Chapter 7

An Ruxue stared at the book “September Fable” in her hands but absorbed not a single word. She carried a faint elegance—oval face, soft contours, flat cheekbones, smooth brows and eyes; at first glance she seemed stunning yet cold, but upon closer look, her features revealed exquisite refinement.

Having trained in dance since childhood, An Ruxue’s posture and aura were exceptional. She wore a white knit sweater on top and jeans below, her hair cut to shoulder-length, loosely falling. No luxury adornments, yet simply sitting there, she radiated a striking beauty—as if stepped out of a painting.

Back when they both enrolled at Hanxi Jiaotong University, Li Dongling and An Ruxue entered in the same year. Many wanted to court An Ruxue, but all feared her icy beauty. Moreover, rumors about her family background surfaced upon enrollment, causing even more to retreat, afraid of rejection.

Only in her sophomore year did Li Dongling begin pursuing An Ruxue. At the time, he was already a campus celebrity. Like many youths of his generation, he published several poems—nobody understood them, yet he believed they held profound meaning—and co-founded a rock band with a few others.

Though neither his poetry nor his rock band made any splash, Li Dongling at university was confident and proud, like all youths of his era, firmly believing he could carve out his own destiny, that he could change this age…

After becoming involved with An Ruxue, Li Dongling discovered that beneath her cold exterior lay a fiery heart. She never cared about his family or background. Their union was like two flames colliding, igniting fierce sparks.

Their arguments stemmed from An Ruxue’s desire for Li Dongling to stay in the provincial capital, Xiyuan, and have her father arrange a transfer for his work assignment there.

But young graduates, brimming with passion and untempered by life’s hardships, had yet to experience setbacks. When Li Dongling visited An’s home, he endured cold mockery from An Ruxue’s mother. In a fit of anger, he ignored her pleas and decisively returned to Pingyang.

What followed needed no explanation: upon arriving in Pingyang, Li Dongling hit a wall. Humiliated, he relied on An’s family connections to return to the provincial capital. From then on, the once-proud youth bowed his head before the An family.

For the young, courage lets them fear nothing, accomplish what others dare not dream of—but failure shatters them swiftly, altering their worldview and life philosophy.

In his past life, Li Dongling was exactly this: after returning to the provincial capital, his edges gradually wore down. Meanwhile, the An family’s status grew ever more prominent, and An Ruxue’s career flourished. At some point, the rift between them widened beyond repair.

An Yueguo looked at An Ruxue. “Xiaoxue, how’s it going at the provincial TV station?”

An Ruxue paused, set down her book, and quickly regained composure. “Fine. Director Kong at the provincial station has been very supportive.”

An Yueguo nodded. “Old Kong was my former secretary—he served me for years. He’s always measured and prudent. With him around, you’ll learn plenty at the provincial station.”

An Yueguo was now Director of the Propaganda Department of Hanxi Province, a long-established local power in Xiyuan. At the peak of his career, he stood poised for further advancement.

“What about Dongling? Still determined to stay in Pingyang?” After a few pleasantries, An Yueguo steered the conversation toward Li Dongling.

An Ruxue didn’t want to discuss it, but she knew she couldn’t avoid it. She gave a slight nod.

“Xiaoxue, I don’t intend to interfere in your relationship with Dongling. Young people have ambition, drive, pride—they must pursue their ideals. Without those, what’s the point of being young?”

“But,” An Yueguo suddenly shifted tone, “adults must take responsibility for their choices, good or bad. There’s no cure for regret in this world.”

“Your mother and I only wish you well. That’s the essence of parenthood. Sometimes parents don’t seek to control their children’s lives—they simply want them to avoid unnecessary detours and spare them the hardships we endured in our youth.”

“I don’t wish to meddle in your affairs with Dongling. I only hope you both think carefully, so you won’t end up with unbearable regret.”

When An Yueguo returned to the bedroom, his wife Du Fengying rushed over, shut the door, and asked, “How did it go? Did you make her change her mind?”

An Yueguo glanced at her and shook his head. “Xiaoxue has always had her own mind. Some things can’t be forced. She’ll come around when she’s ready. I only fear… she may pay a price.”

“You know she’s stubborn! If you don’t act now, she’ll suffer. What’s so great about that Li Dongling? She’ll regret it someday.”

“No, I’ll call Aunt Xiong from Personnel Bureau’s retirement office—she’s got connections with plenty of young people…”

An Yueguo watched Du Fengying fumbling for the phone again, sighing helplessly. He was lenient with his children—whether An Ruxue or her brother An Yanjun—he let them pursue their own paths, never treating them as pawns in his political career. Yet he still hoped his children would thrive. When necessary, he wouldn’t hesitate to use a little leverage.

After spending a day in his hometown, Li Dongling returned to Xicheng Wireless Factory No. 1. Upon arrival, he heard the news: the factory was about to introduce a color television production line.

For the entire factory, this was a major event. Everyone knew their old products—radios, black-and-white TVs—no longer sold. They were barely surviving on past reserves; if things continued, they couldn’t even pay wages.

Rumors swirled everywhere: if things kept going, Xicheng Wireless Factory No. 1 would buy out workers’ seniority and lay off some staff. Other provinces had already done this, sparking widespread panic.

Now, with the color TV line, the factory might produce color TVs and even thrive again, avoiding layoffs. Li Dongling saw the entire factory filled with hopeful anticipation that day.

The factory even organized a group of technicians and production staff to travel elsewhere to study at other TV factories. Of course, such trips—offering subsidies, a kind of vacation, and promotion prospects—would never include Old Huang Niu Zhou Wenyang, even though he was the best technician in the Technical Department.

Pushing open the door, Li Dongling saw Zhang Ao lying on his bed, frantically shoving something under the covers. Seeing it was Li Dongling, he let out a long breath. “Damn, you scared me!”

“Dongling, you gotta see this—I worked hard to get it!”

Zhang Ao stealthily handed Li Dongling a magazine cover. Li Dongling took it: a Hong Kong entertainment gossip rag, full of tabloid stories about Hong Kong and Taiwan stars, plus explicit pages of lingerie models—designed purely to attract buyers. Without these photos, how would all the lecherous old hands pay for it?

In Hong Kong, this was ordinary. But in inland cities, it was a weapon. Eight or seven years earlier, it would’ve been banned.

Li Dongling tossed the magazine back at Zhang Ao and laughed. “These are everywhere in Hong Kong. If you ever get the chance, go to Japan, Hong Kong, Siam—if you’ve got money, you might even try their local massage specials.”

“Massage special?”

“What’s that?”

Zhang Ao stared at Li Dongling with wide, curious eyes. He didn’t know what it meant, but as a man, he instinctively wanted to know.

Even Zhou Wenyang, bent over his documents, glanced toward Li Dongling beneath his glasses.

Li Dongling fell silent. People of this era were passionate and simple, bold yet conservative. Hong Kong cinema culture hadn’t yet taken hold, and these vices hadn’t spread.

“I only heard about it,” Li Dongling evaded. “A local specialty dish. You’ll find out when you go.”

After tidying his bed, Li Dongling sat down and heard Zhou Wenyang muttering to himself, sighing repeatedly: “We shouldn’t have brought in this production line…”