Chapter 42: Can Be Kissed

The old house.

Gu Fu was still flipping through the dictionary.

He agonized over names: first he found characters with good meanings, combined them, checked how they sounded when spoken, and only after confirmation did he ask cultured people for their opinions.

It took him half a year just to name his sons.

Gu Mu sat beside him; the densely packed characters on the dictionary made her eyes ache. “Your eldest and second daughters-in-law say that since you’re naming four kids anyway, you might as well name Lai Mei and the others too.”

Gu Fu fell silent for over ten seconds, his fingers trembling on the dictionary.

His mind spun rapidly.

Lai Mei.

Tie Dan.

Tie Chui.

Yu Yu.

Four kids.

Eight names needed.

“Eight?” He swallowed hard, voice tight.

Gu Mu nodded. “Take your time.”

Gu Fu’s face grew solemn. “Heavy task. I need to go through this properly.”

After speaking, he flipped open his worn dictionary again.

“Flip it tomorrow. Go to sleep. We’ve got a busy morning ahead.” Gu Mu urged the old man to rest.

“You sleep first.” Gu Fu didn’t turn around, waved his hand, shifted the kerosene lamp slightly so its light didn’t reach the bed, pouring all its glow onto the battered dictionary.

“I’ll look a little longer.”

“Alright, keep track of the time. You’re not young anymore. Don’t wear yourself out.” Gu Mu muttered a few more warnings before lying down.

No one liked to admit age. Gu Fu’s hand paused mid-flip, stubborn. He felt he was still strong and vigorous.

He flipped for a full hour.

In the end, he wrote down a few characters on paper.

The writing wasn’t pretty, but the strokes were forceful, the characters neat and orderly.

After finishing, he folded the paper and put it away, then returned to bed to sleep.

The last lamp in the old house went out.

The whole village slept under the moonlight, quiet and warm, broken only by the occasional chirping of crickets and cicadas in the summer night, and the distant hoots of owls.

In the Gu family’s third branch, one room’s light still burned.

Lin Zhao’s big spinning wheel stopped, the pointer landing on a narrow slot.

Let me see what I drew!!

She looked over with excited eyes.

Divine Blessing · Red String (6 pieces)

Appearance: Three strands of red silk woven in a chevron pattern, outwardly unremarkable.

Effect: Prevents evil spirits from approaching; can block one fatal attack.

Usage: Wear on the wrist.

Lin Zhao thought of the sinister Lu Bao.

Prevents evil spirits from approaching—this is incredibly useful.

Click to claim.

She placed one on each of the four kids’ wrists.

Then she wore one herself, stacked over her watch—looked quite nice.

The last one she saved for Gu Chenghuai.

She hadn’t forgotten: in the original novel, the kids’ father went on a secret mission and died without a whole body.

She had no intention of replacing him, so Gu Chenghuai had to live—thrive, live to a hundred.

Da Zai woke up drowsy and hot, saw Lin Zhao still awake, and snapped fully alert. “Mama?” He sat up, rubbing his eyes.

“Why are you up? Need to use the latrine?” Lin Zhao wiped sweat from her eldest son’s forehead.

“No.” Da Zai’s eyelashes fluttered slightly, his hands clasped together, his buttocks inching closer to his mother. “Why aren’t you sleeping?”

“I’m going to sleep now.” Lin Zhao turned her head. “Lie down. I’m blowing out the lamp.”

Da Zai shuffled back, obediently lying down.

The Long Fengtai slept at the very inside.

Next came Gu Ercai, sprawled out in all directions.

Further over, Da Zai lay perfectly straight, arms resting on his stomach, looking well-behaved.

Those clear, bright eyes gazed at her; in the dim yellow light, they shone brightly.

Lin Zhao’s eyes softened into a warm smile. She bent down, blew out the lamp, and got into bed.

She was clean and carried a faint fragrance. Da Zai sniffed lightly, smiled with his lips pressed together, then was pulled into her embrace.

“Sleep now.” Lin Zhao patted the child’s back, whispering a bedtime story.

That night, even in sleep, Da Zai’s smile never faded.

A military barracks room.

The desk lamp on the wooden table still glowed.

On the nearby bed, Sun Yeli’s snores rose and fell, echoing through every corner.

Gu Chenghuai was reading a letter; the rhythmic “huh-guluglu-puff” looped endlessly, making it impossible to concentrate.

The handsome young officer frowned, found a scrap of paper, crumpled it into a ball, and stuffed it into his ears.

The snores softened. His brow relaxed. He settled in to read the letter.

【Honey, I started work!!!】

That was the first line.

Three exclamation marks alone showed her excitement, joy, and elation.

Gu Chenghuai smiled faintly.

Why didn’t you say you wanted to work sooner?

【You were right—you need to pass an exam to get a job. Luckily, I’ve been through so much, I wasn’t nervous at all. After the exam, I successfully transferred my grain and oil rationing status. From now on, I’m urban household. The four kids are urban kids too!】

【Da Zai and Er Zai were overjoyed—they bragged about it for two whole days in the village! (Accompanied by a simple drawing of scissors hands)】

She must’ve bragged too.

