Chapter 6: Scamming for a Cause

“That old Mao in the boiler room—isn’t he Mao Mu’s younger brother? What, you trust him just like you trust your mother? Has your grandmother ever done you any good? Have you ever seen a shadow of the 360-yuan annual rent from the Ink Factory?” Chen Siyu shot off sharply.

Chen Xuan’ang gritted his teeth. “I’m doing fine now. I don’t need your interference.”

She grabbed him and yanked him back, leaning close to his ear and snarling, “Don’t need me? Then you’ll forever be the son of a traitorous, counterrevolutionary woman who died by suicide out of guilt. Maybe you don’t care, but what about your mother? She died with her eyes open!”

That finally ignited Chen Xuan’ang’s fury. He shoved her hard, roaring, “And what are you? A flashy little vixen strutting around town, daring to call my mother a traitor? I’ll fight you to the death!”

Chen Siyu didn’t indulge him. She slapped him square on the backside. “Can you be a little more sensible? Can’t you keep your voice down when talking about these things? And by the way, was it me who called your mother a traitor, or was it your grandmother? Don’t you know that yourself?”

Shame, sorrow, humiliation, and rage all surged onto the boy’s face.

In this era, being labeled as a traitor or enemy spy was enough to send people into a frenzy of hatred.

Finally, his resistance crumbled, and he stopped struggling.

Chen Siyu pushed him in front of the washbasin and said gently, “I don’t believe your mother was a traitor either. I’m on your side.”

The boy’s body stiffened—obviously, those words had struck a chord. He was moved.

Chen Siyu continued, “It was the people you trusted most who slandered your mother as a spy. How is that my fault? Shouldn’t you blame yourselves?”

The boy clutched a towel in his hands, his tears soaking into it.

Were they cousins, or was Chen Gang his savior? After Chen Jiaxiang died, Chen Gang had once spoken to Chen Siyu’s stepmother, Hu Yin, suggesting that her family background might not be good for Xuan’ang’s future. He offered to transfer Xuan’ang into his own household registration and take responsibility for raising him.

But Hu Yin had just reconnected with her estranged mother—“Mao Mu,” the so-called White-Haired Woman. Compared to Chen Gang, she trusted Mao Mu more. So, she rejected Chen Gang’s offer.

Besides, she only knew how to indulge in poetry and romance, not in managing daily life. She handed over both the land deed and rental income to her mother. As for herself, when the Ideological Committee came to investigate her, she took a dose of opium on the spot and died swiftly and cleanly.

She thought her death would be the end of it. She believed Mao Mu, the living embodiment of the White-Haired Woman, would raise Xuan’ang well.

But Mao Mu had two sons and a brood of grandchildren to feed. So, after Hu Yin’s death, Mao Mu began pressuring Xuan’ang to hand over all of Hu Yin’s remaining valuables to her, claiming she would manage them to help feed the whole family.

Why should Xuan’ang’s inheritance be used to support his grandmother’s household? Of course, he refused. He secretly hid the items.

Infuriated, Mao Mu privately threatened him, saying that his biological mother was actually a spy who had committed suicide out of guilt. If he didn’t go to the boiler room and help her brother, Old Mao Tou, stoke the boilers, she would report Hu Yin’s “enemy spy” status to the authorities.

That was the real reason why Xuan’ang had willingly gone to the boiler room to work—it wasn’t submission; it was a coerced compromise.

As for the original Chen Siyu, although she disliked him and bullied him, she never coveted his possessions. His dear grandmother, on the other hand, who once treated him kindly, was now gripping his throat, wishing him dead.

Chen Siyu had always had a soft spot for handsome boys in distress. Seeing the boy’s thin, trembling shoulders as he wept uncontrollably, she gently patted him and spoke in a soft tone, “I’m transferring my household registration to this place—today. But I’m doing it so I can join the Cultural Troupe. As for your property, I have no interest in it.”

The boy was rumored to be responsible for two deaths—a cold-hearted and ruthless person—so of course, he wasn’t naive.

Drying his tears with the towel, he said, “But once you transfer your registration here, half of everything I own will legally belong to you.”

Chen Siyu immediately retorted, “Small gold bars, large gold bars, emeralds, and ruby necklaces—I know you’ve hidden valuables. But when I say I don’t covet them, I mean it. Even if you hand them to me, I won’t take them. Don’t believe me? Try me.”

Chen Xuan’ang’s spine straightened abruptly.

He had hidden small and large gold bars, along with other treasures. But apart from himself, no one knew where they were.

How did Chen Siyu know so accurately? Could it be… she even knew the exact hiding place?

In truth, Chen Siyu was bluffing. She had no idea where he had hidden those things.

According to the book, although the treasures were somewhere within this courtyard, Mao Mu and many others had scoured the place, turning over every stone, yet never found them. It wasn’t until Chen Xuan’ang was on his deathbed that he handed everything over to Chen Nianqin.

Even Chen Nianqin had been amazed by Xuan’ang’s brilliant hiding spot.

But the book never revealed where that spot actually was. Not that Chen Siyu cared—she wasn’t greedy.

