushion of vanity deflated.

Then she remembered the girl’s background, and her chin tilted upward again, pride returning to her posture.

As the saying goes, “seeing is believing.” Within the span of a few minutes, gossip in the compound had turned from “Cheng’an’s fiancée is a monster” to “She’s an absolute stunner — one of the prettiest girls you’ll see.”

….

Hu Libin came bursting into the boys’ card room like a thunderclap.
“You guys know? Cheng’an’s future wife isn’t ugly at all — she’s gorgeous!”

“Really?” He Songping perked up over his hand of cards.

“Really! I just saw her with my own eyes — absolutely beautiful!”

“I saw her too! Cheng’an, your wife’s a knockout!”

Gu Cheng’an didn’t even lift his eyelids. He tossed his cards on the table with a yawn and said coldly, “Get lost.”

Whose wife? Just hearing it made his ears itch.

“Say it again — I’m against feudal superstitions!”

Spoiled by his grandmother and drilled hard by his grandfather’s military discipline since childhood, Gu Cheng’an had grown up with one firm dislike: being told what to do. Especially when it came to marriage.

“Alright, alright. So our Cheng’an’s turning down a girl who’s basically a fairy? Bold move!”

“That’s willpower!”

“Now that’s what you call avoiding the company of women!”

The room erupted in laughter and chatter again.

….

Su Yin, unaware of the gossip swirling outside, spent her time in the Gu household reading or helping Aunt Wu with chores. When she’d left home for the capital, she’d brought along a few high school textbooks.

After her grandfather passed, her third uncle and aunt had rummaged through the house for valuables — and tossed out an entire box of her books. Now she had only a few Chinese and math textbooks left, with none of her notes or workbooks.

Gripping her pen, she bent over the paper, scribbling down key points. Then she suddenly remembered something.

She still had the newspaper she’d bought last time, tucked inside one of her books. The Provincial Daily was published every day, but its call for submissions came only once every two weeks.

During the big political campaigns of recent years, manuscript fees had been abolished. Only as those campaigns faded had payments begun again — though the rates were far lower than a decade ago.

The Provincial Daily accepted both long-form and short-form pieces: short pieces were usually poetry, while long ones were essays. A published poem earned one yuan; essays paid two yuan and fifty cents per thousand characters.

Su Yin had always been good at high school essays, so this time she aimed straight for the provincial paper’s long-form submission contest. The theme—literacy campaigns and improving cultural knowledge—was right up her alley.

After graduating high school, Su Yin had become the literacy teacher in her village. At home, it was just her and her grandfather. The brigade captain took extra care of her—partly because she was such a good student—so she could earn work points through literacy classes instead of going to the fields.

After two years of teaching literacy, Su Yin had plenty of experience to draw from. She thought for a moment, then put pen to paper, and in just over an hour she had finished a two-thousand–character essay.

According to the Provincial Daily’s pay scale, if a 2,000-character article was accepted, it would earn a manuscript fee of five yuan.

To put it in perspective—one able-bodied man in the village had to work a full day to earn ten work points, and each work point was worth fifteen cents. Five yuan was already a small fortune.

Once she was done writing, she checked the calendar. There was still a week before the submission deadline—plenty of time to find a chance to go to the post office.

She hadn’t expected that chance to arrive as soon as the next day at dinnertime.

It was rare for Gu Kangcheng to come back early from the military district, so the whole family was gathered for a proper meal. Aunt Wu went all out, putting extra thought into a lavish spread.

The household’s food supply mostly came from the military district’s logistics department. Both the retired old leader and the current division commander had their allotted share—so there was never any shortage of meat, vegetables, or fruit, and even the grain, oil, and rice that were scarce outside were abundant here.

Shredded pork in Beijing sauce, braised crucian carp with scallions, cold cucumber salad, kung pao chicken, sweet-and-sour cabbage… Chopsticks flew over the table, and Aunt Wu beamed with satisfaction.

When people enjoyed the food you made, that was the highest praise.

