Chapter 111: Good News, an Unusual Letter (Request Subscription!)

The distance from Qianzhen to Shangwan Village is about ten li, mostly steep mountain paths, and the three of them walked nearly an hour and a half before reaching the village entrance.

The sun had long set, and the sky was already dim and yellow.

Passing the stone arch bridge at the village entrance, a father and son dragged timber out of the nearby hills, sneaking furtively; when they saw Li Heng and the others, they clearly dodged aside—no doubt, guilty consciences, having stolen someone’s trees.

Que Xinyan immediately shouted: “Uncle Liu Er, whose cedar trees did you guys cut down again? They’re this big, they could make a coffin!”

Uncle Liu Er was terrified, ducking his head and glancing around, then hurriedly silenced him: “Que Xinyan, these are our own trees—don’t go spreading rumors.”

“Bullshit! You don’t even have mountains over there—do you think I’m stupid?” Que Xinyan had never heard of respecting elders or observing propriety.

His loud shout made a few scattered households at the village entrance poke their heads out from their homes.

One boy in a nearby house had sharp eyes and immediately screamed: “Dad! Dad! Big brother, second brother, third brother, fourth brother—come out quick! Liu Mazi is stealing Grandpa’s coffin wood!”

Before Liu Mazi could react, five or six strong men, some with knives, others with yokes, had already swarmed over like a mob.

Coffin boards are cedar logs used to carve coffins—these are usually decades-old trees, extremely rare and valuable; anyone who dares lay hands on them invites a fight to the death.

In an instant, shouts of “beat him!” and “kill him!” filled the air, the scene utterly chaotic.

Que Xinyan stood at the bridgehead with his hands on his hips, laughing loudly and unrestrainedly, making both Li Heng and Yang Cheng feel exasperated.

Li Heng had no intention of scolding Que Xinyan—Uncle Liu Er and his son were habitual thieves, stealing not just from the hills but also from fields, from the soil, even from inside homes. The Li family had once lost eight pieces of cured meat, all due to them; luckily, neighbors witnessed it and helped recover them.

In the dim light, an old man carried a hoe and a bamboo basket, collecting dog droppings; villagers led yellow oxen up from the irrigation ditches.

A group of half-grown boys rolled iron rings down the road, laughing and shouting, chasing each other, full of liveliness.

The deeper they walked into the village, the more people they saw; by the time they reached the crossroads, the place was packed—every household had finally finished their chores and gathered to chat and gossip.

“Oh! Our village’s celebrity’s back.”

“College student, still need a wife? My third aunt’s eldest daughter’s ready to marry.”

“Famous writer, why’d you come back empty-handed? You’ve got so much money—why not bring back some candy treats?”

“.”

Li Heng grinned all the way as he met numerous elder neighbors, his mouth nearly stiff from smiling.

He finally escaped home and walked in to find his second sister snacking on sunflower seeds:

“Second sister, when did you get back?”

Li Lan sat sprawled on the threshold, sizing him up: “Your complexion’s even rosier than last time—you came back with Xiao Han, right?”

Li Heng peered into the house—no one inside—then whispered quietly: “About that...?”

Li Lan cut him off: “You two aren’t even at the engagement stage—I won’t go spreading gossip.”

Li Lan’s thinking was simple: her brother already had a moral flaw because of Chen Zijin. If word got out he’d broken up with the Xiao family girl, his reputation would sink even further—so she wouldn’t just keep quiet, she’d help hide it.

After all!

After all, this fickle brother kept calling out Song Yu’s name in his dreams—she figured Xiao Han might not definitely become his future wife. So she had to prepare in advance.

Li Heng nodded approvingly, reached into his pocket, and pulled out two Mao notes, handing them to her.

Li Lan looked disgusted.

Li Heng said: “That’s all I’ve got—still enough to buy two packs of five-spice sunflower seeds.”

Li Lan shoved the money into her pocket: “Then don’t bother giving it—just throwing scraps to beggars.”

Li Heng extended his hand: “Then give me the money back.”

Li Lan turned her head away and kept cracking seeds.

