Chapter 4: Laughed Out Loud

The sound of gongs and drums on the street gradually faded as the sent-off educated youths departed, and with that, the festive commotion finally dispersed.

Supported by her father, Chen Nianqin hobbled through the door. Inside, she saw Feng Hui filling out a work placement form for the Arts Troupe. Neatly written on the form was her own name. Tears welled up in Nianqin’s eyes.

Scenes she had once watched on a movie screen in her past life flashed vividly in her mind: Chen Siyu performing on stage, basking in the limelight, while she herself toiled under the scorching sun, bent over in wheat fields, struggling through cassava groves, and rolling in muddy puddles under torrential rains. One basked in glory; the other endured hardship and suffering. The memories made her tremble.

Fate had finally given her a chance. This time, she had reclaimed everything that was rightfully hers.

She was just about to express her feelings when her gaze landed on another document on the table—a household registration transfer application form, filled out with Chen Siyu’s name.

“Mom, didn’t Siyu already go to the countryside? Why didn’t she take her household registration with her?” Chen Nianqin asked.

Feng Hui explained, “She couldn’t bear to leave us. She doesn’t want to go to the countryside, so she’s applying to move her registration back to her original household.”

In an instant, all those sweet lies from her past life came flooding back: how Siyu had boasted about how wonderful life in the countryside was, tricking her into going, promising to send her good clothes, quality fabrics, and delicious food—but once she left, Siyu completely forgot about her. Even when Siyu came to perform in the village, Nianqin had struggled to the front row, shouting for her sister, but Siyu, afraid of being embarrassed, pretended not to recognize her. Every vile deed resurfaced vividly.

And then there was Chen Xuan’ang, that boy was a piano prodigy. In her past life, Siyu had completely ignored him too. Even when he was sick and bedridden, longing to see his sister, Siyu had refused to visit, worried that his “bad background” would tarnish her own reputation. Siyu suddenly having a conscience now?

Ridiculous.

She was only good at seducing men for food and drink, shamelessly acting coy, scheming to marry into a powerful family. Bah!

“Mom, why didn’t you force her onto the truck? She’s staying behind just to harm us!” Nianqin shouted.

Feng Hui began to suspect her daughter might be lying. Besides, Siyu was already planning to remove herself from their household registration—why was Nianqin still making a fuss? Clearly, she was the one being unreasonable. So she said, “Nianqin, Siyu wants to remove herself from our household registration. She’s a military transfer worker now, getting a good job placement. You should give it a rest. Stop making a scene.”

Was she the one making a scene?

The ink factory was too small to offer replacement worker quotas. Siyu was definitely plotting something to shove her down to the countryside again.

Chen Nianqin wasn’t about to sit and wait for her doom.

“Mom, she won’t behave. Listen to me—we need to report her right now! Accuse her of refusing to go to the countryside. Let the Educated Youth Office arrest her and drag her away. If she resists, they’ll detain her!” Thinking of all the grievances from her past life, Chen Nianqin’s tone grew increasingly vicious.

Chen Gang, just coming out of the restroom, was infuriated by his daughter’s words: “She’s your sister, the one you grew up with! And you’re planning to report her? Do you know that once she’s caught, her file will be ruined forever, and our entire family will be implicated?”

If a family produced a draft-dodger, they’d be publicly criticized and given demerits.

Chen Nianqin sneered inwardly. This was her family all right. Even though her singing voice was no worse than Siyu’s, just because she wasn’t sweet-tongued and coquettish, their hearts would always favor that adopted little fox spirit.

But she had been reborn for revenge. She would never go to the countryside. If her parents were heartless, they shouldn’t expect her to be dutiful either.

Nianqin tiptoed toward the door, but just then, Feng Hui looked up and snapped, “Nianqin, stop right there.”

“Didn’t you say you sprained your ankle? Why are you walking just fine?”

Chen Nianqin’s body stiffened, frozen on the spot.

You shouldn’t harbor ill intentions toward others, but you must stay guarded.