Maybe it was because of her pent-up frustration, but with a single breath blown into the honeycomb coal stove, the fire roared to life. And as it did, a rich milky fragrance filled the air, making Xuan’ang, who was scrubbing dishes, involuntarily swallow.

Even people passing by the courtyard commented, “What’s that smell? It’s so fragrant.”

The wok was filled with a caramel aroma laced with a milky scent. Unable to resist, Chen Xuan’ang walked over to take a look and was stunned to see that Chen Siyu was making milk candy.

She had melted White Rabbit Creamy Candies into water, simmering them over a strong flame. Slowly, the syrup thickened and began to form delicate threads. At this moment, she brought over a bowl of crushed sesame seeds to the stove.

So this was how the most expensive sesame peanut milk candies in the market were made?

Chen Xuan’ang couldn’t help but swallow again.

But just as he thought she was going to add all the ingredients into the pot, Chen Siyu took some leftover sweet potatoes from yesterday, cut them into large chunks, and dipped them into the milk syrup, coating them thoroughly. Then she rolled them in the sesame and peanut mixture and handed one to him.

Sesame candy hardens when exposed to air. The milky syrup quickly solidified into a thin shell around the sweet potato.

“Eat it quick! This has to be eaten right at the stove,” Chen Siyu said as she continued wrapping several more pieces.

Chen Xuan’ang took a bite. The crispy, caramelized shell with sesame and peanut crackled in his mouth, making him exhale hot breaths to cool down. But the sweet potato inside was cool, soft, and tender, soothing his scalded tongue.

The blend of milkiness, caramel richness, and the perfect sweetness was so overwhelming that Xuan’ang forgot all about his foul mood. He wolfed down three large chunks before realizing that Chen Siyu hadn’t eaten any yet. Embarrassed, he shyly put down his chopsticks.

There had only been five candies in total, enough to coat five pieces of sweet potato—just the right amount.

But candied sweet potato alone wasn’t enough for breakfast. Yesterday, Chen Siyu hadn’t managed to snatch any real milk powder, but she had grabbed a 20-cent packet of substitute milk powder. Since they didn’t own any cups, she mixed two bowls—one for Xuan’ang and one for herself.

Because it was cheap, Chen Siyu had expected the substitute milk powder to taste terrible, thinking it would only serve to fill their stomachs. But after one sip, she was pleasantly surprised to find it carried a delightful blend of soybean and egg yolk aroma, with a sweetness that was utterly satisfying.

In the 1960s, when food and clothing were scarce, anything edible seemed to have a pure, unadulterated flavor that future high-tech lab-made foods could never replicate.

So fresh. So fragrant.

“Wow, Xuan’ang! This substitute milk powder actually tastes better than the real thing! Drink up, drink up!” she said, blowing on her bowl to cool it.

Chen Xuan’ang used to look down on people who drank substitute milk powder, but after months of hardship, he too found it irresistibly fragrant.

Yet when he looked up and saw his sister’s radiant, flower-like smile, he immediately put on a cold face.

But in truth, he had already softened. “I need to ask Old Mao Tou for leave before I can go,” he said. Then added, “Once you get your registration transferred into the Cultural Troupe, your goal will be achieved. You can return to your own family then.”

Chen Siyu thought to herself—Mao Mu, as a grandmother, not only refused to care for her own grandson but even abused him. That was a death wish.

She could give this brat far more than he could ever imagine.

But considering how deeply defensive this brat was against her, she decided not to say it yet.

“Eat up! Let’s try to get it all done by noon,” Chen Siyu said.

Licking clean the last drop of substitute milk powder with lingering satisfaction, Chen Xuan’ang said, “Alright.”

While her stinky little brother went to request leave, Chen Siyu washed the dishes and tidied the house. Not only her singing, but even her diligence won applause from the whole courtyard.

“Even though Mao Mu’s gone, with Siyu looking after him, Xuan’ang’s path hasn’t come to a dead end,” said Aunt Xu.

Aunt Guo chimed in, “With this girl singing around, my mood’s been excellent since early morning.”

While helping the two elderly ladies fetch water, Chen Siyu lowered her voice and asked, “Auntie, where’s my brother Xuan’ang’s old grandma now? I’ve been here a few days but haven’t seen her once.”

Aunt Guo hesitated, then whispered, “She’s a darling of the Thought Committee. She’s sick herself, and with so many children of her own to care for, it’s understandable she can’t look after Xuan’ang. Now that you can earn a wage, don’t go stirring things up with her. Child, take my advice, there’s no need to invite trouble upon yourself.”

So it turns out, the folks in the courtyard weren’t blind after all—they could see Mao Mu’s mistreatment of Chen Xuan’ang. It’s just that, since she was a government favorite, the living “White-Haired Girl,” they dared not speak out.

What was that saying? —The people’s eyes are bright as snow!

“In my heart, besides taking good care of Xuan’ang, all I want is to excel in my art. I won’t cause trouble, Aunties. Now, I’m going to practice my vocal exercises. If I’m too noisy, just say the word, I’ll go outside.” As she spoke, Chen Siyu regulated her breath, preparing to sing.