He put down his luggage, wandered around the house, and asked: “Where are Mom and Dad? Why aren’t they home so late?”

Li Lan said: “Your eldest sister just gave birth—she’s over there helping.”

Li Heng gave her a strange look: “Gave birth? You’ve been educated—how can you use that word?”

Li Lan ignored him and instead asked: “Have you eaten yet?”

Li Heng plopped down on the other side of the threshold, shook his head, and said he was starving.

Li Lan didn’t react, cracked another twenty or so seeds, then slapped her hands and stood up to cook—but her mouth was full of sarcasm:

“Didn’t even get a meal from the Xiao family—wasted your mom’s good looks, useless!”

Li Heng was speechless: “I ate wontons on the way back.”

Li Lan acted as if she hadn’t heard, climbed onto the stove, grabbed a cleaver, and began slicing cured pork—choosing the finest part from the hind leg.

Li Heng felt dizzy—he finally understood: this sister was starving again, using cooking for him as an excuse to steal cured meat.

While his sister cooked, he took out a hundred yuan, wrapped it in red paper, and prepared to visit his eldest sister’s house.

Before leaving, he asked tentatively: “Did my sister give birth to a boy or a girl?”

Li Lan didn’t turn around: “Boy.”

First child’s a boy?

Then history hadn’t changed—he felt relieved once again.

Li Heng asked: “Have you been yet? Want to go together?”

Li Lan didn’t answer—clearly she looked down on her brother-in-law and didn’t want to visit her sister’s house.

Thinking back, she’d only visited her eldest sister’s house five times in her entire life: three times for her nieces’ and nephews’ weddings, and twice when her sister was sick.

In short, this second sister was a weirdo—she hadn’t even shown up for her sister’s wedding; there was no point expecting her to go now.

Sometimes he wondered: this sister clearly got born into the wrong family—if she’d been born into the Chen family, she’d have fit right in with Chen Xiaomi and the others.

His eldest sister’s house wasn’t far—about seven hundred meters, right next to the village office, facing the women’s director across the road.

That’s also why Tian Run’e often came over, gradually becoming good friends with the women’s director.

“Li Heng’s back!”

“Ah, Auntie, you’re busy?”

Fame satisfied his vanity but brought real trouble—every neighbor who greeted him warmly forced him to stop and respond.

Walking, stopping, walking again—this one-and-a-half-li stretch felt like walking a Hollywood red carpet, exhausting his voice and time.

At the village office, he spotted Liu Juan, the girl kneeling down washing loaches.

Li Heng leaned over to look—inside the bucket, the bottom was completely black with wriggling loaches—he asked: “Did you catch these yourself?”

Startled by the sudden voice, Liu Juan, who’d been fully focused, jumped—then jumped again when she saw it was him.

The bucket tipped over, hundreds of loaches slithered out, scattering across the road with the flowing water.

The women’s director, who’d been trimming long beans nearby, immediately dropped her beans and scrambled to scoop up the loaches, scolding her daughter as she grabbed them with both hands:

“Can’t do anything right—even seeing a man scares you—what good are you?”

Seeing Li Heng laughing beside them, the women’s director joked: “Li Heng, you like teasing her so much—why not marry her? I won’t even ask for a dowry—I’ll give her to you for free.”

“Mom!” Liu Juan stamped her foot, furious and flustered.

“Mom? I barely caught these loaches, and you can’t even wash them properly—do you think you deserve a dowry? I’d be too ashamed to ask.”

The women’s director scolded her daughter without mercy, going straight for the kill.

Liu Juan couldn’t take it anymore and ran back inside.

After spending a long while helping her collect the loaches, Li Heng finally excused himself and walked into his brother-in-law’s house.

His eldest sister’s husband’s surname was Zou, full name Zou Shusheng—nobody knew how he got such a strange name.

The Zou family’s house was typical for the village: three wooden rooms, a central hall flanked by bedrooms, a kitchen behind the hall, and a yard behind that, with a separate wooden fence enclosing pigsties and cattle pens facing the hill, plus dogs, chickens, ducks, and geese nearby.