By exposing to Feng Hui that Nianqin was faking her injury, Chen Siyu could plant a seed of doubt in her mother’s heart. That way, she wouldn’t have to worry about Nianqin reporting her to the Educated Youth Office to get arrested. Siyu would be able to settle her household registration calmly.

That foul-mouthed little brother of hers—after cursing her, Siyu ended up eating the delicious bowl of noodles herself.

After calming down, she made another trip to the boiler room, but this time, she was greeted by a large dustpan of coal ash.

Filthy and annoyed, she returned home. Thankfully, there was still hot water in the old iron kettle, so she cleaned herself up a bit. Chen Siyu had more important things to do—namely… practice her basic skills.

In the future, even a bit of singing and dancing could get you on stage with some capital maneuvering.

But in this era, it was elite among elites—singing and dancing alone wasn’t enough. You had to practice relentlessly. Especially in the Central Cultural Work Troupe, where every performer was multi-talented in operas, musical theater, drama, and revolutionary model plays—they excelled in everything.

With no mirror, she had no idea if her posture was correct.

But the conditions were harsh, and Chen Siyu had no choice but to endure.

The original body had trained in Peking Opera but had no ballet foundation. Just standing on tiptoe was already too much for this body, let alone anything more. She didn’t even have dance shoes, so she wrapped her feet with two scraps of cloth. Starting from scratch—first, tiptoe stands, then back to basic training.

Half-squat, full squat, small leg kicks.

After just a few moves, Chen Siyu sighed—the talent of this body was simply extraordinary.

Yet in the original novel, even in her first life where Chen Nianqin wasn’t around to sabotage her, the original owner never managed to secure a solo. She spent her days muddling along in the chorus. Especially after marrying Gao Daguang, to cater to his preference for voluptuous women, she deliberately made herself gain weight, drank heavily, and utterly wasted her natural gifts.

Now that Chen Siyu had taken over this gifted body, her heart was filled with gratitude.

She had to cherish this body, nurture it, and use it to achieve her own dream of shining on stage.

Of course, that would require first transferring her household registration, winning everyone’s favor, and then joining the art troupe. After that, there would be milk and bread. If she did well enough, with her abilities, she might even be able to get a piano for Chen Xuan’ang.

The neighbors said Xuan’ang usually came home at night, but Siyu waited until eleven o’clock and still didn’t see her bratty little brother. She wiped herself down and prepared for bed.

Just as she sat on the edge of the bed, she vaguely heard sneaky footsteps. In a swift motion, she spun around and started humming the famous song “Revolutionaries Are Always Young”, half humming, half singing.

But her pitch was completely off—erratic and off-key. Sure enough, she soon heard a series of heavy footsteps hurrying away.

From the sound of it, Chen Siyu knew it had to be her bratty little brother.

No use rushing things—hot tofu can’t be eaten in a hurry. Tonight, she wouldn’t be seeing him. Time to sleep.

Food is the paramount necessity. Three meals a day are the most important.

She kept this in mind, knowing this home was as bare as could be. She hardly slept through the night and went early to the state-owned store.

Yet when she arrived, a long line had already formed.

As soon as the boards were lifted, people swarmed in. By the time Siyu finally squeezed her way inside, the shelves were nearly empty of fresh vegetables. Luckily, the pretty salesgirl from yesterday was still there. Siyu tactfully waited until the crowd cleared out before approaching, blinking her large eyes pitifully, looking innocent and fragile.

A small bunch of spinach, a cucumber, peanuts, sesame seeds, and a whole pound of milk candies—smack!—all of it was slapped into her hands. The salesgirl quipped, “It’s just because you’re so sweet-mouthed, you little sharp-tongued imp. You’re Chen Siyu, right? The famous one from North City. Hey, weren’t you living in the military compound? How’d you end up at the Ink Factory?”

Look at that—such fame, such notoriety. Just moving houses and the whole city knew.

But debts don’t bother the poor, and lice don’t itch the already infested. Chen Siyu wasn’t the least bit embarrassed. She clung to the salesgirl like sticky candy: “Big sister, what’s your name? Where do you live? Let me be your little sister, from now on we’re sisters, okay?”

