In the past, assigning daily production tasks was merely a formality for Dongfeng Brigade. The five teams had long-established routines, and everyone knew exactly what to do. However, things were different now with the arrival of new educated youths.  

These urban youths were naturally less capable than the locals when it came to farm work, and the newcomers were especially clueless. Who knew how city folks were raised? Some couldn’t even tell rice seedlings from wheat sprouts.  

When the first batch of educated youths arrived, the villagers had no experience dealing with them. They assumed that since these were intellectuals from big cities, how hard could manual labor be? So they sent them straight to the fields.  

Good heavens—it was no different from releasing a herd of wild boars into the farmland. Aside from mistaking wheat sprouts for weeds and hacking them away, even digging up sweet potatoes—a task as simple as pulling them whole from the soil—somehow turned into a disaster. With uncanny precision, every swing of their hoes split the potatoes clean in half.  

Realizing their mistake, they tried using sticks to dig instead, but that slowed them down so much they couldn’t finish the work. So they switched back to hoes—only to keep chopping the potatoes in half again and again. Frustrated, they stood on the ridges and wailed. That day was pure chaos—not only were the fields left half-tended, but the villagers also had to console these distraught youngsters.  

Thus, the villagers learned their lesson. Newly arrived educated youths wouldn’t be rushed into real work right away. They had to be trained first—starting with basic tasks like weeding and hoeing—and given a week to adjust before officially joining the production teams.  

But choosing who would train them was another matter. Supervising such hopeless newcomers meant regular production quotas would never be met. Since the villagers already disliked the educated youths, no one would agree to guide them if work points were calculated as usual.  

After some discussion, the brigade decided that regardless of task completion, those training the newcomers would receive a fixed seven work points per day. Considering even the hardest-working women could earn only eight points a day, getting seven just for supervising newbies was practically free points. Naturally, this became a coveted job—especially among the women.  

In the end, Aunt Daya emerged victorious from the fierce competition, thanks to her sharp tongue and domineering attitude.  

“Come on, new kids, follow me!” she said cheerfully, leading the way. The educated youths exchanged glances before trailing behind her like a line of baby chicks.  

She stopped at a plot on the far edge of the field. “Today’s job is clearing weeds from this patch. One row per person, four work points. First, I’ll teach you how to tell crops from weeds—don’t pull up the seedlings like those last idiots did.”  

The baby chicks listened to Aunt Daya’s mini-lesson while staring at the endless rows ahead, their faces filled with despair.  

Han Zhenzhen whimpered, “There’s so much…”  

“So much? So much?” Aunt Daya, who had been relishing the chance to educate these city kids, was annoyed by the interruption. “This is easy work arranged just to help you adjust. Just wait till you see what’s coming later.”  

Han Zhenzhen felt as if she’d been struck by lightning. She glanced down at her little leather shoes, now smeared with black mud, and her lips trembled as she fought back tears.  

But Aunt Daya didn’t let her start bawling. “You, the sniveling one—come here. I’ll show you how to use a hoe first.”  

Han Zhenzhen’s tears were forced back, and she sniffled as she shuffled over.

Their group was only given one hoe to share, and since using a hoe required some skill, while Aunt Daya was teaching Han Zhenzhen, the others started by pulling weeds in their assigned rows.  

Song Ruan put on her work gloves and got straight to it. She had weeded before, and after taking the Body Strengthening Pill, she was now bursting with energy—enough to dive into the ocean and catch turtles. Though she deliberately pretended to be inexperienced, at least she didn’t mistake crops for weeds like the truly clueless ones.  

“You’re a good one, girl. A bit slow, but thorough, and no mistakes,” Aunt Daya said, strolling over and inspecting the cleared patch with a satisfied nod. “Auntie didn’t misjudge you.”  

“Y’all better learn from this!” she called out to the others.  

Xiang Hongying shot her a glance, pressed her lips in defiance, and bent down to furiously yank out weeds—even the tiny sprouts peeking from the furrows weren’t spared.  

With the two female comrades working so diligently, the male students couldn’t afford to lag behind. Lin Xinping kept a straight face as he weeded, his glasses sliding down his sweaty nose. He pushed them back up, leaving a smudge of dirt on his face.  

Only Han Zhenzhen was left awkwardly poking at the ground with the hoe, struggling to make progress.  

Seeing that the work-point recorder hadn’t arrived yet, Aunt Daya plopped down on the ridge, leisurely fanning herself with her straw hat as she watched the youths toil away. Ah, what a cushy job. If only every day could be like this.

Suddenly, a shrill scream tore through the field, followed by a dull thwack—like wood hitting flesh—and then the sound of someone collapsing to the ground.  

Several educated youths sprang up. “Comrade Han!”  

Song Ruan reacted fastest, dropping her work and rushing to Han Zhenzhen’s side. “Zhenzhen! What happened?”  

Heh heh heh—no more work for now.

Han Zhenzhen had a huge lump swelling on her forehead. Overwhelmed by pain, exhaustion, and now comfort, the grievances of the past few days burst forth like a flood, tears streaming down her face.  

The commotion drew the attention of others working nearby, and the brigade leader strode over, his expression stern, hands clasped behind his back.  

Aunt Daya: “…”  

“What happened? What happened?” she hurried over, her voice rising in alarm at the sight of Han Zhenzhen’s throbbing bump and hysterical sobbing. “Why’s she got a horn growing on her head now?”  

Lin Xinping, who had been closest, carefully explained, “Well, Comrade Han might’ve been a bit tired, so she… set down the hoe to rest. Then a worm suddenly popped up, startling her. She jumped back, accidentally stepped on the blade, and the handle swung up and… hit her head.”  

