Chapter 16: The Roaring One

Because she had cried earlier today, all the foundation on Chen Siyu’s face had worn off. Her small face, pink and radiant like a peach blossom in early March, looked fresh and glowing. She had been careless—wanting to look pretty while strolling through the market but had forgotten to touch up her makeup.

Now, with Widow Zhang tailing her, if she tried to reapply her powder on the spot, she’d be caught red-handed.

So, despite Widow Zhang’s nonstop mocking along the way, Chen Siyu pretended not to hear a thing, hugging her mirror as she walked straight into the house.

“Look at your face, that complexion of yours—do you have the nerve to claim you’re sick?” Widow Zhang clicked her tongue repeatedly. “You’ve been powdering up, haven’t you? No wonder your washbasin water is always murkier than everyone else’s at night.”

People in this era were too straightforward. Even though Widow Zhang was a henchwoman of Old Mao, she had once sympathized with Chen Siyu. But after observing her closely for a few days, she realized something was off. And today, she finally caught Chen Siyu’s slip-up.

Right now, she was ready to expose Chen Siyu’s “pathetic little scam” in front of everyone.

Of course, considering Chen Siyu had humiliated her by grabbing meat first and had been despised by the neighbors, Widow Zhang planned to thoroughly shame her first before calling everyone over to reveal how this “crafty little fox” had dared to deceive even the leadership.

But what she didn’t realize was the timeless truth: Villains meet their end by talking too much.

She thought Chen Siyu had already been shameless enough to fake an illness, but she never expected her to be so brazen—calm, unapologetic, even unruffled. Chen Siyu gave a couple of light coughs, then suddenly softened and leaned over, “Boohoo, Auntie, I really am terribly ill. Come on, carry me. Carry me to see Old Mao.”

Widow Zhang was dumbfounded by her shamelessness. “You’re obviously faking it! Hey, everyone, come take a look! This girl’s pretending to be sick!”

She went on, “And you even slandered Old Mao, saying he groped your butt, and beat him till his head was full of lumps. That old eunuch—he’s a cripple who can’t even function as a man! Chen Siyu, how dare you?”

Chen Siyu originally intended to tear into her right then and there, but she caught sight of little Yanyan shrinking timidly in the corner, quietly sobbing. She lowered her voice and said, “Auntie, bitter melon meets yellow lotus; we’re both bitter fates. Let’s cut each other some slack. You go home and make dinner for your child, and I’ll take some time to fix my makeup.”

This level of shamelessness stunned Widow Zhang. She put her hands on her hips, fuming, “Ptui! You slander an old eunuch for groping you, cheat Old Mao out of his medical money, and now you want me to spare you? I’m going to expose you right here and now! I’ll tell the entire courtyard you’re a shameless hussy, send you off to the labor camp. Let’s see you play your little tricks over there!”

Chen Siyu, in her previous life, had clawed her way to principal dancer in a ballet troupe where every person harbored eight hidden agendas.

Even after losing the use of her legs, she had started over, working her way up to top choreographer—twenty years of it!

She had long seen through Widow Zhang and Old Mao’s relationship. It was only out of pity—for a newly widowed woman with a small daughter—that she had left her alone.

But if Widow Zhang wanted to escalate this into an official report, it would be a different matter entirely.

Faking illness to swindle money and assaulting an old eunuch—either offense could send her straight to a labor camp.

Chen Siyu’s principle was simple: she could back down once, but would never let anyone step on her head.

With the gentlest of voices, she said the coldest words: “I see now. So, the old eunuch groped your butt in exchange for delivering you all that coal, huh? But honestly, you didn’t need to tell me that.”

Her voice, trained from years of performing in leading opera roles, was soft but piercingly clear.

And with just that one sentence, the entire courtyard exploded. Aunt Guo, who had been washing vegetables, turned her head, “Little Zhang, don’t tell me you and Old Mao… Eh? Come to think of it, you’ve really been burning chunk coal lately.”

Unfazed, Chen Siyu calmly reapplied powder to her face right in front of Widow Zhang.

But now, none of the neighbors cared about Chen Siyu’s powder. All eyes were locked onto Widow Zhang.

Panicked, Widow Zhang dashed to the door and started shouting, “Everyone, Chen Siyu’s a liar! She’s faking being sick! She’s slandering me too! Ever since my husband died three months ago, it’s Old Mao who’s been helping me. I even call him ‘Dad.’ He’s an old eunuch, a broken man! How could he possibly grope me?”

