Chapter 44: The Boasts I Made Have All Come True

In the county.

Song Yuncheng arrived on time to deliver food to the supply and marketing cooperative.

He wore dark gray pants with tapered cuffs, a blue short-sleeved shirt, and had well-proportioned features, radiating vitality.

“Sis, your food’s still warm,” he said, setting the lunch box down at Lin Zhao’s counter.

Lin Zhao took the box, opened it, and found a full portion of coarse grain rice topped with spicy stir-fried pork and shredded cabbage with vermicelli—appetizing and hearty.

“Have you eaten?” she asked, concerned.

“Yes, you eat quickly. If someone comes, I’ll help you,” Song Yuncheng said, secretly hoping to get a taste of being a sales clerk.

Lin Zhao smiled and began eating.

The siblings ate in quiet peace—until someone deliberately sought trouble.

Liu Chunhong, who had long disliked Lin Zhao, seemed to have finally caught her in the act, and exclaimed excitedly: “The supply and marketing cooperative is public property. As a sales clerk, you shouldn’t bring in random outsiders. If anything goes missing—like a needle or thread—no one can take responsibility.”

Though she didn’t name anyone, everyone’s eyes instinctively turned toward Lin Zhao and her brother.

“Slam!”

Lin Zhao set down her chopsticks hard, slowly lifting her gaze—expressionless, cold.

This was clearly a fight-ready posture.

Song Yuncheng’s heart pounded in his throat; he feared his sister would lose her temper and start a brawl, risking her job—his hair felt like it was standing on end.

He turned and slammed his palm onto the counter.

The ceramic jars and enamel bottles on the table clattered together, ringing out sharply.

Now, all attention turned to him.

“You, lady in the blue cotton shirt…” Song Yuncheng’s face was icy, his gaze hostile, his tall frame radiating overwhelming pressure, “are you talking about me?”

Lady?

She was barely forty—how was she a “lady”?

Liu Chunhong was deeply offended by the term; her whole body trembled with rage.

“Can’t you speak properly? If you can’t, shut your stinking mouth.”

Song Yuncheng didn’t back down—he rolled his eyes and shot back.

“My mouth may be foul, but can it compare to something pickled in your own cesspool? Tell me—did I steal your rice or dig up your ancestors’ grave?”

His eyes, which had just been smiling, turned glacial: “You throw baseless accusations of theft at people—that’s your professional conduct as a supply clerk?”

As he spoke, he suddenly stepped closer, making Liu Chunhong knock over her abacus—it clattered to the floor with a loud crack, like a hammer striking every heart.

“I’ll go ask your director—why are you, a rabid woman who bites anyone who passes, still allowed to work at the counter? Are you dissatisfied with the people?”

Liu Chunhong’s face turned pale.

She hadn’t expected this to be such a hard target.

It was just a few sharp words—nothing more.

“Don’t you dare speak nonsense!” Liu Chunhong snapped.

Lin Zhao understood her brother’s intent. She calmed her temper, continued eating, and replied calmly: “Where did my brother speak nonsense?”

“Did I not accuse him? Or did I not deliberately provoke you?”

She stood her ground, voice cool: “If you don’t apologize today, this isn’t over.”

Liu Chunhong, confident in her seniority and certain the cooperative couldn’t fire her, sneered defiantly: “I won’t apologize. What are you going to do about it?”

Still, she feared Lin Zhao might take this to Director Jiang, jeopardizing her chances for an “Outstanding Employee” award, so she added: “This is just a petty squabble. The director has no time for such nonsense. Go complain—let him see how disrespectful you, a new hire, are to your seniors.”

“Did you respect me?” Lin Zhao sneered in return.

“A promising youth being branded a thief—is that a petty squabble? Then what counts as a serious matter?”

Liu Chunhong opened her mouth to retort, but an older coworker, close to her, tugged her sleeve.

This woman feared the situation would escalate, shook her head, and whispered: “Forget it, forget it. If this goes to Director Jiang, it won’t end well.”

She’d heard these two new girls had connections—if things blew up, no one knew who’d suffer.

