Director Guo was startled and reached out to pull Wang Dapao away, not wanting him to go.

He had already seen through it: this old lady Mao Mu was undeserving of the reputation of the “White-Haired Girl” and was quite unreasonable.

“You, Guo, you big lecher, you’re all dazzled by Chen Siyu. If you keep helping her, I’ll report you to the complaint committee and expose your lecherous behavior!” Mao Mu’s words scared Director Guo into silence.

A lecher scares others, but also can frighten the wicked!

Chen Siyu gently comforted, “Director Guo, why don’t you come along too? It’s a good chance to meet my leaders.”

Mao Mu patted Wang Dapao, “Hurry up and walk faster.”

Director Guo was helpless but had no choice but to follow.

The Opera Troupe was a fresh, new place where ordinary people rarely got in. Once inside, everyone was stunned by the Western-style posters lining the corridor walls—things you’d never see outside.

The Western costumes were different from traditional Chinese ones, all the opera performers dressed in funnel-shaped outfits.

A serious person like Director Guo blushed just looking.

But Mao Mu had seen foreigners before. Seeing Director Guo so shocked, she sneered, remembering that before liberation, she’d seen movies with foreign dancers flashing their bare behinds—called Western spectacles.

Nowadays, these youngsters were just a bunch of bumpkins, completely inexperienced!

Although Director Guo was uncultured, Wang Dapao even more so. As they walked, they suddenly noticed a room full of girls wearing tight leggings, doing splits.

Staring at those beautiful legs, Wang Dapao involuntarily walked over.

Mao Mu meanwhile called out, “Where are Chen Siyu’s leaders? Come out and meet me!”

In this extremely conservative era, even Wang Dapao, who often touched girls’ butts, had never seen girls wear tight leggings, so while Mao Muu searched for leaders, his eyes were glued to the dancers.

A wrong step, a yelp, and he bumped his head on the doorframe, stars flashing before his eyes.

Fortunately, Mao Mu was holding her son’s neck; otherwise, he’d have been thrown out.

Seeing her son hurt, Mao Mu was very worried, “Son, did I hurt you?” Then she shouted, “Chen Siyu, where are your leaders? Why haven’t they come?”

Now it got even better. Hearing outsiders arrived, the dance troupe girls all crowded to the practice room door to watch the commotion.

Wang Dapao, being watched by a group of pretty girls, went weak in the knees, crashing into the wall along with his mother.

Mao Mu’s head was stunned; she immediately groaned, “Dapao, can’t you walk steadily?”

A stern voice rang from the stairs: “What’s going on?”

Chen Siyu saw Director Ding arriving and went up to greet him: “Director, my brother’s grandma is paralyzed and needs my care. I want to ask for about a week’s leave to take care of her. Is that alright?”

Actually, someone like Chen Siyu, a minor assistant, wasn’t indispensable to the troupe.

But since it was a public unit, asking for leave wasn’t that easy.

Moreover, her explanation had holes.

Director Ding frowned, “Your brother’s grandma isn’t your grandma, right? Why do you have to take care of her if she’s sick?”

Chen Siyu showed difficulty on her face, “Anyway, she insists that I care for her.”

Just then, Wang Dapao, who looked like a drunken pig crashing around, distracted by the silver bell-like laughter of the dance girls, was being shaken by Mao Mu. He staggered and fell to the ground with a thud.

Director Ding sharply asked, “Dance troupe girls, someone has fallen—why aren’t you helping?”

The dancers rushed to help him, but Wang Dapao’s gaze and drooling were telling.

Looking at the girls’ tight pants, his eyes were glued and wouldn’t move.

Director Ding, sharp as ever, said, “Siyu, that guy is suspicious.”

Chen Siyu gave a smile full of complexity, “That’s my brother’s uncle.”

Just then, Mao Muu, who was being carried, saw Director Ding and pointed at him: “You must be Chen Siyu’s leader, right? I’m Mao Mu, the living White-Haired Girl of North City; you must know me.”

Director Ding certainly knew her—from complaint meetings and from hearing about how Chen Siyu had been pale and exhausted after just a few days at work, all because she was supporting this “living White-Haired Girl.”

Poor Siyu, working so hard every day, looking sickly, even having to pack meatballs to bring home.

