In fact, after retrieving the 400 yuan from the old house and sending the donkeys off, Su Xiangwan had saved a total of 1,500 yuan.

At least for the short term, she didn’t have to worry about money.

As for Gou Dan and Lu Dan, they were still too young, probably not starting school until spring.

The Red Star Commune had a primary school, so she could send them there when the time came, without needing to worry too much about it.

Songjia Village, in fact, was divided into two parts: Big Song Village and Little Song Village.

Big Song Village had its own village secretary, but the area where Su Xiangwan lived was called Little Song Village, and since the village was too small, there hadn’t been a need for a village secretary.

The power had always rested with the village head.

It was only this year that, with the village population reaching fifty households, they were eligible to elect their own village secretary.

Since the village head, Zhao Guodong, was a downlisted cadre, the secretary had to be chosen from the villagers.

Party members were prioritized, but if there weren’t enough Party members, ordinary villagers could run for the position as well. At that time, they could join the Party and run for secretary at the same time.

A downlisted cadre and a local villager—this was the most common combination in each village’s committee.

Su Xiangwan wanted to become the village secretary.

Of course, she couldn’t aim for a position in the larger villages like Big Song Village, or in places like Sufang Village or Zhaojia Village, but Little Song Village was small, and it seemed no one had big political ambitions. From the moment the proposal to elect a village secretary was made, only Song Jianguo had signed up for the position.

That night, Su Xiangwan had Dog Egg invite Zhao Guodong to the labor reform station.

To be honest, while there were female cadres in many places, Qinzhou was far inland, and the idea of her wanting to become a village cadre might have sounded laughable.

When Su Xiangwan mentioned that she also wanted to run for village secretary, Zhao Guodong, who hadn’t even sat down properly, immediately stood up: “You, Su Xiangwan, are you joking? Do you really think you can be the village secretary?”

Donkey Egg and Dog Egg both nodded vigorously: “Yes, our mom is amazing! She can lead our whole family!”

Especially Dog Egg, who hugged Zhao Guodong and started shaking him: “Zhao Uncle, please say yes, my mom doesn’t want anything else, she just wants to be a cadre. Really!”

Zhao Guodong chuckled a bit, but when he saw Su Xiangwan sitting on the kang, holding little Zhi Zhi and glaring at him, he quickly said: “We need to clarify first, your political background is clear, right? Although, we are also allowing non-Party members to run, but your political background must be clear.”

Su Xiangwan then handed over her documents, which her brother Su Xianghong had arranged from the county: “Look, my ancestors used to deliver food to the Eighth Route Army.”

It was rather ridiculous, as everyone knew that Su Xiangwan’s father had been a doctor for the Nationalist army, but no one knew that her second uncle had once delivered food to the Eighth Route Army.

Zhao Guodong was generally easygoing and said, “I’m not mocking you, but if you want to run for village secretary, you need a reason. Give me a good reason, and I’ll sign you up.”

At this point, she probably wouldn’t win anyway. Rural women dreaming of such a position would only be seen as an absurd idea, so Zhao Guodong thought it wouldn’t hurt to entertain her.

“Being a village secretary means you’ll get ten jin of white flour and eight yuan in food tickets every month. Oh, and there’s the prestige too,” Su Xiangwan said.

Zhao Guodong shook his head: “That won’t work. That’s not a good enough reason. You need a proper reason. Saying you’ll have prestige doesn’t work. Being a village secretary is one of the smallest positions in the world—no, it’s more like a small official under a huge robe. You may not know what I mean, but in any case, it’s a very small position with no prestige. If things go wrong, the leaders will scold you, and when you enter the village, in spring and summer, the villagers will be starving and swollen, asking you for food. If you have nothing to offer, you’ll just have to stand there helplessly. But if someone dies from hunger, it will be your responsibility.”

“Then… it’s about benefiting the villagers and bringing prosperity to the village. How about that?” Su Xiangwan suggested.

That sounded somewhat convincing, so Zhao Guodong asked, “But you still need to have some skills, right? Can you write?”

Dog Egg and Donkey Egg quickly chimed in: “She can write! She even teaches us.”

Dog Egg proudly showed Zhao Guodong a sample of Su Xiangwan’s writing: “Look, is my mom’s writing good?”

It was just a poem, “Quiet Night Thought,” written on a wooden board because there was no paper at home.

Despite Su Xiangwan intentionally hiding her skills, Zhao Guodong was still impressed: “This is truly good handwriting. Who taught you?”

Su Xiangwan replied, “I learned from my grandfather. He was born in the old days and used to copy newspapers for the Eighth Route Army.”

When Zhao Guodong heard “Eighth Route Army,” he became respectful: “Alright, I’ll put your name down.”

Doing good deeds in such a roundabout way was a first for Su Xiangwan.

After sitting for a while, Zhao Guodong saw that Su Xiangwan wasn’t offering any more conversation, so he decided to leave.

Meanwhile, Dog Egg quietly sneaked out, holding a flashlight, and followed Zhao Guodong, calling after him: “Daddy, Daddy, this flashlight is for you from my mom.”

Just at this moment, Song Qingshan came back from outside. Since he hadn’t driven the tractor today, it could almost be considered a true surprise attack.

The two of them ran into each other just as the dog hit its head and bumped out, calling “Dad” as it did.

Both Song Qingshan and Zhao Guodong were shocked at the same time: who was the child calling “Dad”?

“Dog, from now on you can’t call me Dad, and I can’t take this flashlight,” Zhao Guodong said sternly.

“This is all scrap from when our unit evacuated. I picked it up, fixed it up, and repaired it. If the child wants it, just take it,” Song Qingshan generously stuffed the flashlight into Zhao Guodong’s arms.

“But, what brings you to my house?” Song Qingshan asked.