As soon as he entered the yard, Li Heng smelled chicken stew—the food meant for his sister’s confinement.

Though the Zou family wasn’t wealthy, their parents had never shortchanged his sister—whether chicken, duck, goose, or meat, everything went first to her; the old couple only picked up scraps of broth.

Even cultured people like Li Jianguo and Tian Run’e couldn’t find a single fault—they wholeheartedly approved of these in-laws.

Seeing Li Heng arrive, Zou Shusheng hurriedly brought over a stool, politely greeting him:

“Third brother, you’re back for vacation.”

He called him “third brother” because he followed Li Yan’s usage.

“Yeah, brother-in-law, don’t bother with me—I come often, no need to be so formal.”

For some reason, though he was five or six years older, he always seemed nervous around Li Heng.

Both in this life and the last, this situation didn’t improve until he was in his forties.

The Zou couple were warm and eager, bustling to serve tea, pour water, and dig out precious sunflower seeds, peanuts, and candies to treat him.

How could they not treat this younger brother-in-law well?

He was about to become a college student—a legendary writer from miles around, the kind who earned huge money.

But for the Zou couple, the most important thing was that this younger brother-in-law never acted superior. On the wedding day, Li Lan didn’t come—but he did. Every time he returned from school, he’d drop by—giving them immense face.

Li Heng addressed them as “in-laws,” exchanged a few pleasantries, and finally found his eldest sister Li Yan in the bedroom—Li Jianguo and Tian Run’e were beside her, playing with their grandson.

“Sister, how do you feel after giving birth?” Li Heng asked with concern.

“Brother, you’re here! You’ve gotten even better-looking—did school meals improve?” Li Yan spoke wildly, focused entirely on whether her brother had gained weight, lost weight, gotten darker, or lighter.

Her face was flushed, and she seemed to have gained weight—Li Heng judged she was living well, pulled out the red envelope from his pocket, and handed it to her:

“Sister, I got home late and didn’t buy anything—this is a small token, take it—buy diapers and clothes for my big nephew.”

He didn’t mention milk powder—because in rural areas back then, no one had that concept.

If a mother’s milk was insufficient, the first thing she’d do was go find a goat to milk, or borrow some milk from another nursing mother in the village.

They’d just received money last month, and now another red envelope—both Li Yan and the Zous felt embarrassed, but finally, after persuasion from Li Jianguo and Tian Run’e, they tucked it away.

But the mother-in-law didn’t hold back—still recovering from illness, she immediately went to the backyard and brought out a large goose and an old duck, saying he needed to recuperate after his college entrance exam.

Back then, old ducks were precious—they were still laying eggs. Li Heng refused, but after being pushed too hard, he reluctantly accepted the goose stuffed in a urea sack.

Perhaps due to his personality, Li Heng was naturally uninterested in babies—he always thought they looked ugly; he preferred children over a year old.

But to avoid hurting his sister’s feelings, he stayed in the bedroom, chatting for two or three hours before returning home.

It was already late when he got home; the cured pork on the table caught his eye, and under his second sister’s glance, he picked up his chopsticks and ate a bowl of rice.

As long as he ate, his sister could eat openly too.

Tian Rune glanced at the full bowl of chili-stirred pork, said nothing, but as she went to the backyard to check on the pigs and cattle, she looked up for a long while at the cured pork hanging above the stove.

Finally, she sighed: This damn girl is wasteful—she must’ve cut off at least one and a half catties, and even took the best pieces.

Ever since Li Heng started earning money from writing, the Li family’s life underwent a dramatic change, making them the envy of the whole village.

Tian Rune had originally been a daughter of a wealthy household, used to spending freely, so she no longer lived frugally—she spent money generously when needed.

But she found her second daughter’s behavior frustrating; if she wasn’t mistaken, the pork in the bowl earlier had been cut after the harvest had declined, and likely half of it had already been eaten before being served.