She wanted to drag everyone inside to witness Chen Siyu’s shamelessness, but Chen Siyu’s trained stage voice rang out once again, redirecting attention: “Even if he didn’t grope you, accepting his coal is still sabotaging socialism, isn’t it?”

Sabotaging socialism was a serious accusation. Director Guo emerged from his house and immediately turned towards Widow Zhang’s home.

Widow Zhang let out a shrill scream as the entire two-section courtyard’s residents gathered to watch the commotion.

Chen Xuan’ang, who had just returned with water, stood there stunned, bewildered by the escalating chaos.

Moments later, Director Guo actually unearthed two whole sacks of coal chunks from Widow Zhang’s home.

Now the matter was serious. This would require reporting to the Ideological Committee.

Both pitiful parties, Widow Zhang and Old Mao, fell to their knees, crying buckets. Old Mao kept defending himself, saying he had always treated Widow Zhang as his own daughter, that he pitied her lonely, widowed life, and had quietly given her coal to help.

He swore to heaven he had never groped Widow Zhang.

Widow Zhang also swore repeatedly, insisting she only took some coal to burn and had a clear, innocent relationship with the old eunuch.

Eunuch or widow, both were pitiable souls. Though the neighbors sympathized, no one dared speak up for them. Amidst the curling smoke of cooking fires, they quietly went about their chores, pretending the wailing and sobbing were just background noise.

Just as Widow Zhang thought her fate was sealed, Chen Siyu suddenly stepped out and said, “Director Guo, I must have misheard earlier. Widow Zhang didn’t say the eunuch groped her butt; she said the eunuch wanted to eat chicken bones. Besides, the boiler room’s been short-staffed. Now that Xuan’ang’s quitting, and since Widow Zhang doesn’t have a job, why not…”

Before she could finish, Factory Director’s wife, Miao Qing, chimed in, “Exactly! A pauper meeting a beggar—both are pitiful. No need to escalate this to the Ideological Committee. Better to let Widow Zhang help out in the boiler room and make up for her mistake.”

Clearly, Widow Zhang was more than willing. With a sudden hiccup, she stopped crying and stood obediently in place.

Chen Siyu continued, “But Aunt Zhang can’t be working for free. Since Old Mao earns ten yuan a month, she ought to get five yuan.”

Widow Zhang’s head snapped up. Staring at Chen Siyu, her eyes were filled with shock and wild joy.

In that moment, she completely forgot Chen Siyu was a “liar.” All her attention was now fixated on that five yuan.

She had no job, and her husband’s pension was about to run out. A sudden five-yuan monthly income was like a giant pie falling from the sky—pure windfall.

Wasn’t Chen Siyu the notorious troublemaker everyone spat on?

Yet, she actually came up with such a clever idea that could bring in money. Zhang Widow’s brain completely froze.

Among the neighbors, there were no born villains. Director Guo thought it over and realized this was actually a pretty good solution. He went into the inner courtyard to report to the factory director, and before long, he came back out, called over Old Mao and Zhang Widow, and formally announced that Old Mao’s wages would be split in half with Zhang Widow. The two of them would now share the task of tending the boiler.

Of course, if they ever dared to “chip away at socialism” again, they’d both be considered remnants of capitalism and cut off accordingly.

Thus, what began as a major scandal ended up with a surprising twist—resolving in the form of simply adding another hand to the boiler room.

Chen Xuan’ang returned with a bucket of water, poured it into the basin for his sister, and sighed.

For lunch, Chen Siyu had only a small piece of braised hairtail fish. Now that she had some ration tickets, she had also bought eggs, seaweed, and tomatoes. She shredded the hairtail and stir-fried it with vegetables, made an egg drop soup, and soon, the kitchen was filled with the aroma of a delicious dinner.

As she scooped rice into bowls, she noticed her younger brother looking downcast and asked, “What’s wrong? Was I too ruthless and scared you?”

It took a while before the sullen boy mumbled, “Zhang Widow’s stupid, and Old Mao’s devious. Now you’ve tied them together. Doesn’t that give them more reason and opportunity to conspire against you?”

So, he wasn’t worried that his sister’s heart was too black—he was worried her heart was too soft?

No wonder the novel described him as a “Loyal Dog Brother.”

A loyal dog doesn’t question right or wrong; he’s simply loyal to his sister.

Chen Siyu was touched, but also felt that this kid could be a little too harsh.

Of course, she had to explain the current situation to Xuan’ang.

