After finally squeezing onto the train, Song Ruan swiftly snatched a window seat for herself. Hugging her luggage, she plopped down and immediately closed her eyes, pretending to sleep.  

Those who were a step slower could only grumble and take the remaining seats. As the empty spots dwindled, the latecomers grew desperate.  

“That seat was mine first!”  

“Oh, so just because you saw it first, it’s yours? Well, I had my eye on it the second I boarded!”  

“How can you be so unreasonable?”  

“Ugh, screw you!”  

Two or three people bickered like rabid dogs over a single seat, some even trying to drag bystanders into their argument.  

Sensing someone trying to shove her aside in the chaos, Song Ruan braced herself firmly against the seat, unmoving, as if in a deep slumber.  

From this moment on, her butt was rooted to this seat. No one was getting her to budge an inch!  

Honestly, there was something oddly relaxing about sitting comfortably while everyone around her was frantic and shouting.  

Pretending turned into reality—Song Ruan actually dozed off.  

She was jolted awake by the violent slamming of a table.  

The train was rattling across an endless plain, the blazing sunlight reflecting off every blade of grass below.  

Her head, resting against the window, swayed with the motion of the carriage. The glare from the grass made her squint, momentarily disoriented about where she was.  

Before she could gather her thoughts, a sharp, righteous female voice scolded nearby:  

“Comrades, I’ve been observing you two for a while now! Your attitudes are highly problematic! We are educated youth, honored to venture into the vast countryside and forge new paths. We should embrace this mission with enthusiasm to contribute to our nation’s construction. Yet here you are, moping around like this—what kind of example is that?”  

A flustered rebuttal came immediately: “Comrade, we’re just feeling a little homesick after leaving home.”  

Peeking through half-lidded eyes, Song Ruan saw the speaker: a young woman with a blunt-cut bob, her bangs slicked back to reveal piercing eyes, every lash radiating militant zeal.  

The targets of her lecture were two young men—one frail and bespectacled, the other dark-skinned with a simple, honest face.  

“Excuses! Clearly, you’re clinging to the comforts of city life, unwilling to endure the hardships of rural labor. Your revolutionary spirit is lacking—you need criticism and re-education!”  

The bespectacled boy flushed red with frustration. “Stop slapping labels on us! Are we not even allowed to miss home?”  

“Yeah, exactly!”  

“You’re blowing this out of proportion, twisting things to fit your narrative. If anything, you’re the one sowing discord among the people!”  

“Right! Sowing Discord!”

The people around her were arguing back and forth heatedly, but Song Ruan had no intention of getting involved. She kept her eyes shut, pretending to sleep, though her ears were perked up high.  

She listened with great interest while silently critiquing the scene in her mind.  

These two guys may outnumber her, but the bespectacled one’s attacks are weak—barely passable as a combatant. The other one doesn’t even know how to fight back; at best, he’s just a hype man echoing the first guy. Combined, they’re still getting steamrolled by this girl.  

Tsk tsk tsk. Pathetic.

Song Ruan, thoroughly enjoying the drama, pricked up her ears like a donkey’s.  

Wait—why does this girl’s voice sound familiar?  

She frowned, trying hard to recall, but before she could place it, the bob-haired girl—unsatisfied with her imminent victory—scanned the crowd, looking to deliver a final blow.  

Song Ruan, still feigning sleep, suddenly felt a chill. Then, a hand clapped down on her shoulder:  

“Comrade, don’t you agree with what I’m saying?” 

Song Ruan: “…” 

Well, spectating isn’t without risks.

Wait a minute—

She remembered now. This was the same bob-haired girl who’d given that impassioned speech at the train station earlier.  

When she got no response, the girl persisted, shaking her shoulder. “Comrade? Comrade! Wake up!”  

Song Ruan could no longer keep up the act. She sat up with a sullen expression.  

The bob-haired girl sighed in relief and, without waiting for Song Ruan to fully open her eyes, rapid-fired a recap of the argument. She finished with, “Comrade, tell me—am I right or not?”  

This was exactly the kind of messy, lose-lose situation Song Ruan wanted no part in. Her eyes darted, and then—  

“Uhh uhh uhh!” She pointed at her throat, mouth agape in exaggerated distress.  

The bob-haired girl blinked. “You’re mute?”  

Puzzled, she added, “They let mute people join the rural program now?”  