Gu Chenghuai’s eyes deepened with amusement as he continued reading.

【By the way, I gave your comrades some thank-you gifts…】

It didn’t say outright—it was drawn as a doodle, just a few quick strokes.

Most people wouldn’t recognize what it was.

Gu Chenghuai knew.

A chicken, a fish, a jar of wheat milk powder, a pack of cigarettes, a bag of sugar.

A wave stirred in his eyes; every sharp edge of him softened.

He’d repay this kindness—he wondered how hard Zhao Zhao had worked to get all these precious things.

【Comrade Gu, you’re amazing! After six years of marriage, I’ve never once regretted it. Marrying you… was truly wonderful!】

“?”

Gu Chenghuai: Wait, who else were you thinking of marrying?!

【If you get leave, come home and see. Today I saw the sunflowers by the roadside blooming—they’re missing you too.】

Lin Zhao never wrote letters in rigid, formal formats. She wrote wherever her thoughts led—like her: free, bright, fiery.

Gu Chenghuai’s heart struck as if hit—he couldn’t stop the rising curve of his lips.

He looked toward the calendar on the wall directly ahead.

Almost there.

Soon.

Lin Zhao woke, glanced at her wristwatch: 6:10. Still early.

She shifted position, stayed in bed, bored, and summoned the prize wheel again.

She had 233 points left.

Quite a bit, right?

She immediately spent 30 points for three consecutive spins.

【Mosquito Net ×1】

【Mosquito-Repelling Scent Pouches ×3】

【Bai Hao Yin Zhen (White Tea) ×1 box】

【Swiss Roll ×1 box】

【Dry Noodles ×10 packs】

【Pure Milk ×10 cartons (24 boxes each)】

【Spicy Strips ×2 packs】

【1 jin (12 pieces) of small tangerines】

【1 pack (50 pieces) of Big White Rabbit milk candies】

【1 box (9 pieces) of chocolate】

【2 pairs of military green children’s plastic sandals (size 25)】

【1 large black umbrella】

【1 bottle of spray-on pain reliever】

【20 chi of cotton cloth】

【20 chi of military green khaki cloth】

【3 braised chicken legs】

My luck today isn’t bad.

Lin Zhao was content.

She glanced at the four sleeping cubs, then quietly got out of bed, hung a mosquito-repelling incense pouch on the cabinet handle, and took out a few more items to store inside.

“Mama~~?” Er Zai woke up, dragging out his voice, his clear tone still hoarse from sleep.

His right cheek bore imprints from the bamboo mat; he crawled toward the edge of the bed, lowered his head, and spotted the red string on his wrist. He froze, tugged at it a few times with his fingers, then lifted his wrist to show Lin Zhao.

“Mama, what’s this? Did you put it on me?”

“Yes.” Lin Zhao was braiding her hair. “All four of you have one. Your father and I have them too. This is the symbol of our family. You must wear them well, understood?”

A symbol of our family…?

Er Zai loved that phrase.

A complex emotion swelled in his tiny chest, full and overflowing.

“Mm!” His eyes sparkled as he nodded seriously.

Da Zai woke up from his brother’s noise.

“Brother, you’re awake! Look at your wrist—Mama gave us these red strings.” Er Zai, ever talkative, didn’t stop talking even after waking. “Mama says it’s the symbol of our family, and Papa has one too.”

“Mm.” Da Zai nodded, his face showing no surprise—he’d clearly overheard Lin Zhao and Er Zai’s conversation.

He looked at Er Zai with serious eyes. “Er Zai, be careful when you play. Don’t dirty or break the red strings Mama gave us.”

“Mm-mm, I know!” Er Zai shouted loudly.

The Long Fengtai slept like little pigs, undisturbed.

“Shh.” Da Zai raised a finger to his lips, telling his brother to be quiet.

At that moment, Lin Zhao walked over carrying two pairs of plastic sandals.

“I bought you sandals. Try them on—see if they fit.”

Da Zai and Er Zai’s eyes lit up instantly; they both clapped hands over their mouths, stifling the shrieks of delight rising in their throats.

“Mama, you bought us shoes again?” Er Zai’s voice betrayed uncontainable joy.

Lin Zhao didn’t explain further, smiling as she asked, “Yes. Do you like them?”

The shoes were military green—the color children loved most—made of a material they’d never seen before, with perforated uppers for breathability, two crossed plastic straps across the instep, and metal eyelets to adjust the fit.

Just looking at them brought joy.

“Like! Like! Like them so much!” Er Zai repeated it several times.

Lin Zhao turned to her eldest son.

Da Zai nodded too, hugging the new sandals tightly to his chest. “I like them too. Thank you, Mama.”

“Thank you, Mama,” Er Zai echoed.

Lin Zhao accepted their thanks, crouched down, and began putting the new sandals on them.

She started with Da Zai.

She wiped his feet with a damp cloth, picked up the shoe, adjusted the size, and slipped it onto his foot.

Da Zai stared at the crown of his mother’s head, dazed.

For the first time, he felt her love more clearly than ever.