She said, “First, Old Mao might be despicable, but he’s just an old eunuch—he can’t stir up any real trouble. As for Zhang Widow, she’s a pitiable woman raising a child on her own. The only reason she followed Mao Mu’s lead was because she was poor and desperate. Now that she’ll be earning five yuan a month, it’s not much, but enough to get by. For the sake of her child, she won’t go looking for trouble so easily. Who knows? She might even become our friend someday.”

Chen Xuan’ang, though a bit scheming himself, was once again left baffled by his sister’s thinking.

Zhang Widow was Mao Mu’s most loyal spy. How could she possibly become their friend?

He couldn’t figure it out.

Just as they were about to start eating, someone knocked on the door.

Chen Siyu greeted them with a smile: “Sister Miao, come in and have dinner?” It was the factory director’s wife, Miao Qing.

“You even have hairtail fish? That oil-cooked aroma is mouthwatering,” Miao Qing said, swallowing.

Chen Siyu smiled again: “It’s the meat dish from the art troupe’s lunch. I brought it back to share with my brother.”

“You only had vegetables for lunch then? You’ve been working so hard. Aren’t you afraid of going hungry?” Miao Qing asked, a bit incredulous.

Chen Siyu sighed, “Given our family’s situation, if there’s meat, both my brother and I should have a bite. How could I eat it all myself?”

Miao Qing was friends with Zhang Widow and knew about her recent widowhood. She also knew Old Mao had been helping her out of pity. After today’s fiasco, where it almost turned into a scandal about a eunuch groping a widow, Miao Qing had been quite upset.

But now that Zhang Widow was assigned to the boiler room and given a steady income, this unexpected twist made Miao Qing rather pleased.

Truth be told, Miao Qing had always looked down on Chen Siyu.

But seeing her bring even a morsel of meat back home for her younger brother, Miao Qing’s bias softened considerably.

She took out a thick wad of money and said, “About the rent—since the leadership has already approved it, you’ll get the majority. But the factory is withholding thirty yuan, which you’ll need to hand over to Mao Mu along with a report on today’s incident. When the time comes, you should go with her. I’ve also heard Mao Mu intends to move in with you to take care of you and Xuan’ang.”

Chen Siyu had anticipated this, but she pretended to be surprised, “But there’s only this one small gatehouse. Where would she stay?”

Miao Qing pursed her lips, “Look around—whose home isn’t crowded with eight or ten people? You’ll just have to squeeze in.”

The situation was even more dire than Chen Siyu had expected. Mao Mu was so determined to drive her out that she was even willing to move into the Ink Factory herself.

“Don’t worry, Auntie. Though I’m not in the best health, I’m still young. How could I possibly let Mao Mu take care of me? Of course, I’ll be the one taking care of her.” As she spoke, Chen Siyu pressed her hand to her chest and coughed lightly.

Seeing her pale and frail appearance, struggling to carry a slop bucket, Miao Qing couldn’t bear it any longer. She grabbed the bucket and whispered, “Endure it for a while. Mao Mu attends a grievance meeting once a month. If you serve her well and keep her happy, she might praise you at the meeting. That would be an honor for you, the factory, and the art troupe. But if she criticizes you, you’ll be infamous across the entire Northern City.”

Her tone represented Director Gao’s attitude—the money would be given, but in life, for the sake of the bigger picture, Chen Siyu had to serve Mao Mu to her satisfaction.

Chen Siyu, resilient as ever, patted her chest and coughed: “Cough… I’ll get it done!”

After seeing off Miao Qing, Chen Xuan’ang stared at the small remaining piece of hairtail fish, “Didn’t you say this meat was given by others? So it’s actually what you saved for me. You’ve been saving meat every day so I could eat it?”

Chen Siyu saved every piece of meat she could to fatten up this skinny kid and help him grow taller.

But she had no patience for sentimental drama.

Seeing her brother about to get mushy, she immediately warned, “If you dare not eat it, I’ll bring it home every day and feed it to the dog right in front of you.”

Chen Siyu, the supposed delicate little white flower, was in fact a thorny rose—specialized in shutting down emotional nonsense.

The boy promptly gobbled up the fish, then meticulously cleaned the dishes, wiped down the table and floor, and after washing his hands, he finally noticed two music scores lying on the side.

Opening one titled Roarers, he suddenly gasped, “Sis, this is actually Fate! I used to have the cassette tape, but Mao Mu sold it.”

He began humming, “I’ve only listened to this piece a few times, but you don’t know how much I love it.”

After flipping through the score for a while, he leaned over with his big, innocent, and clear eyes blinking, “Sis, you…”

He was probably about to ask, “Sis, you’re so good to me, aren’t you?”