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Lin Yingxian halted her steps. “I didn’t mention any names—why do you think I was talking about you?”
Zhong Hong was instantly choked with anger. She jabbed a finger at Lin Yingxian, looking fierce, but couldn’t come up with a single retort.
“Comrade Zhong Hong,” Lin Yingxian said with a calm smile, “pointing your finger at me in public like this—once the director hears about how you’re gossiping behind his back, badmouthing your coworkers, disrupting workplace unity, and damaging productivity—what do you think will happen?”
With a few neatly delivered accusations, Zhong Hong immediately lowered her hand. She mumbled weakly, “I didn’t say anything… you must’ve heard wrong.”
Then she and her friend hurriedly wheeled their cart away.
On the way home, Lin Yingxian was caught in a sudden downpour. She ducked under the eaves of the post office and pulled out a handkerchief from her satchel to wipe off the rain.
Just then, Zhong Shucen stepped out of the post office. Their eyes met—his, deep and unreadable.
The eyes are the windows to the soul, but Lin Yingxian couldn’t see anything in his. Zhong Shucen always seemed cold and detached. The politeness he showed during the broken engagement had only been a mask.
Lin Yingxian knew exactly what kind of person he was—she’d seen it two years ago.
Back then, she’d tried to escape from her hospital room and jump out the stairwell window. Zhong Shucen had passed by, spotted her—and left, completely indifferent. She’d even felt relieved.
But when he heard the approaching footsteps of nurses, he’d returned. Using the hand that wasn’t in a cast, he pulled her down from the ledge. He was hailed as a hero by the nurses, the kind who risked his life during the earthquake to save others.
That was when Lin Yingxian realized: Zhong Shucen was two-faced.
The two exchanged slight nods—no words—and silently waited out the rain together.
More people came to shelter under the eaves. Lin Yingxian moved her bicycle against the wall to make room. Soon, she and Zhong Shucen were squeezed into a corner. Their elbows brushed; they pulled apart slightly, only to be jostled together again.
“Sorry,” Zhong Shucen said.
“It’s fine,” Lin Yingxian replied. She glanced at him. “Why are you back in Jiangcheng again? I thought your assigned village was far from here.”
“I work in Jiangcheng now,” he said simply.
They chatted casually. When the rain stopped, they went their separate ways.
When Lin Yingxian got home, she checked the mailbox—nothing addressed to her. A little disappointed, she climbed the stairs. But the moment she stepped inside, that disappointment vanished.
Mama Lin handed her two letters. “Two newspapers sent you something. Since when are you in contact with newspapers?”
“I submitted some articles. These are probably replies,” Lin Yingxian said, tearing them open.
One was from Labor Daily, the other from Workers’ Daily. Because Lin Yingxian disliked others going through her things, Mama Lin hadn’t opened them.
Her articles were going to be published soon. Labor Daily had enclosed an 8 yuan reward, and Workers’ Daily gave 10 yuan. These days, writers didn’t get formal payments, but some newspapers still sent “bonuses” under different names.
Lin Yingxian didn’t care what name they used—as long as there was money and her writing got published, she was satisfied.
Mama Lin was pleasantly surprised by the cash. Now she understood why her daughter had been so immersed in reading and writing lately.
When Papa Lin came home, she happily shared the news. “Our Yingxian’s really got something! She even earns money by writing.”
Papa Lin, seeing the reply letters in his daughter’s hands, beamed. “Her hard work finally paid off. I picked up some old newspapers from the office today. They’d been sitting in a box, and Old Xu handed them to me while clearing things out.”
Lin Yingxian had asked him to keep an eye out for old newspapers and books. His colleagues were aware and often passed things along.
She gratefully took them, gave both her parents two yuan each, and said with a smile, “It’s my first ever writing reward. Just a little something for you both.”
Papa Lin said he’d treasure those two yuan forever and frame them alongside the newspaper where her article appeared. Mama Lin and Lin Yingxian laughed, saying he was being dramatic.
Mama Lin returned the money, telling her to save it instead.
While Mama Lin and Zhou Donghong cooked dinner, Lin Yingxian and Papa Lin sorted through the old papers.
Suddenly, Papa Lin pointed at a photo. “Isn’t this Zhong Shucen?”
Lin Yingxian leaned in, looked closely, and nodded. “It really does look like him.”
The article detailed an avian flu outbreak three months ago in the village where Zhong Shucen had been sent. His proposed solution had dramatically curbed the spread, safeguarding both people and livestock. His method was adopted nationwide.
So that’s why he was transferred back to the city, Lin Yingxian thought. She told Papa Lin about seeing him earlier.
“I had a feeling he wasn’t an ordinary person,” Papa Lin sighed. “But life’s unpredictable.”
At dinner, Mama Lin shared some news. “Your aunt invited us to her place tomorrow for a meal. She’s officially introducing Yan Qing to the family.”
“Yan Qing?” Lin Yingwei asked, unfamiliar with the name. “Isn’t that the daughter they found?”
Mama Lin nodded. “Yes. She used to be called Li Qing, but she changed her name.”
“What about the original cousin?” Lin Yingwan asked curiously. She suspected after the suicide attempt, Yan Yingshu must’ve stayed behind. That girl had guts.
“She’s still there. Your aunt said, after raising her for twenty years like a precious daughter, she can’t just send her away. And the real one, Yan Qing, suffered a lot at the Li family. She was almost married off to a man as old as her brother-in-law. If the Lis hadn’t cared about appearances, she’d still be a barely literate country girl.”
The daughter swap at Aunt Yan’s house had become a frequent topic in the Lin household—messy, dramatic, and juicy. And since Mama Lin often had inside information, everyone was eager to listen.