After dinner, Li Heng carried a bucket and took a refreshing shower by the well in the backyard. The summer heat was intense, and the mountain spring water felt truly wonderful on his skin—he doused himself with over ten buckets before finally stopping.

Around 11 p.m., Tian Rune called her daughter and younger son over and announced something important:

“You’re both grown now—you need your own rooms. In another ten days, your grandmother and your second aunt will return, and the house won’t have enough space. Lately, your father and I have discussed building a new house. What do you think?”

Li Lan had long endured the cramped wooden partition on the second floor and was the most enthusiastic:

“Mom, will the new house be made of red brick or wood?”

Tian Rune said: “If we’re building, it has to be red brick—then we won’t fear fire, and it’ll look respectable.”

“Respectable” was the first time she’d ever said it aloud; for years she’d lived in hardship and rarely mentioned the word.

Now that her children were doing well, her spirit and demeanor had transformed completely—she spoke and acted again like a daughter of a wealthy household, utterly distinct from the ordinary village women.

Li Heng asked: “How big?”

Tian Rune glanced at her husband, signaling him to speak as head of the household; he understood, squeezed her hand, and said:

“We plan two stories, four rooms per floor—so when your aunts return, they’ll have places to stay. We’ve already inquired: if we build our own kiln and fire the bricks ourselves, it’ll cost just over two thousand yuan.”

Only eight rooms? Mom and Dad take one, the study takes one, Grandma and Second Sister each take one—that’s already four gone. That’s too few! Too few! When my future wife comes home, and the aunts visit, where will they rest?

Li Heng happily imagined it in his mind and immediately raised both hands in approval.

Li Lan agreed even more readily, promising to stay through summer to help make the mud bricks.

Mud bricks were the raw, unburned form of red bricks.

In this era, few people bought bricks for construction—they built their own kilns and fired them; the clay dug from the fields could even be turned into fish ponds.

After spending half an hour discussing the house, the conversation turned directly to the Gaokao—the major event. When they learned his first-choice university was Peking University, Li Jianguo, Tian Rune, and Li Lan stared in stunned silence for a long time.

Tian Rune thought for a moment, then asked her son: “Manzai, are you really going to Beijing this summer? To see Chen Zijin?”

Li Jianguo and Li Lan turned to look.

Li Lan sneered at him: “Careful you don’t get in over your head and choke yourself.”

His sister was speaking in riddles—mocking him for stringing along Chen Zijin while flirting with Xiao Han, warning him that one day the truth would come out, and he wouldn’t even know how he died.

Li Heng ignored his sister’s words, nodded, and said: “I have to go. I owe Chen Zijin an explanation—I’ve already bought the train ticket.”

Li Jianguo approved—he wanted his son to show manly responsibility—and asked: “What day’s ticket?”

Li Heng said: “The 15th.”

Unable to stop him, Tian Rune, though uneasy, said nothing more—only worried for his safety, fearing he’d be taken advantage of traveling alone so far to Beijing.

But when she learned he’d be going with Buxinxian, she softened a bit and became less resistant.

After thinking it over, Tian Rune rose and pulled a letter from her chest, speaking gently: “Zhao Jing’s son is dying—he may not survive this summer.

Manzai, since Buxinxian is going with you, why not detour to Gansu after Beijing? Represent me and your father to visit them. I’ll contact them—they’ll meet you at the station.”

He knew Gansu well—he’d been to Zhao Jing’s home several times in his past life, also representing his mother—and now he took the letter, read it, and agreed.

Li Jianguo had wanted to go himself, but remembering Zhao Jing’s old feelings for him, and thinking of all the household matters needing attention, he gave up the idea.

The family meeting ended past midnight. Back on the second floor, Li Heng asked his sister: “Have you found a job yet?”

Li Lan nodded confidently: “Yes.”

“Where?”

“Don’t ask. You’ll find out soon enough.”

Li Heng was speechless: “When do you start?”

Li Lan said: “I leave in September.”

September?

Li Heng racked his memory—it was hazy. He couldn’t recall exactly which month his sister had started working.

But he wasn’t worried about her.

