Chapter 108: The Preparation for the Literary Contest Enters Its Final Stage

Zhou Andong climbed to the summit, grabbed the little white rabbit and squeezed it roughly, then descended the mountain, stepped onto the plain, crossed the grassland, entered the gorge, and stopped at a stream.

Zhou Andong was thirsty—he hadn’t drunk water in ages—so he was deeply drawn to any source of water. And Jian Qiu’s water source was already ready, wide open, inviting him to drink his fill.

At that moment, the door banged loudly as a little girl shouted outside: “Big brother, sister-in-law, it’s freezing out here—open up!”

Zhou Andong sighed. “Little girl, do you have any idea how hard your big brother’s life is? Can’t you just give me a moment’s peace?”

Jian Qiu hurriedly tied her sash and fastened her buttons. Seeing Zhou Andong’s expression of utter despair, she kissed him on the lips—just to comfort him—then rushed over to open the door and let the little girl in.

“Oh my, you didn’t even put on your cotton coat!” Jian Qiu picked up the little girl and shoved her into Zhou Andong’s quilt. “Running around in just your undershirt and underwear—what if you catch cold? Don’t ever do this again.”

The little girl grinned. “It’s fine—I never get sick.”

Zhou Andong smiled. In his memory, since she was two, this girl had never once been ill—not even a common cold. The only time she’d ever gotten a shot was during her C-section birth.

“Still, it’s not acceptable,” Jian Qiu said sternly. “When it’s cold, you wear more clothes. Do you understand?”

“Okay,” the little girl stuck out her tongue. “Sister-in-law, I want to sleep in your quilt.”

Jian Qiu smiled and pinched the girl’s nose. “Fine, but you have to behave.”

“Yes, I’ll be good,” the little girl tried to crawl out of the quilt, but Jian Qiu pushed her back down. “Stay right there.”

With the little girl present, Zhou Andong and Jian Qiu could only chat about work matters, strictly and properly.

“Zuo Peiming wants you to lead the merger of the county liquor factory?” Jian Qiu, hearing this, felt it was unbelievable—it made no sense at all.

Zhou Andong pulled out a cigarette and put it between his lips. Jian Qiu lit it for him. He watched the smoke drift before his eyes and said softly: “The more unreasonable something seems, the bigger the secret behind it.”

Jian Qiu mused: “I think it’s a good thing. Otherwise, they wouldn’t have entrusted you with such an important role as head of the liquor factory merger.”

Zhou Andong nodded. “Wait. No matter how big the matter is, time will reveal everything.”

Jian Qiu smiled. “This afternoon, Guan Shengjie called. The short story literary contest is nearly ready. Eight magazines are cooperating: ‘Contemporary,’ ‘Reader,’ ‘Liaoning Youth,’ ‘Mengya,’ ‘People’s Literature,’ ‘October,’ ‘Shouhuo,’ and ‘Writers’ Digest.’ Promotion and submissions begin March 1st and end at the end of March.”

Zhou Andong was surprised. “Guan Shengjie’s got guts—these eight magazines all have serious influence.”

Jian Qiu said: “‘Liaoning Youth’ has strong influence in our province, but nationally, it still lags behind the others. We chose it because the liquor factory is in Jiangzhou, in Liaoning.”

As Zhou Andong and Jian Qiu chatted, they didn’t notice how late it had become. When they looked over, the little girl was asleep. They exchanged a quiet smile.

Jian Qiu leaned over and kissed Zhou Andong lightly. “I’ll take her to sleep.”

“Let me carry her—she’s not light,” Zhou Andong got up, wrapped the girl in the quilt, and lifted her. “Let’s go.”

They went to the west room, laid the girl down, and Zhou Andong said: “I’m heading back. If you need the bathroom, use the flashlight and have Xiao Qin go with you.”

Jian Qiu pushed him out the door. “Go sleep. I don’t need you worrying about me.”

Zhou Andong went to the east room and called out to Zhou Anbei: “Xiao Bei, go back to sleep.” That kid had good instincts—he knew his big brother was suffering and didn’t dare disturb him.

The next morning, Zhou Andong suddenly felt like practicing his fist forms. Every joint in his body cracked loudly.

Between his two lives, he hadn’t practiced in years. After finishing the routine, he was drenched in sweat—utterly refreshed. He filled a basin with water and took a cold shower outside. Instantly, goosebumps rose across his skin, and steam rose around him.

“Damn, that felt amazing!” Zhou Andong shivered, ran back inside, grabbed a towel, dried off, and quickly dressed.

He stepped out just as Jian Qiu was holding a ladle, biting into a chunk of ice with a crisp crunch. “So cold—it’s freezing my teeth!”

Zhou Andong sighed. “Aren’t you afraid you’ll crack your teeth?”

Jian Qiu laughed. “I saw the water tank was full of ice, so I took a piece.”

“Dinner’s ready!” Yuan Liying called from inside.

The dumplings from last night were reheated, and a big pot of beef and potatoes had been stewed. After breakfast, they boarded a bus back to the city.

“First, come home and change clothes, then we’ll head to the factory,” they got off the bus at the terminal, and Jian Qiu pulled Zhou Andong onto a public bus.

Outside the gate of the Procuratorate’s family compound, before dawn, an imported business car had already parked there.

Inside, Tong Huaiyu sat, watching the compound gate through the tinted glass. With every person entering or leaving, his face grew more disappointed.

“It’s already time for work—why hasn’t she come out yet?” Tong Huaiyu suppressed the urge to go inside—he knew Jian Qiu’s temper too well. If he showed up unannounced, he might provoke the little miss into a rage, and that would be disastrous.

Just as he grew impatient and considered heading to the liquor factory, he suddenly saw Jian Qiu step off the newly arrived bus. His face lit up—he was about to get out—then froze.

Another man stepped off the bus behind her. Jian Qiu took his hand willingly, her face glowing with a smile he had never seen before.

Tong Huaiyu felt as if an invisible hand had clenched his heart—painful, like his most cherished toy being snatched away. The feeling was indescribable.

Watching Jian Qiu and the man walk toward him, laughing and chatting, Tong Huaiyu’s eyes turned bloodshot. His fists clenched so tightly his knuckles turned white. His gaze grew as cold as the winter air—cold enough to freeze a man solid.

Jian Qiu hadn’t come home last night—she’d been with this man. Who was he? What right did he have to possess a woman as perfect as Jian Qiu?

Tong Huaiyu’s breathing grew heavier. His icy gaze slowly filled with murderous intent. No—Jian Qiu is mine. No one will take her from me. Not even heaven or earth itself.

“Han Long, see that man and woman up ahead? Find out everything about that man. I want his full dossier.”

In the front passenger seat, Han Long nodded, opened the car door, and stepped out. His gait suggested he was—or had once been—a soldier.

Tong Huaiyu took a deep breath and told the driver: “Back to the hotel.”