Suddenly, his eyes filled with tears. Afraid she’d see, he quickly lowered his head, wiped them away. His water-washed eyes shone like a mirror lake as he grinned—brighter than ever.

Mama loves them.

He was certain now—they were children loved by their mama.

He loved Mama so much.

“Get up and walk around—see how they feel,” Lin Zhao said, not noticing the fleeting emotion on her son’s face, and patted his head.

Da Zai gave a heavy “Mm,” jumped off the bed, paced back and forth, then lifted his small face. “Mama, they’re so cool!”

Cooler than the Huilai shoes.

“Because they’re called sandals,” Lin Zhao said, her voice softening naturally when speaking to her adorable little ones.

Er Zai sat on the edge of the bed, stretching his foot forward, eager. “Mama, help me put them on! Help me!”

As Lin Zhao helped him, Da Zai watched closely beside her.

Seeing this, she slowed down, teaching him how to put them on.

Da Zai stood close to his mother; once he learned, he glanced at her, his smile growing wider.

“What are you smiling at?” Lin Zhao said. “You’re smiling so much I want to kiss you hard.”

At this,

Da Zai’s face flushed crimson, smoke almost rising from his head.

He clenched his small fists, didn’t think twice, lifted his face, cheeks and ears burning, eyes shy but clear, voice trembling: “You can kiss me.”

Lin Zhao was charmed by her son. She bent down and kissed his cheek.

Instantly,

the child’s face turned even redder. He dared not look at his mother again, feeling weightless, as if walking on clouds.

Er Zai saw his mother kiss his brother and couldn’t sit still. He hugged Lin Zhao’s waist, tiptoed as high as he could, practically offering his face to her lips.

Lin Zhao smiled warmly and gave Er Zai a kiss too.

The little boy felt blissful, his smile brighter than the sun. He looked at his new sandals—his life had reached its peak.

“This life… damn, it’s beautiful!”

Lin Zhao: “?”

She stopped smiling, her expression odd. “Where did you learn that?”

Er Zai dropped his smug expression, pressed his arms against his pant seams, his boldness vanishing. He stole a glance at his mother’s face. “The sent-down youths at the commune.” He spoke honestly.

Lin Zhao grew more puzzled. “Sent-down youths all pride themselves as intellectuals. How could they swear? Little Comrade Gu Er Zai, are you sure you didn’t mishear?”

“No!” Er Zai hurried to say, then pulled his brother. “Brother, tell her.”

“Mm. Er Zai didn’t make it up—he heard it from the sent-down youth brother,” Da Zai said. “The sent-down youth brother also said they should adapt to local customs, blend in with the masses—saying it like this is really…”

He paused, then added: “Really damn satisfying.”

Lin Zhao’s impression of the sent-down youths underwent a complete reversal.

“They’ve completely lost it.”

Seeing her mother still interested, Er Zai chattered on: “Nai Nai says the sent-down youths who’ve been here over two years are turning into villagers. She hopes the new ones will adapt fast too—stop causing trouble all the time, it’s so annoying.”

“Did the sent-down youths cause trouble again?” Lin Zhao stepped out of the room to wash her face; Da Zai and Er Zai followed.

Outside, it was cooler than inside.

Da Zai opened the window to air out the room.

Er Zai told his mother about the commotion in the brigade. “The sent-down youth compound was especially lively yesterday morning—lots of people went to watch. I went too. Those sent-down youths were fighting—really fierce! You scratched my face, I pulled your hair, like this—scratch, pull…”

He once again demonstrated his mimicry skills—performing without props, his short, sturdy frame flailing wildly.

Lin Zhao burst out laughing.

“Alright, I get it. You’ve had your fun.”

Er Zai chuckled.

“What do you want to eat today?” Lin Zhao asked.

Er Zai’s bright eyes darted around, grinning. “Mama, you decide. Whatever you prepare, my brother and I will like.”

“Alright.” Lin Zhao agreed, changed the water in the basin, and urged the two boys to wash their faces. “You two go first—I’ll prepare your rations.”

For some reason, the word “rations” made Er Zai laugh—he let out a clear, bright giggle.

“Er Zai, be quiet. Don’t wake the little ones,” Da Zai whispered.

Lin Zhao heard this as she stepped into the room. She smiled, but a pang of sadness touched her.

At five and a half, other children rolled in the mud—but Da Zai had grown quiet, responsible, sensitive, and thoughtful. His tragic fate in the original novel was inevitable.

On this new day, Lin Zhao prepared half a sack of rice for Da Zai and Er Zai—enough for half a month, so she wouldn’t have to deliver daily.

Half a jin of pork.

Ten Big White Rabbit milk candies.

Five small tangerines.

Three packs of dry noodles. The prize wheel was thoughtful—all items came out in packaging from this era, with authentic origins; Lin Zhao wasn’t worried about being discovered.

Three boxes of milk.

That was enough.

When Da Zai and Er Zai saw what their mother had prepared, their eyes widened to saucers, their entire beings wrapped in an endless tide of happiness, their smiles stretching nearly to the backs of their heads.

(End of Chapter)