This sister had a hundred wits in her body—she was sharp as a tack. Every boy who pursued her came from a well-off family.

Of course, the simple ones had long been filtered out.

If she hadn’t guessed wrong, she wasn’t rushing to start work this summer because she wanted time to decide which one to accept.

Once she accepted someone, she wouldn’t turn back—her nature wasn’t one to retreat. She’d marry outright.

In fact, in her past life, she’d tormented her devoted suitors before marriage—but once she married, she remained devoted, and the two loved each other for life.

As they parted, Li Lan called after him: “What are you really thinking? How dare you toy with both Chen Zijin and Xiao Han?”

Li Heng blinked: “Aren’t I just following your example? Don’t you have a whole crowd trailing behind you?”

Li Lan instinctively raised her fist, ready to strike—but pulled it back halfway. “You compare yourself to me? To me? Am I as despicable as you?

Before I accepted anyone, I never took a single red thread, never ate a free meal, never flirted ambiguously with anyone. Otherwise, with my looks and skills, would I have worried about sixteen yuan for a dress? I’d be wearing gold and silver by now.”

Hmm, that was true. In this regard, even if he refused to admit it openly, he secretly admired her.

Li Heng stretched: “My situation’s complicated—I can’t explain it in a few words. Just leave it alone. It’s late. Get some rest.”

Li Lan shot him a sidelong glance, pushed open the door, and walked in.

In his own partition, Li Heng sat quietly for a while. The space was small, but because it was on Xuefeng Mountain, it wasn’t stifling.

After letting his mind go blank for about ten minutes, he pulled a stack of letters from his backpack.

There were love letters written to him, letters to Song Yu, and one reader letter from Huang Zhaoyi.

He set aside the love letters to himself—he didn’t feel like reading them.

There were over twenty letters to Song Yu. He opened each one, checked the sender’s name, didn’t read the content, saw they were all insignificant admirers, and set them aside too.

Well, he read them only for novelty—he didn’t take them seriously, because he was confident in Song Yu.

Reader letter

Li Heng murmured, opened Huang Zhaoyi’s registered letter.

As usual, it was three pages of paper—she seemed to deliberately preserve this tradition.

But unlike usual, it contained a photograph.

This was the first time.

The woman in the photo looked about thirty, dressed in stylish, refined fashion, exuding elegance and poise.

It made sense—she was a teacher, a Peking Opera performer, a part-time literary critic—her family background must be distinguished; how could she lack grace?

The first two pages followed the usual pattern, discussing literary insights with him.

On the third page, besides sharing daily matters, she specifically explained why she sent the photo: she’d be performing at the Chang’an Grand Theater and the Mei Lanfang Grand Theater in July, and if he was interested, he could remember her face and find her.

Li Heng read the third page twice, feeling something was off—suddenly a thought struck him: Was she using the photo to test the waters?

Had all those letters, exchanged over time, unconsciously stirred something in her?

In this era, entertainment was scarce—almost nonexistent—and most women held pure views on love, valuing spiritual resonance over material things.

So it wasn’t rare for affection to grow through letters—he couldn’t tell if this was truly the case.

Or was he being overly sensitive?

Overthinking?

But after weighing it, he decided to cut off contact promptly, to avoid unnecessary trouble.

After thinking it over, out of respect for Editor Liao, he wrote her a reply.

In the letter, he gently told her his wife was unwell, his younger daughter was soon to be betrothed, and he needed to stay home to care for them—he couldn’t travel to Beijing to watch her performance. What a pity.

Yes, they were both refined, respectable people—he wrote this letter as his final one.

If Huang Zhaoyi had any hidden feelings, she’d surely understand the implication and sever ties on her own.

After writing the letter, Li Heng took time to tidy his partition.

Honestly, there wasn’t much to tidy—his mother regularly cleaned for him; it was spotless.

But he had his own habits: certain books and trinkets felt more comfortable in certain spots, easier to use.

2:02

It was late.

Li Heng sighed—having a watch was truly good. He took it off, placed it aside, and fell asleep.

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(And…)

(End of Chapter)