Song Ruan: “…”  

Aunt Daya: “…”  

The brigade leader, who had rushed over expecting some major incident: “…”  

Even Han Zhenzhen’s crying paused for a split second. Then, as if doubling down, she buried her face deeper into Song Ruan’s arms and wailed even louder.  

The brigade leader: In all my years, I’ve never seen someone manage to whack themselves with a hoe. And she has the nerve to cry about it?

But what could you do with these delicate city-bred youngsters?  

He wiped his face in resignation. “We don’t even have a barefoot doctor here. The nearest clinic is at the commune. If it’s not too serious…” Maybe just tough it out?

Song Ruan, sensing her chance for a free day off slipping away, pinched Han Zhenzhen’s chin and tilted her face toward the brigade leader.  

Whoa. That was one impressive lump—jutting out like an ox horn.  

Han Zhenzhen hunched over, mouth half-open, looking like she might vomit.  

He changed his tune. “Alright, take the day off. And—you there, help her back and look after her. Come back to work in the afternoon.”  

Song Ruan slung Han Zhenzhen’s arm over her shoulders and hauled her up. “Got it, brigade leader!”  

Fortunately, Han Zhenzhen was still conscious enough to walk. Though she sniffled the whole way, she managed to stagger back to the educated youth dormitory on her own.  

But she was genuinely unwell—too weak to even speak. The moment they returned, she collapsed onto the kang (heated bed). Song Ruan brewed her a cup of brown sugar water. Han Zhenzhen drank it with red-rimmed eyes and soon drifted off, still whimpering for her parents in her sleep. Paired with that swollen lump, she looked downright pitiful.  

Song Ruan left her undisturbed and moved a chair under the eaves to bask in the sun.  

As noon approached, wisps of smoke curled from chimneys across the village—the handiwork of women who’d returned early to cook lunch.  

After a brief deliberation, Song Ruan stood up, grabbed the brown sugar, and headed to the brigade leader’s house.  

Sure enough, his wife was among those back early for meal prep.  

The woman had just plucked a handful of peppers from their private plot when she turned to see an unfamiliar educated youth smiling at her doorstep. “Who’re you looking for?”  

“Is this the brigade leader’s home?” Song Ruan shifted slightly, revealing the bag of brown sugar in her hand—a generous half-pound at least. “I’m one of the new educated youth. My name’s Song Ruan.”  

The wife’s eyes lit up, and she warmly ushered her inside. “Yes, yes! Come in, child. Your uncle’ll be back soon.”  

With a smile, Song Ruan pressed a jar of snowflake cream into her hands. “The moment I saw you, I felt like I was looking at my own elder sister. This is her favorite cream—why don’t you try it?”  

The wife clutched the cream, utterly charmed. “Oh my, I’m much too old to be your sister!”  

Just then, the brigade leader strode in, gripping his long-stemmed pipe and grumbling, “Woman, you wouldn’t believe how useless these new educated youth are. In all my years, I’ve never seen someone whack themselves with a hoe—”  

“You old fool!” his wife bellowed. “Watch your mouth!”  

“Why’re you yelling—?” The brigade leader looked up blankly—then froze at the sight of one of said “useless educated youth” standing in his yard, holding a bag of brown sugar.  

“Uh.” He stopped mid-step, his weathered face going slack.

The brigade leader’s wife quickly stepped in to smooth things over: “Xiao Song here has business with you. You two go inside and talk. Song, let me get you some water.”  

(Xiao= Little)

The brigade leader nodded eagerly. “Right, right! Come on in. What did you need, Comrade Song?”  

With the olive branch extended and her own request pending, Song Ruan naturally didn’t press the earlier comment. She followed him inside and stated her purpose.  

“You want to move out?” The brigade leader choked on his pipe smoke, coughing violently as he shook his head, his dialect slipping out in his urgency. “Nah, can’t do.” 

Song Ruan hurried to clarify: “Brigade Leader, I’ll cover all the material and labor costs for building the house myself.”  

“Ain’t about the money.” His frown deepened enough to crush mosquitoes. He took a deep breath, hesitating. “How do I put this…” 

Song Ruan pressed further: “Is it about the homestead land? I know the educated youth dormitory doesn’t have space for another house. How about this—just allocate me any plot. If I return to the city later, the house goes to the brigade.”  

“Tch, ain’t about the land either.”

“It’s just… you’re a young girl livin’ alone. Not safe.” 

He couldn’t bring himself to say outright: Our village Party secretary is a lecherous old coot who’s already got his eye on you. Instead of layin’ low, you wanna live separately? That’s like a lamb waltzin’ into a tiger’s den. His face flushed with awkward frustration.  

Song Ruan understood but, with her current “Dissing Points” insufficient to outright purchase a “Strength to Topple Mountains” skill (and unwilling to splurge for a demo anyway), she played dumb: “Our brigade has such honest folk—everyone’s hearts glow red toward the sun! If anything happens, the masses will help me.”  

Don’t be so naïve! There are bad eggs among the masses too!

The brigade leader barely stopped himself from blurting it out. Swallowing his words, he kept waving his hands. “Nah, can’t do.”  

Song Ruan refused to give up: “Or maybe you know a trustworthy family with extra space? I could rent… or stay temporarily?”  

Fat chance! If even I’m worried, what if someone caves to the secretary’s pressure? They’d just make up an excuse to step out, and you’d be done for.

“Nope, nope. Take your sugar and go back.” He paused, then added sternly, “Stick with your fellow educated youths. Don’t wander off alone.”

His wife, who’d been silently listening, finally intervened. Torn between relinquishing the brown sugar and returning the coveted snowflake cream, she yanked her husband aside and hissed: “Who says there’s no option? What about our nephew’s place? That big house just sittin’ empty!”