“You’re not going anywhere! Practice right here. If you think we’re an eyesore, we’ll leave instead,” the aunties said hurriedly.

It was only 6:30 in the morning, and workers were getting up one after another, brushing their teeth and washing up.

Meanwhile, under the banner of being a “People’s Artist,” Chen Siyu was mingling with everyone in the shared courtyard, making it lively and cheerful.

As for Chen Nianqin, she had finally gotten what she wanted—she reported for duty and was assigned to the city’s song and dance troupe, her favorite.

Today was her official reporting day—her first day on the job.

Among the three major cultural troupes—the opera troupe, drama troupe, and song & dance troupe—the song and dance troupe was the easiest place to stand out and become a star.

But Chen Nianqin wasn’t happy. When she had gone to register, a director actually asked why Chen Siyu hadn’t come, repeatedly saying that Chen Siyu was a promising talent. Though her technical skills were average, her innate charm and natural talent were unmatched.

Chen Nianqin sneered coldly to herself. What use was talent? All of Chen Siyu’s “talent” was spent on seducing men, flaunting herself in hopes of marrying into a wealthy family. How laughable it was that in her past life, she had been foolish enough to be duped by Siyu into going to the countryside.

She had to harvest crops, shovel cow dung, and though she won awards for being an “advanced worker” every year, what did it amount to?

A few years later, when they met again, Chen Siyu would still be young and beautiful, while she had turned into a dowdy, yellow-faced woman from toiling on the farm.

She had married a domestic abuser who, whenever she mentioned wanting to return to the city, would beat her senseless, so much so that she didn’t even dare write home for help.

And wasn’t it all because of Chen Siyu? The more she thought about it, the more hatred and desire for revenge simmered in her heart.

But then, thinking about how she was now the one standing on stage, basking in the spotlight, while Chen Siyu would be dragged down by her political status, stuck living in a cowshed—Chen Nianqin’s heart, riddled with wounds from her past life, finally felt a bit of relief.

Moreover, she was confident that Chen Xuan’ang, having been hurt before, would never accept Chen Siyu again.

If that happened, Chen Siyu would still have to go to the countryside, sleep on cold communal beds, shovel cow dung, and maybe even marry an abusive man.

Thinking of this, Chen Nianqin couldn’t help but laugh out loud.

—

“The introduction letter from the Ink Factory, your household registration book, my certificate of employment—everything’s ready.” Reaching out to grab her brother’s hand, Chen Siyu said, “Stinky little brother, let’s go. Starting today, your sister is going to be the head of our household.”

Chen Xuan’ang immediately shook her off and stubbornly walked ahead.

Passing by a state-run store, Chen Siyu asked, “Xuan’ang, it’s hot today. Want an ice pop?”

Of course, she was met with an eye roll.

Passing by a state-run pastry shop, she asked again, “Are you hungry, Xuan’ang? Want some pastries?”

Another eye roll.

“The sky’s so blue today, isn’t it, Xuan’ang?” She shamelessly kept trying.

Finally, “Aiya!” she cried out, startling Chen Xuan’ang into turning around. Chen Siyu pointed ahead and said, “Look, a traffic light.”

Though he knew she was doing it on purpose, this time Chen Xuan’ang didn’t lose his temper. Instead, he walked alongside her.

They boarded a public bus—just four stops to the Military Hospital, where they needed to meet Feng Hui to process the household registration transfer.

By now, the siblings were getting noticeably closer, but suddenly, a few whistles and snickers came from behind.

Chen Xuan’ang turned back, his face instantly darkening, and immediately put some distance between himself and Chen Siyu.

Chen Siyu frowned as well.

About seven or eight young ruffians, each riding a beat-up bicycle, were whistling at her.

One of them called out, “Babe, hop on my bike! I’ll take you to the old Moscow restaurant today. I’ve got steak coupons!”

Another slapped his bike’s rear seat and said, “We’ve had enough of Moscow’s steaks. I’ve got coffee coupons for the Peace Hotel. Let’s go there—it’s got way more style. Hop on my bike?”

A third chimed in, “Siyu, heard you’re not living in the courtyard anymore. Where are you staying now? How are we brothers supposed to find you later?”

These were all the hooligans Siyu’s former self used to hang out with. Not having partied with her for two days, they were getting desperate.

If she scolded them publicly, having eaten and drunk at their expense before, she’d be asking for retaliation.

But if she ignored them, wouldn’t her stinky brother look down on her?

More importantly, if those hooligans followed her to the Ink Factory, wouldn’t that destroy the pure, innocent image she had painstakingly built?

She needed a way to scare those little punks off for good while also making her brother believe she had truly turned over a new leaf…

Suddenly, inspiration struck. Walking toward them was a man dressed in brand-new green attire—with four pockets, young, handsome, and crisp in appearance.

Although the streets were filled with people in green uniforms, only those officially enlisted received a new set of clothes each year—new green. And four-pocketed uniforms? That signified a high-ranking official. Only such a figure could intimidate that gang of hooligans.

Without even seeing his face clearly, Chen Siyu rushed over, cupped her face in her hands, stomped her foot, and blocked the man’s path.

“Comrade Officer, help! Save me!”