Thick-skinned and persistent, she finally learned that the salesgirl’s name was Ge Mingzhu, living at Sanliqiao.

Girls of the same age had endless topics. Once Ge Mingzhu started chatting, she became unstoppable, giving Siyu a detailed rundown of all the notorious thugs and hooligans in North City—their temperaments, backgrounds, and hangouts. Thanks to this, Siyu now knew exactly which public toilets, street corners, parks, and buses had troublemakers. She’d need to keep her guard up.

After their chat, Siyu took a bus to her former home at the military family compound. She didn’t go inside but asked the gatekeeper to pass a message to Feng Hui: the household registration transfer couldn’t be done today, it would have to wait until tomorrow.

She then waited patiently for a while before finding a familiar contact to deliver a pound of White Rabbit candy, two taels of roasted sesame, and three taels of peanuts to Wang Fenfang. She slipped a note inside that read: “These are the sesame candies I once ate with Fang Xiaohai.”

To top it off, she squeezed two drops of tears onto the paper.

Thinking about it, with Wang Fenfang’s soft heart, once she saw these things and learned Siyu was now living in a cowshed, her heart would surely soften even more. Siyu couldn’t help but feel… like she was being utterly shameless.

But it had to be done. The reputation left by the original owner was simply too terrible. If she didn’t go to such lengths, she’d never be able to clean her name.

As she returned to the courtyard, she saw Auntie Guo cutting up fresh, steaming tofu.

Chen Siyu said, “Auntie, look how fresh this cucumber is. How about I trade you for some tofu?”

“Sure, I didn’t manage to grab any cucumbers,” Auntie Guo replied, heading inside to fetch a kitchen knife.

Taking advantage of the moment to step inside, Siyu asked, “Auntie, Xuan’ang is only twelve. He can’t keep working at the boiler room forever, right? Does the Ink Factory have any plans for him?”

“The Ink Factory doesn’t have any job quotas left. The current policy is for educated youth to go to the countryside starting at sixteen. But in another three years, when he’s fifteen, as long as he applies, he should be able to go too,” Auntie Guo, being the mother of Director Guo, was well-informed about the factory’s affairs.

Siyu pressed further, “If he goes to the countryside, his household registration will be moved as well. But isn’t the Ink Factory land still leased under his name? Who’ll get the registration for this land then?”

Auntie Guo answered, “It’ll go to his grandmother, Mao Mu. She’s a living legend in North City—our very own White-Haired Girl.”

The so-called Maomu was Chen Xuan’ang’s maternal grandmother — a figure who was, indeed, legendary.

She had originally worked as a wet nurse for Chen Xuan’ang’s grandfather’s family. It was said that during that time, she was forcibly taken by Master Hu of the Hu family and ended up pregnant. When her husband confronted the Hu family for justice, he was beaten to death by the steward. After escaping, she saw her husband’s corpse and turned completely white-haired overnight.

Fortunately, the Hu family’s eldest madam was barren and needed an heir, so they brought Maomu back to deliver the child — who turned out to be Chen Xuan’ang’s mother. Once the child was born, Maomu was sent back to her original family, while the Hu family kept and raised the child as their own.

Later, after the full victory of the revolution, the Hu family met their downfall — some dead, others fled — all gone. In the end, only Chen Xuan’ang’s mother remained.

It wasn’t until then, under the leadership’s intervention, that the white-haired Maomu was able to reclaim her daughter. This is why people in North City referred to her as the “Living White-Haired Girl.”

But in Chen Siyu’s opinion, Maomu somewhat tarnished the sanctity of that title.

While Hu Yin (Chen Xuan’ang’s mother) was alive, Maomu treated Chen Xuan’ang well as his grandmother should. But the moment Hu Yin passed away, Maomu began demanding that Chen Xuan’ang hand over his family’s hidden valuables. When Xuan’ang refused, she went to the authorities and accused him of having problematic thoughts, insisting he be sent to the boiler room for “re-education.”

