Chapter 274

Early summer of 1962, the sun had already begun to show its harshness. In the canteen of the Steel Rolling Mill, heads bustled, sweat, food, and metal dust mingled, forming a thick, distinctive air of the workplace.

The line for meals stretched like a long dragon; workers held their lunchboxes, chatting idly while eagerly eyeing the limited oily bits at the serving window.

Qin Huairu stood in the middle of the queue, head slightly bowed, gripping the slightly dented aluminum lunchbox in her hand. Her goal today was the man ahead who occasionally gave her an extra half spoon of vegetables—Liu Pangzi.

She calculated how to strike up a natural conversation, how to reveal her embarrassment just right without letting people look down on her.

Just then, a voice with a hint of oily smoothness sounded in her ear, like a cold snake sliding over her neck.

"Qin sis, you're in line?"

Qin Huairu's heart skipped a beat; she knew who it was without turning—Xu Damao. She suppressed her disgust, turned, and forced a strained, distant smile: "Oh, it's Xu Damao."

Xu Damao seemed to have dressed up especially today, his hair slicked back, wearing a semi-new Terylene shirt that stood out starkly among the workers in their coarse labor uniforms.

He wasn't holding a lunchbox, clearly not here to queue for food. His small eyes darted over Qin Huairu, openly sizing her up and calculating.

"Look at how you're living," Xu Damao stepped closer, lowering his voice with a tone of condescending pity, "you're smiling at those rough guys in the workshop just for an extra bite—is it worth it?"

Qin Huairu's smile froze, her fingers gripping the lunchbox until the joints whitened. She knew Xu Damao had no good intentions, but she hadn't expected him to be so blunt.

Seeing she didn't immediately retort, Xu Damao thought he'd hit a nerve, grew bolder, lowered his voice even further—almost a hiss from between his teeth—blasting a nauseating warmth into her ear:

"Qin sis, straight talk—what can you get to eat from those oafs in the workshop? Gnaw their coarse steamed buns? How about… coming with me to the warehouse for some… 'fun fun'?" He emphasized the two words "fun fun," his eyes lingering ambiguously on her, "Just a moment, and I'll give you this—"

He held up five fingers, waving them before her eyes, a lecherous grin of certainty on his face: "Five dollars! Enough to buy how many white steamed buns?"

Five dollars! That was about half a month's wages for Qin Huairu! In these times, it was undoubtedly a sum that could make anyone envious. If it were another desperate woman, she might truly be tempted.

In that instant, Qin Huairu's heart felt clenched by an icy hand, blood rushing to her head. Shame, anger, and a trace of sorrow at being nakedly objectified surged like a volcano in her chest. Looking at Xu Damao's repulsive face, she wanted to smash her lunchbox into him.

But she couldn't.

She thought of her nephew Bang Geng at home, of the wailing Xiao Huaihua in swaddling clothes, of her mother-in-law Jia Zhangshi's sharp-tongued scheming, and of her own exhaustion in the workshop, still unable to earn enough to keep warm and fed…

If she confronted him head‑on, offending this petty man would make it even harder to stand firm in the factory later. His foul mouth spread rumors everywhere, turning white into black.

In a flash, Qin Huairu forced herself to stay calm. Since a hard approach wouldn't work, she had to go soft. She couldn't agree, but she also couldn't openly turn against him.

Just as Xu Damao thought he had it in the bag, his hand about to rest on Qin Huairu's arm, she suddenly lifted her head.

She didn't shout or panic; instead, her eyes reddened and large tears spilled out uncontrollably. She sounded as if she'd suffered a great injustice, her voice choked with tears but deliberately not lowered, so everyone ahead and behind in line could hear:

"Xu Damao! How… how do you see me, Qin Huairu?!"

Her cry, sharp and piercing with tears, instantly drew everyone's gaze. The workers in line turned over, whispering to each other.

Xu Damao was dumbfounded by the sudden turn, his outstretched hand frozen mid‑air, his lecherous smile locked in place. He hadn't expected Qin Huairu to react like this! Shouldn't she have reluctantly given in, or run off angry? Why was she crying? And shouting so loudly?

"How long has Dong Xu been gone… his bones aren't even cold yet!" Qin Huairu sobbed, shoulders heaving, voice sorrowful, each word dripping blood: "I'm dragging two kids, working my bones off in the factory just to earn a meal and raise them… am I not entitled to that? How dare you… how dare you trample me like this! Five dollars? You think five dollars can buy my Qin Huairu's dignity?"

She cried while wiping her tears with her sleeve, depicting a widow stricken with grief, bullied yet clinging to her chastity, to perfection.

The surrounding gazes instantly shifted from curiosity to contempt and anger, all shooting toward Xu Damao.

"Xu Damao! Are you even human?"

"Bullying orphans and widows—what sort of thing are you!"

"Master Qin has it hard enough, and you're kicking her when she's down!"

"Five bucks? Pah! You really think you're a big shot!"

The workers were mostly honest and already felt some sympathy for Qin Huairu, a "difficult household"; seeing Xu Damao behave so despicably now aroused public anger, especially a few veteran workers who had long disliked his slippery ways, who directly shouted their condemnation.

Xu Damao panicked completely, his face turning liver-colored. He felt those gazes like needles pricking his skin. He wanted to explain, but Qin Huairu's weeping was genuine and heartfelt, every word reasonable, leaving him no room to rebut. He wanted to slip away, but people surrounded him front and back, blocking him completely.

"I… I didn't… I was just joking…" Xu Damao stammered, sweat beading on his forehead, wishing he could find a crack in the ground to crawl into.

"Joking? Who jokes about someone's purity?" a loud-voiced smith roared.

"Exactly! Get lost! Don't be an eyesore here!"

Amid a chorus of disdainful boos and rebukes, Xu Damao made a sorry figure, like a rat crossing the street, he squeezed through the crowd with his tail between his legs, fleeing the cafeteria without looking back, not daring to turn his head. Naturally, he never managed to deliver those five dollars.

Watching Xu Damao's fleeing back, Qin Huairu finally slowed her sobs, wiped the tears from her face with her sleeve, and bowed deeply to the workers who had spoken up for her, her voice choked yet clear.

"Thank you… thank you for upholding justice… thank you…"

The workers all comforted her:

"Master Qin, don't be afraid; we're not scared of this petty person!"

"If he dares to harass you again, tell us and we'll take care of him!"

"Take good care of your child, things will get better…"

Qin Huairu's eyes were red-rimmed; she repeatedly thanked them, fell back into line, head slightly bowed, looking shaken yet pitiable. No one saw the flash of cold calculation in the depths of her downcast eyes.

She did not take Xu Damao's five dollars. But after this incident, her image of steadfast purity among the cafeteria workers became even more solid. In the future, when she accepted certain people's "kind" buns or help, resistance would be much less, and she would be safer.

And her public denunciation of Xu Damao would soon spread throughout the factory, enough to make any other man harboring similar thoughts weigh the consequences.

With a superb performance, she not only defused the crisis, held her line, and further solidified the persona she relied on to survive. Yet no one knew that, in an unseen corner, her fingers gripping the lunchbox had turned pale from excessive force, icy cold.

This brief confrontation in the cafeteria line involved no fists or kicks, yet it was filled with the glint of blades.

Xu Damao lost utterly, while Qin Huairu, once again, barely kept her footing on the tightrope of survival.

The hardship and humiliation of it all were known only to her, who, in every late night, chewed them over alone, turning them into the cold sustenance that sustained her onward.