She was basically supporting an old lady.

At that moment, a strong feeling of guilt rose inside Director Ding.

But Mao Mu was unaware; she arrogantly asserted her status, “I have to have a heart-to-heart talk with you.”

Director Ding had to save face and respond politely, “Please give your instructions, I’m listening.”

“Chen Siyu has serious ideological problems and is not suitable to stay in such a good unit as the Opera Troupe. Speaking as a representative of the working masses, I suggest you send her down to… an island that’s bombed daily by enemy planes!” Mao Mu said bluntly.

Director Ding tried not to hold a grudge against Mao Mu, but seeing the two big bumps on Wang Dapao’s head and his still lustful eyes, all she felt was disgust and contempt toward Mao Mu.

“I will consider it,” she said, then sternly added, “Chen Siyu, come to my office.”

Mao Mu heard that tone and thought she had affected Chen Siyu’s future—feeling proud and pleased with herself!

Little did she know that when Director Ding called Chen Siyu into the office, she reached out and gently patted her shoulder, her eyes reddening: “Having such a difficult, unreasonable relative, life must be very hard for you.”

“I’m used to it.” Those three words said it all.

That damned little brat, to hell with her.

From this moment on, in the leader’s eyes, Chen Siyu was a quietly enduring pure flower.

She had successfully cleaned her image!

Director Ding continued, “You can apply for leave, but what are your living conditions like? Can you guarantee you’ll keep up your daily basics?”

Chen Siyu shrugged, “We have a gatehouse room. My brother and I share one bed. With his grandmother moving in, there’ll be even more people.”

Director Ding sighed, “What if you can’t keep up your basics?”

Look at this leader, always thinking about her subordinates. Just for a leader like this, Chen Siyu felt her life was not in vain.

She thought it over and told her about the Opera Troupe’s plan to have her do a production of The White-Haired Girl.

Normally, eating the Opera Troupe’s food but dancing for the Song and Dance Troupe would make Director Ding angry. But considering Chen Siyu’s situation, she said, “I won’t blame you. Since you have to care for the patient, use this time to focus on creation and give the Troupe a satisfactory piece. If you can really become a director…”

Patting her shoulder again, Director Ding spoke softly, “I formally apologize for deliberately making things difficult for you before.”

With the leader saying this, Chen Siyu’s little temper flared up.

But money—or the lack of it—defeated the hero. She shrugged, “I have to draw the whole script, but I can’t even afford a sketchbook. Besides the sketchbook, I also need watercolor pens.”

To intimidate the veteran director Bai Shan, Chen Siyu had to submit an unprecedented, exceptional piece.

But in this poor era, paper was precious. A pad of letter paper cost eighty cents, and sketching required lots of Xuan paper and colored pens—things she didn’t have and had to ask Director Ding for.

“I’ll get them for you. Here are three sketchbooks and three boxes of watercolors. If that’s not enough, ask again,” Director Ding said.

Chen Siyu saluted crisply. Those supplies cost ten yuan, and she had no money.

Director Ding poked Chen Siyu’s forehead with a finger: “You little brat, if you ever have grievances, come talk to us adults. You’re just a kid—don’t try to bear everything alone, got it?”

Chen Siyu nodded, tears rolling down her cheeks involuntarily.

She couldn’t hold back the hot tears because in this era, there was scheming and intrigue.

But even more, there was sincere mutual help between people.

Now with leave approved and supplies in hand, Chen Siyu could focus on her creation.

She took the bus outside the Opera Troupe, all the way to the ink factory.

At the department store, Chen Siyu had a friend named Ge Mingzhu, who lived in Sanliqiao and was familiar with Mao Mu’s family.

At first glance, seeing Mao Mu’s family with Chen Siyu, Ge Mingzhu came out of the store and asked, “Is that your relative?”

“Yeah,” Chen Siyu replied with an indescribable look.

Ge Mingzhu noticed the two big bumps on Wang Dapao’s head and asked, “Why does he have such big bumps on his head?”

Chen Siyu smiled and whispered, “He got dizzy looking at the dance troupe girls’ thighs after entering the Opera Troupe and bumped his head.”