Seeing Liu Chunhong still stubbornly provoking, she pressed: “Look at the young man’s pants—that’s the uniform of an electric motor factory technician. Isn’t your son working as a temporary worker there? Are you sure you want to offend a valuable technician?”

Liu Chunhong’s expression wavered; her voice tightened: “You’re sure?”

“Of course. My daughter’s last matchmaker’s candidate was a technician from that factory—he wore exactly these pants. No mistake.”

They whispered among themselves, glancing repeatedly at Song Yuncheng’s lower half.

The young man’s face darkened instantly; he turned aside, furious.

“Where are you looking?!”

As he shifted, the electric motor factory’s distinctive insignia on his pant pocket became visible to Liu Chunhong.

Liu Chunhong remembered her son had mentioned that technicians earned high wages—he hoped to one day transfer there.

Now!

She had just insulted a real technician!

Would her son still have a chance?

Liu Chunhong’s face flushed and paled in rapid succession, like a painter’s palette.

She remained silent for a long time. Lin Zhao glanced over, surprised—the usually aggressive, domineering veteran now looked strangely conflicted, torn, as if waging an inner war.

“….”

Lin Zhao turned her gaze to Song Yuncheng’s pants.

Sensing her stare, Song Yuncheng felt deeply uncomfortable—he wanted to grab a railway track and flee immediately.

What the hell is my sister looking at?!

“Sis?” Song Yuncheng’s frustrated voice broke the silence.

He wouldn’t yell at his sister, so he glared fiercely at Liu Chunhong instead.

It was all her fault.

Liu Chunhong flinched under his glare—oh no, she’d made an enemy. If her son couldn’t get into the technical department, he’d hate her forever.

Lin Zhao came back to herself and asked Song Yuncheng: “Are these pants the electric motor factory technician’s uniform?”

Song Yuncheng nodded. “Yeah, so what?”

He glanced at his own clothes—nothing wrong.

Lin Zhao’s eyes flickered, then she smiled: “Looks sharp.”

A technician—no wonder everyone was intimidated into silence.

After her inner struggle, Liu Chunhong decided her son’s future mattered more than her pride. She took a deep breath, picked up a box of mung bean cakes, and walked over to apologize to Song Yuncheng: “I’m sorry—I didn’t mean it. Please don’t hold it against me.”

She said the soft words, set the cakes down, and returned to her counter, pretending to chat with coworkers, refusing to look up.

“….” Song Yuncheng felt uneasy.

If the woman had kept being arrogant, he’d have fought her to the end. But now that she’d backed down and apologized, the recent high school graduate didn’t know how to react.

Damn it!

“I’m done eating,” Lin Zhao said.

Song Yuncheng’s inner turmoil vanished. He packed up the lunch box: “Sis, I’ll wash it when I get home.”

Lin Zhao sat there, unapologetically: “Of course you wash it.”

“Sis, you really don’t know what ‘politeness’ means,” Song Yuncheng grumbled—but his face was full of smiles, clearly happy to indulge her.

“Why be polite with your own brother?” Lin Zhao shot him a look, coolly.

Song Yuncheng’s lips curled upward, revealing bright white teeth.

“Sis, what about this?” He pointed to the mung bean cakes on the counter.

“Keep them. We can’t be insulted for free,” Lin Zhao grabbed the cakes and shoved them into his arms. These were items sold by the cooperative—still sealed, so she made him take them; otherwise, she feared Liu Chunhong might have planted something malicious.

Song Yuncheng thought his sister made sense. He stopped pushing back and shoved the cakes toward her: “Sis, give them to Dacai and Ercai.”

Lin Zhao grew impatient: “You keep them!”

“Sis…” Song Yuncheng tried again, but she snapped: “You keep them. I won’t take gifts from others. If you bought them, I’d have no problem accepting.”

Song Yuncheng knew his sister had her quirks. He sighed and gave in: “Fine. When I get paid, I’ll buy something for Dacai and Ercai. Don’t you dare stop me.”