Song Ruan shook her head and mumbled a few garbled syllables before resuming her “Uhh uhh uhh!”  

The girl, baffled by the melodic nonsense, raised her voice. “What did you say?”  

The bespectacled boy cut in, “She said her throat hurts. She can’t speak.”  

Song Ruan’s eyes lit up. She gave a thumbs-up and nodded vigorously.  

“Oh.” The bob-haired girl automatically accepted the explanation before remembering she was still mid-argument. She faltered, suddenly at a loss.  

The two boys, still resentful, also fell silent.  

Song Ruan glanced between them, then grabbed their hands, mimed tying them together with a big red bow, and gave them an encouraging pat.  

The bespectacled boy couldn’t help but laugh, and the tension in the air dissolved.

The interruption gave him a chance to collect his thoughts—realizing that continuing the argument would do him no good—so he adjusted his expression and took a step back first:  

“Comrade, upon reflection, you’re absolutely right. We’re going to the countryside to contribute to rural development, and we should approach it with a more positive attitude. You’re a comrade with high political awareness, and I should learn from you. But I also want to clarify—we were just feeling homesick, not clinging to city comforts.”  

Flattered by his praise and concession, the bob-haired girl couldn’t very well keep pressing the attack. “The Chairman said that those who correct their mistakes are good comrades, and we should welcome them. ‘No investigation, no right to speak’—I misunderstood you and must engage in self-criticism as well.”  

Though the other boy still looked somewhat resentful, the conflict was largely defused.  

The four of them stared at each other awkwardly for a moment before the bob-haired girl extended her hand first.  

“Well, ‘no discord, no concord’—let’s introduce ourselves properly. I’m Xiang Hongying, an educated youth from Hunan assigned to Heilongjiang. What about you?”  

(“No discord, no concord” — Conflict is needed to reach true harmony.)

Song Ruan’s heart skipped a beat at the familiar province name.  

The bespectacled boy chimed in, “You’re going to Heilongjiang too? What a coincidence!”  

“I’m Lin Xinping,” he said, then pointed to the darker-skinned boy. “He’s Li Bing. We’re also heading to Heilongjiang—specifically, Dongfeng Brigade, Huaiqi Commune, Dingyang County. How about you?”  

Holy shit!

Song Ruan’s hands trembled as she pulled out her rural assignment notice. Her eyes widened with each location he listed until, in utter despair, she set it down—every single word matched.

Fine, fine. Look on the bright side—at least these two don’t seem like the type to pick fights. Better than being stuck with Xiang Hongying, who clearly won’t let anyone off the hook. Sharing the same assignment with her? No peace in sight.

There’s no way this is a coincidence. Out of all the passengers on this massive train, from all over the country, with randomly grabbed seats—how did four educated youth with identical destinations end up in the same spot?!

“The light of revolution guides us! I was assigned to the exact same place!” Xiang Hongying stood up excitedly. “It seems we’ll be comrades-in-arms from now on!”  

Song Ruan’s heart stopped.  

My peaceful rural life—gone!

“Who’d want to be assigned with her?”  

Song Ruan thought she’d accidentally spoken aloud, but then noticed Li Bing’s mouth, still open mid-grumble. She exhaled in relief.  

Good. I’m not that unlucky.

Xiang Hongying, too enthusiastic to notice, turned to Song Ruan. “Comrade, what about you?”  

“Ah?” Song Ruan opened her mouth. She didn’t even need to fake it—her voice was already hoarse with profound grief. “…Me too.”  

Xiang Hongying clapped her hands. “This is the red star’s guidance! We must unite and work together to build the countryside!”  

Realizing they’d been assigned to the same place, the group made a conscious effort to chat more, covering personal backgrounds to future aspirations. Even the sulky Li Bing reluctantly joined in, stammering through the conversation—after all, they were heading to a remote, unfamiliar place where they’d likely see each other constantly. Getting familiar now meant having allies later.

For the most part, though, it was still Xiang Hongying who dominated the conversation, enthusiastically sharing her study notes on political quotations and impassioned reflections, while the other two chimed in with obligatory responses.  

Thank goodness I had the quick wit to play mute earlier, Song Ruan thought, watching as the two across from her grew increasingly lifeless. Otherwise, I’d be stuck as her hype man too.