Ge Mingzhu couldn’t help but warn, “Siyu, he’s a lecher and likes to mess around with girls’ butts. Be careful.”

Another clerk, Ye Ling, gasped, “Someone’s a lecher? Ge Mingzhu, is he making a move on you?”

Ge Mingzhu got angry: “Ye Ling, are you crazy? I’m just warning Siyu. Why are you slandering me? If you say that, how can I find a boyfriend or get married?”

Lechers were common these days, but few got caught because girls were ashamed to admit being harassed.

Chen Siyu had a solution: “No matter whom he messes with, we’re all victims. We don’t go after victims, only the wolves. Ye Ling, tell the girls in your dorm that there’s a wolf here, and they should be careful going out after dark or using the bathroom.”

She paused, then added, “Wolves like to hide in public restrooms, secretly watching girls.”

Ye Ling was alarmed and nodded, “Got it. I’m off work early today—I’ll go tell them now.”

Mao Mu had many acquaintances at the ink factory. Upon entering, she naturally chatted loudly with them and specifically went to have dinner with Widow Zhang to discuss how to drive Chen Siyu away.

But Chen Siyu dragged Chen Xuan’ang out of the courtyard and found a dried-up well in a dead-end alley, laid out some newspapers to sit on, then took out a fist-sized small pine nut sausage, broke it in half, and handed him a piece while keeping one herself.

Chen Xuan’ang bit into it and exclaimed, “Sis, there are actually pine nuts inside this sausage!”

The pine nuts blended perfectly with the meat’s flavor—truly delicious.

“Tastes good, right? Once you’re done, go to the boiler room and grab some straw. Make sure to bring a lot,” Chen Siyu said.

This special northeastern ham was so fragrant.

Chen Xuan’ang didn’t want to finish it all at once. He wanted to save some in his school bag to nibble on tomorrow.

But his sister wouldn’t allow it; she stared at him and insisted he finish it on the spot.

When Chen Siyu first came, this kid was severely malnourished with deep dark circles.

But now his cheeks were much rosier. Though reluctant, he obediently finished the sausage in a few bites, licked his lips, and then asked, “Sis, why do I have to collect straw?”

“Of course it’s for Wang Dapao to sleep on,” Chen Siyu said.

Chen Xuan’ang was dumbfounded again. “He’s definitely going to take my mom’s bed. There’s no way he’d sleep on the floor.”

No wonder Xuan’ang was reluctant to finish eating—the pine nut sausage without high-tech processing was really fragrant.

Wiping his mouth reluctantly, Chen Siyu said, “It’s just one sentence. Wang Dapao will obediently go sleep in the outhouse.”

Xuan’ang was shocked: Wang Dapao would willingly go sleep in the outhouse? That’s impossible!

What trick was this quirky older sister trying to pull this time?

After they ate, the two siblings wandered around outside for a while before heading home. As soon as they entered the yard, Aunt Guo was waiting for them.

She first said, “Mao Mu is here!” Then she whispered, “I just went to the public restroom and heard from the neighbors that Mao Mu’s son likes to molest women.”

This gossip was mainly spread by Ye Ling’s big mouth, who had blown up the rumor about Wang Dapao molesting women.

“No way. Wang Dapao’s so young and he’s already a molester?” Chen Siyu whispered, but being a leading actress in the performing arts troupe, her voice carried far enough that almost everyone in the yard heard her.

Mao Mu and Widow Zhang were chatting on the steps and upon hearing this, Mao Mu got angry: “You little bitch, what nonsense are you talking about?”

“I’m just repeating what I heard. How is that nonsense?” Chen Siyu shrugged.

Just then, another young wife came into the yard, coughing and saying, “I heard there’s a pervert who only molests women around here. I’m so scared I didn’t even dare go to the bathroom—felt like I’d burst.”

“Did someone touch you?” Chen Siyu said, but glanced at Wang Dapao with a sharp eye.

Wang Dapao immediately jumped up: “Damn it, I’ve been sitting since I got here. I haven’t even been to the bathroom. You bunch of old stinky women only know how to falsely accuse good people. I don’t even want to look at your old asses.”

But by saying that, wasn’t he basically confessing?

Everyone in the yard was shocked, and Aunt Guo pointed a finger at him: “So you really do like molesting women?”