Her true intent was clear — to break his spirit and force him to surrender the treasures.

In short, Maomu had two faces: a saintly White-Haired Girl in public, a vicious Wolf Grandmother behind closed doors.

Though she garnered universal sympathy, she was, in reality, the root cause of Chen Xuan’ang’s lifelong misfortune.

In the original book, their conflict escalated into an all-out war. Maomu accused Xuan’ang of being ruthless and cold-hearted, claiming he was responsible for the deaths of two family members.

Of course, in the end, all of the Hu family’s remaining wealth — along with the musical manuscripts Xuan’ang painstakingly composed — ended up in the hands of the only person who had ever shown him a hint of warmth: Chen Nianqin.

But Xuan’ang died in 1980, still branded a criminal, never cleared of his “guilt” thanks to Maomu’s relentless denunciations.

Despite composing numerous outstanding pieces, he never once had the chance to perform on stage.

The only change Chen Nianqin brought to his fate was that, when he was forced to wear a dunce cap and shackles while cleaning toilets, she would occasionally sneak open the door to the art troupe’s piano room, allowing him to secretly play a few notes. It was through this that he was eventually discovered by the troupe and became a backstage accompanist. But for his entire life, he never got to step onto the stage.

Since Chen Siyu had now inherited this body, she refused to let the original owner’s younger brother die in such obscurity. She wanted his talent to be recognized and appreciated — while he was still alive.

After sewing the quilt, she could finally sleep on something other than that rough bamboo mat tonight.

Nowadays, people only had two meals a day, so by around four in the afternoon, everyone was already starting to prepare dinner.

With limited ingredients — tofu, greens, and luncheon meat — creativity was essential. Luckily, today Chen Siyu had managed to buy a whole jin of clear cooking oil. She first pan-fried the diced luncheon meat and tofu to draw out a rich broth, then added the greens, finishing with a light starch slurry to create a flavorful gravy.

Having learned from yesterday’s experience, she kept the gravy warm over a water bath and went to practice her basics first.

As she practiced, the workers from the courtyard returned home. Sha Jia Bang started playing on the loudspeakers. The men wiped themselves down at the well after dinner, the women freshened up inside and came out to chat.

Soon, as the sun set, the electric lights flickered on, each family retreating into their own homes, some bickering, some laughing.

After working up a sweat and washing up, Chen Siyu felt refreshed. Then she heard footsteps outside and immediately began humming “We Young People”. Of course, she sang completely off-key — intentionally so.

This time, the footsteps didn’t leave but lingered, pacing around restlessly and growing increasingly agitated.

Chen Siyu put a pot of noodles on the stove and kept humming, the tune getting even worse. After butchering “We Young People,” she moved on to “The Happy Coachman,” “The Red Ribbon,” and “The Sky Over the Liberated Area” — all hopelessly off-pitch.

Finally, the person outside could bear it no longer and, with a loud bang, pushed open the door.

A 12-year-old boy, lanky and tall, stood silhouetted in the moonlight. His face was obscured, but his eyes gleamed with a cold, sharp light as he stared at her — his troublesome older sister.

“The gravy’s still warm. No eggs, but there’s luncheon meat and tofu. I made you some dragon beard noodles. This batch is good quality — rinse it with cold water, and it’s perfectly chewy,” Chen Siyu said as she deliberately hummed another wrong note.

“Shut up. Every song you sang — every single one — was off-key.” The boy gritted his teeth.

Chen Siyu thought, If I didn’t butcher the songs on purpose, would you have even come inside?

This is called reverse psychology, you little brat.

He clenched his fists so tightly that he looked like he was about to swing at her.

Chen Siyu mused, Little pianist, those hands are meant for playing piano, not for hitting people. But if you dare raise a hand, don’t blame me for using a belt in self-defense. I’ve never been hit by anyone in my life!

But just as she braced herself for a fight, the little pianist suddenly let out a fart — a loud, explosive one that echoed through the room.

Chen Siyu barely managed to hold in her laughter.