Before Zhao Guodong could explain, Dog said, “My mom wants to be the party branch secretary, and she’s asking the village chief about it.”

After a polite farewell and the door closing, Song Qingshan’s anger was probably something only the door could know about.

“You can even spin wool? Are you planning to knit sweaters for the kids?” He glanced at Su Xiangwan, who was sitting on the kang, surrounded by a large pile of raw wool, spinning it with a wool spindle.

Su Xiangwan gave him a white look. “It’s already September. Even with the good climate in Qing Shui, by November, there will be snow. This wool is from the old house, but it’s raw wool, and once I process it, it will shrink. So, I’m re-spinning it.”

I have to say, her two years of teaching were really a golden opportunity for Su Xiangwan. Just look at her—she can even spin wool.

If she had Weibo, Su Xiangwan would really want to show her cousin Su Xiaonan how well she’s doing, living such a fulfilling life.

It would make her so mad.

“Zhao Guodong seems to be quite familiar with our home,” Song Qingshan said, either intentionally or unintentionally.

The little one was rolling around in the wool pile, constantly blowing on the wool, making her mother laugh.

“He’s a village official. I heard his father is a high-ranking official in the provincial capital. He’s a good man—young, passionate, righteous. He’s a city boy learning to do farm work, and he hasn’t complained a single day,” Su Xiangwan thought for a moment. “His methods might not be right, but if I could work with him as the party branch secretary, next year, the grain output in Xiao Songzhuang could double, really.”

“Have you done it?” Song Qingshan’s voice darkened, his hands lightly pressed together in that calm but interrogative military way. “Su Xiangwan, your family is considered counter-revolutionary, right? I asked around a few days ago, and it seems your mother and brother, along with you and your sisters, had your household registration split by Tingxiu. But Zhao Guodong should know your background—if you hadn’t been with him, he wouldn’t dare help you this much, right?”

To select a female candidate with a questionable political background as an official—Zhao Guodong sure had guts.

Su Xiangwan was stunned for a moment, then realized what Song Qingshan meant. He thought she and Zhao Guodong had that kind of relationship.

Well, what a black-hearted, despicable man, no matter what the original body might have told him when she was in Dongfeng City.

And it didn’t matter how much the original body had loved her brother-in-law, no matter how openly she had done so.

At least for now, she hadn’t had any inappropriate relations with any man.

Such suspicions made her want to knock his head off.

“I’m not blaming you,” he added casually. “I’ve been a martyr for two years, so it’s normal for you to be with anyone. But if you can really cut off from the second, I’d admire you.”

“You’re thinking too dirty. Our level is higher. We’ve transcended the physical realm and have moved on to the spiritual realm, like elegant poetry and music, a clear breeze and a bright moon. Your vulgarity and dirtiness are tarnishing both me and Zhao Guodong’s integrity,” Su Xiangwan deliberately leaned back. “You’ll never understand the kind of feelings and character people like us have. We don’t need disgusting physical acts; we engage in purer, nobler spiritual communication.”

Song Qingshan couldn’t imagine that his wife might be a time traveler. After thinking for a while, he naturally assumed that Zhao Guodong must have taught her to read and write, and that he had shown her what “elegant poetry and music” meant.

In reality, Song Tingxiu’s transfer to the local area wasn’t due to disciplinary issues, as Song Qingshan had suggested, but because many of the people involved in the design and construction of a hydroelectric station were Song Qingshan’s former workmates in Dongfeng City. Whether it was hydroelectricity or thermal power, they didn’t have the same industrial productivity as nuclear power did, which was groundbreaking in the industrial field.

They specialized in nuclear power research.

With the arrival of these people, many hidden or new spies and enemies would flood into Qingshui County.

Song Tingxiu’s job was to work in the public security bureau to ensure the safety of the project.

As for Su Xiangwan, she was fine. Just look at her—it’s as if her mind was occasionally thrown around, but nothing had changed. The real issue was with the people she had interacted with.

And Zhao Guodong’s father was an important official in the province.

Song Qingshan decided to investigate Zhao Guodong further first.

Rolling up his sleeves, he got off the kang and went to wash the wool that was soaking in a basin, using hot water to gently soften it and remove the grease.

Meanwhile, at the Song family’s home, Grandma, Qingyu, and Fang Baoyu were working in the fields to earn their work points since Su Xiangwan wasn’t around to do it.

Fang Baoyu would occasionally glare at Qingyu, muttering about how the younger sister was still unmarried and always staying at her parents’ house.

Qingyu would sometimes glare back, muttering about how Fang Baoyu was lazy and would complain about back pain as soon as she entered the fields. It was frustrating that her husband had managed to become an official.

Of course, Fang Baoyu was quite pleased, considering her husband was now a foreman, probably cracking the whip on the construction site.

But just as they all went home, tired from a day’s work, dragging their heavy legs to the door, they saw someone who looked like a beggar from the mud, carrying two iron barrels and banging on their front door.

“Mom, open the door, Mom!” It was actually the voice of Song Laosan.

The old woman immediately rushed over. “Laosan, how did you end up like this?”

Song Laosan’s face was covered in black mud. “Mom, there isn’t a decent person at the Qing Shui Gorge Reservoir. I spent 500 yuan, and they made me dig a diversion tunnel for seven days. Yesterday, I couldn’t endure the hardship and fainted. Only then did they throw me out.”

With this shout, he threw two metal buckets on the ground, and with a howl, Song Laosan started crying.

The sky of the Song family collapsed again.

However, fortunately, the money Song Qingshan gave was enough. The substantial savings were still tightly hidden by the old woman. As long as she didn’t expose them, Song Qingshan wouldn’t pursue it. Taking care of Laosan was enough to support him for a lifetime.

Only after splitting the family did they realize how difficult it was to build a small family.