The twins were so tiny, their bodies soft, limbs limp—they’d cry if you held them too tightly. He dared not feed them anything random.

Lin Zhao looked at him like he was an idiot: “You’re their uncle. If you want to spoil them, I’d be the fool to stop you.”

“Then… can I take Dacai and Ercai to the county next weekend?” Song Yuncheng ventured.

“I’ll take all four kids to visit you next weekend,” Lin Zhao said.

“Why not this weekend?” Song Yuncheng asked.

“We’re building a house—I have to stay,” Lin Zhao huffed. “You keep complaining my house is shabby—wait till I finish. Don’t get too jealous!”

“I never said your house was shabby!” Song Yuncheng cried out in protest.

Still.

Hearing the Gu family was building a house, he felt genuinely happy: “Building a house is great! Need help?”

“No.”

“Alright,” Song Yuncheng said, disappointed.

Instantly, he perked up again: “Sis, can I ride my bike to the brigade to pick you up next weekend?”

“Sure!”

Song Yuncheng began looking forward to next weekend. He remembered Yunjin’s eager questions about his sister and the four kids, and added: “Yunjin will be overjoyed.”

Lin Zhao wanted to ask Yunjin what his plans were, but the place was too crowded—so she held her tongue.

Song Yuncheng packed up his lunchbox and prepared to go home.

“Wait.” Lin Zhao called out to him.

Song Yuncheng stopped and looked at her with an inquiring gaze.

Lin Zhao waved him over.

The boy obediently walked over.

“Open the cloth bag,” Lin Zhao said.

Confused, Song Yuncheng untied the opening of the cloth bag holding the lunchbox.

Lin Zhao turned slightly and pulled out three braised chicken legs one by one, placing them inside.

“Only three—divide them among yourselves,” Lin Zhao said.

The chicken legs were wrapped in oil paper; Song Yuncheng couldn’t see what they were. “What is it?”

“Braised chicken legs,” Lin Zhao whispered.

Song Yuncheng: “!!!”

Braised… chicken… legs?!

“Sis…”

Before he could speak, Lin Zhao guessed what he was about to say. “Shut up.”

After silencing Song Yuncheng, she pulled out the box of Baihao Yinzhen tea she had won and said, “This is white tea. Give it to my uncle for me.”

“Sis, you still remember Dad likes tea?” Song Yuncheng blurted out.

Lin Zhao choked, utterly speechless. “I’m twenty-three, not eighty-three. My memory’s fine.”

Song Yuncheng hurried to explain, “That’s not what I meant—I just didn’t expect you’d get tea for Dad.”

He sighed suddenly. “Sis, all the big claims you made back in school? You’ve fulfilled them all.”

Like marrying a great soldier, or becoming a glorious salesclerk, or buying Dad the best tea…

Lin Zhao: “...”

She glared at Song Yuncheng. “What do you mean ‘big claims’? Do you even understand what ideals are?”

Lin Zhao snorted, waved her hand, and said impatiently, “Go on, I’m busy.”

She bent down, found a cloth rag, and began wiping the counter and organizing the goods.

Song Yuncheng opened his mouth, then left without another word.

He returned home.

“You’re back. How’s your sister? Is she adjusting okay?” Song’s aunt, who should have been napping, was awake and hurriedly asked.

“My sister’s got such a sharp temper—she wields soft knives with ease. What’s there not to adjust to?” Song Yuncheng set down the braised chicken legs and tea.

Thinking of the taste of meat, he swallowed hard.

He lived in the city, yes, but in this era where meat required both money and ration coupons, eating meat was hard—of course he was hungry for it.

Song’s aunt slapped him. “Speak properly! Don’t talk in that sarcastic tone!”

The aunt genuinely thought Zhaozhao had a good nature—bold, straightforward, and never got taken advantage of.

Song Yuncheng felt wronged.

He swore on his life—he hadn’t been sarcastic at all.

Before he could protest, Song’s aunt asked, “What are all these things?”

“Three braised chicken legs! My sister gave them to me!” At the mention of chicken legs, Song Yuncheng couldn’t help swallowing again. He wiped his mouth and picked up the tea box. “This is the white tea my sister sent to Dad!”