Old Master Gu praised the younger woman’s cooking, then looked around at the table. He was reminded of how his grandson had reacted to Su Yin these past few days—well, not reacted at all, really. They’d barely exchanged a word. It gave him a headache.

That childhood engagement from years ago—of course the boy would bristle at it. But that was just immaturity. Young people need time to develop feelings.

“Cheng’an,” the old man said, “these next few days, take YinYin out to eat at the state-run restaurant. And… What is it you young people like to do again? Right—go watch a movie!” He decided this was a fine idea.

Gu Cheng’an’s brows drew together, but in the next instant he put on a careless grin and refused. “Grandpa, I’m busy. I have to start work soon—no time.”

“No time? You’ve still got half a month before you report in! And don’t tell me you’re busier than your father. Back when he was courting your mother, no matter how busy he was, he always found time to see her.”

Back then, during a home visit, Gu Kangcheng had run into bank teller Qian Jingfang on the street. It had been love at first sight. He’d gone up to strike a conversation right away—quick, decisive, and direct.

The “collateral damage” himself, Gu Kangcheng: “…”

“Dad, we’re talking about Cheng’an here—why are you bringing us into it?” Kangcheng was no longer the brash youth he’d been back then.

Hearing the story dredged up again, Qian Jingfang also felt a little awkward. The things you did when you were young—why bring them up now, and in front of the juniors, no less?

“You don’t get it. I’m preparing to serve the people. I have to cultivate my character first!”

“Cultivate my foot! With that attitude, who are you going to serve well?”

“Grandpa Gu, it’s all right. I can—” Su Yin didn’t want too much personal entanglement with Gu Cheng’an anyway. She was just about to smooth things over when she was cut off.

“YinYin, don’t speak up for him! This kid always has an excuse for everything.”

“Dad, Cheng’an’s just joking. Of course he has time. Tomorrow then—have him take YinYin out for a walk. Lunch at the state-run restaurant.” Qian Jingfang stepped in to mediate, shooting her son a warning look. Only then did Gu Cheng’an reluctantly agree.

….

Back in her room, Su Yin tucked the manuscript away. After washing up, she planned to go to the post office tomorrow to mail it out. Still, thinking of Gu Cheng’an’s reluctant expression, she could understand.

Suddenly telling him to marry a stranger—of course he’d have opinions.

Besides, in the novel, wasn’t he supposed to like that compound girl, Xin Mengqi? Did Grandpa Gu not know, or just not approve?

With those questions swirling in her head, Su Yin slept soundly.

That night a fine drizzle began to fall, lasting until dawn. By the time the sky was turning pale, the rain had stopped, but the summer air remained hot and heavy.

Old Master Gu had soy milk and steamed buns for breakfast, then personally supervised his grandson taking Su Yin out.

“Got money and ration tickets? Eat well, and buy whatever you want.”

“Got it.”

Gu Cheng’an, in a crisp green military uniform, hands in his pockets, stood a full head taller than Su Yin. To avoid Grandpa’s watchful gaze, he turned on his heel and strode off.

“Let’s go.”

The two of them had only crossed paths a few times, and in these past few days they’d barely spoken. Now being ordered to eat together and watch a movie, Gu Cheng’an was irritated. The moment they stepped outside the gates, he stopped, already thinking about how to shake off this “tail.”

Whoever it was, he would never agree to an arranged marriage.

If she were like Xin Mengqi—thick-skinned and insisting on tagging along—he couldn’t use the same method to get rid of her, not with Grandpa around. He had to avoid giving her the chance to complain.

Turning, he looked down at Su Yin, who seemed surprised he’d suddenly stopped. She wasn’t especially tall—maybe one-sixty-five—but her skin was pale and fine, and she had a quiet, gentle look. Especially her eyes—none of the pride he was used to seeing in the compound girls, only the calm ripple of water.

“You—”

“Comrade Gu Cheng’an,” Su Yin said before he could continue, “I know you have things to do. It’s fine—don’t worry about me. Go take care of your business.” She had her own errands to run anyway, and it wasn’t convenient with him around. Looking up at him, her expression was considerate. “As for your grandpa, I won’t say a word.”

Gu Cheng’an: “…?”