A faint smirk tugged at her lips as she took in their expressions of quiet despair.  

Finally, Lin Xinping couldn’t take it anymore. He rummaged through his luggage, pulled out a metal cup, and stood up. “Comrade, I’m going to fetch some water. You’ve been talking for so long—want me to get you some too?”  

Xiang Hongying paused, considering, then nodded and dug out her own cup. “Thank you, comrade.”  

Lin Xinping gave a noncommittal hum, took the cup, and made his escape.  

Li Bing’s eyes lit up, and he scrambled to follow—only to be stopped by a firm hand on his shoulder. “Stay and watch our seats and luggage.”  

Song Ruan watched as Li Bing, left behind like a panicked chick abandoned by its mother to face a hawk alone, stared helplessly at his retreating friend. Then, realizing Xiang Hongying was gearing up for another speech, his eyes glazed over, his already dark face paling a shade.  

After a moment of desperate contemplation, he dug into his bag and pulled out a coarse cornbread bun. With visible reluctance, he broke off half and offered it to Xiang Hongying. “Here, comrade, have some.”  

Afraid she might refuse, he fumbled for words before finally blurting out, “It’s got wild herbs mixed in. Hope you don’t mind.”  

Xiang Hongying, who had been about to decline, immediately straightened. “Revolutionary forebears ate wild herbs to secure the good life we have today. We should be grateful—how could we ever look down on it?”  

She pulled a wheat-flour pancake from her own lunchbox, broke off a generous portion, and handed it to him. “Let’s trade!”  

Though the pancake had gone cold, the rich aroma of refined grain was still mouthwatering. Li Bing came from a poor family with many siblings, where mealtimes were a battlefield. Yet now, clutching the fragrant pancake, he looked miserable, only relaxing when Xiang Hongying took a bite of the cornbread bun and fell silent. He finally raised the pancake to his mouth—  

Just as Lin Xinping returned with the water.  

Between bites of bun and sips of water, Xiang Hongying was effectively muted.  

Li Bing took a huge bite.  

Song Ruan stifled a laugh.  

Then, suddenly, a piece of wheat pancake blocked her view. She looked up to see Xiang Hongying dividing the remaining portion into two, offering half to her and half to Lin Xinping.  

“Here, you eat too,” she said. “Let’s share the fruits of our socialist life together.”  

Wait, I get some too?

Instinctively sitting straighter, Song Ruan accepted it. This girl… might actually be alright. 

She wasn’t some spoiled young miss—she knew how precious food was these days. Not one to take without giving, she eagerly dug out her own homemade pancakes stuffed with pickled cucumber and sweet potato to share.  

Perhaps crushed during the boarding scramble, the pancakes were slightly misshapen, their murky greenish-yellow hue and jagged edges—some even squashed into strips—delivering an immediate visual shock to the group.

Song Ruan felt a rare pang of guilt and quickly defended, “They might not look great, but they taste fine!”  

“……”  

In the end, only Xiang Hongying took a piece. “Young communists must always remember past hardships while enjoying present comforts!”  

Song Ruan: “…”

Annoyed, she took a defiant bite of her own pancake. It’s actually not bad at all.

In her mind, the system cackled like a screeching chicken.  

Flustered, Song Ruan snapped, “Hmph!!!”

[Oh, ‘hmph’ my ass. I haven’t even called you out yet—host of the Roast Master System, pretending to be mute. Wow, just wow.]

“Why would I jump into a stranger’s argument? Only idiots pick sides for no reason and end up as someone else’s pawn.” She huffed again. “Better to sit back and enjoy the show as the ‘mute spectator.’”

When the system didn’t respond, she pressed her advantage: “Besides, you were clearly enjoying it too! I could hear you smacking your lips!”

The system’s focus instantly derailed as it exploded in outrage: “Who was smacking lips?! WHO?!” 

“Fine, fine, it was me, okay?” Song Ruan wasn’t about to argue over something so trivial.  

After a long silence, she added, “Next time, stock up on sunflower seeds. Way more fun than just smacking your lips.” 

[ . ]

The system sent a lone period to signify the end of the conversation.  

…  

A while later, it stealthily logged back in, quietly purchased two bags of sunflower seeds from the system store, and pulled up a livestream of the Song family’s current antics.  

[Wanna watch?]

it asked.  

“Hell yes!”