He drew out the words, clicking his tongue. “Old Song’s going to be baking pancakes again tonight.” This time, it was from emotion.

Song’s aunt swatted him on the head, but held back most of the force. “You’ve been showing off too much these past two days. If you don’t tone it down, and your father decides to scold you, I’ll hand him the broom!”

Song Yuncheng grinned sheepishly. “I’m just being like this in front of you.”

“Besides…” He paused, his smile bright. “Dad’s been in a good mood these days. Once I give him the tea, he’ll be even happier. Even if Yunjin and I get into trouble, he won’t get mad.”

Song’s aunt: That little brat has Old Song completely wrapped around his finger.

If he’d only applied that cleverness to learning a trade, he’d have been regularized long ago.

“Your sister has thought of everything,” Song’s aunt said.

She remembered how little Lin Zhao once said she’d buy her uncle the best tea, her aunt the most beautiful dress and jewelry, and her brothers meat to eat—and now, the girl had made good on every promise. She felt deeply satisfied.

Song Yuncheng grinned widely.

Ever since his sister came by, the whole household’s atmosphere had changed.

“Mom, my sister said she’ll bring four kids to visit Dad and you next weekend.”

Song’s aunt immediately took this seriously.

“Then this weekend, clean the whole house.”

Song Yuncheng looked around. “The house is already clean. Nothing to tidy.”

“Under the sofa, under the bed, under the cabinets… how long has it been since you cleaned those? No excuses—clean every corner inside and out this weekend,” Song’s aunt said firmly.

“...Okay.”

Song’s aunt asked again: “Did your sister say what she wants to eat tomorrow?”

“No. She said your cooking is delicious—she hasn’t eaten it in years and misses it terribly,” Song Yuncheng said.

Song’s aunt was delighted.

“I got pork ribs. Tomorrow I’ll make braised ribs with garlic—your sister’s favorite.”

Song Yuncheng wanted some too. “What about me and Yunjin?”

“Yes, two pieces each,” Song’s aunt said, as if they’d been granted a great favor.

Better than nothing, Song Yuncheng didn’t mind the small portion.

“Click!”

The door opened.

Song’s uncle came home.

Upon entering, he saw his wife and son standing by the cabinet and paused. “Going out?”

“No,” Song’s aunt said, picking up the tea Lin Zhao had sent. “Zhaozhao sent you this tea—she specifically had Yuncheng bring it back. She also said she’ll bring four kids home next weekend.”

Song’s uncle took the tea, his smile impossible to suppress. When he went to store it, he even hummed a revolutionary song.

“The red sun shines on the borderlands, green mountains and clear waters draped in rosy light, orchards line the slopes of Changbai Mountain…”

Song Yuncheng stared in disbelief. “Dad can sing? And he sings well!”

“What’s that look for?” Song’s aunt sighed. “Your father wasn’t born a father—he was young once too. Back then, he was a handsome lad, could sing, wrote beautiful calligraphy. He’s just gotten older…”

Once-tall bamboo, bent by time into dry, withered stalks.

Meanwhile, at the Supply and Marketing Cooperative.

Liu Chunhong had been scolded and reluctantly apologized, her temper simmering. She didn’t speak the entire afternoon.

With the instigator silent, Lin Zhao and her group’s atmosphere improved greatly.

Li Fen, for reasons unknown, began asking Lin Zhao about Song Yuncheng.

“The young man who brought you lunch today—is he your brother?”

“My cousin.”

“Does he have a girlfriend?” Li Fen asked immediately.

Lin Zhao glanced at her—she was trying to set Yuncheng up.

“No. He just graduated; no rush to find someone.”

“I see,” Li Fen was about to say more, but a colleague from procurement called Lin Zhao.

“Go ahead, I’ll watch the counter for you,” Li Fen offered.

“Thanks, Sister Fen,” Lin Zhao said.

As soon as she stepped out, the procurement colleague said: “Comrade Lin, your bicycle has arrived.”