Chapter 109: How Did He Know I

Beijing, 9:15 a.m.

Lao Lu stood up from his chair in the reception office, stretched his arms and legs, and began organizing a wooden rack specifically for letters and telegrams.

A few letters still remained unclaimed; Lao Lu had noted them down and planned to remind the recipients when they returned after work in the afternoon.

“Ding-ding-ding~”

At 9:25 a.m., the postal deliveryman arrived punctually at Lao Lu’s Zhongliang Courtyard reception office.

“Uncle Lu, you’re just sitting around? Give me a hand!”

The deliveryman was a young guy who, while unloading mailbags from his bicycle, chatted amiably with Lao Lu.

There wasn’t even a few pounds of mail—he just loved to joke around.

Lao Lu knew this little rascal well and immediately sneered: “Where do you see me idle? I’m busy as hell. Put it down and get out. Don’t go around grinning like a fool all day.”

“Oh come on, if even your place isn’t idle, then there’s no idle spot left in all of Beijing.

You sit around all day, lie around all day, and at month’s end you earn more than three months of my salary. That’s just cruel.”

The deliveryman passed the mailbag through the reception window, still grumbling.

He braved wind and rain every day for a monthly wage of 22.5 yuan, while old Lao Lu sat in the reception office enjoying leisure, earning 73.6 yuan a month—wasn’t that infuriating?

“Envious of me? Easy fix!”

Lao Lu rolled his eyes and pointed to his left chest. “I’ll punch a hole right here. By the time you’re my age, you’ll be earning a hundred.”

“Alright, alright, I can’t argue with you,” the deliveryman hurried off, muttering, “I just didn’t get lucky—otherwise I’d have earned a First-Class Merit and shown you.”

“Bullshit! Get lost!”

The young deliveryman leapt onto his bicycle, nearly peeing himself in fright.

He loved teasing old guys like Lao Lu—it gave his dull life some spark.

Lao Lu cursed a couple more times, still not satisfied, and muttered to himself as he sorted the letters and mailbags.

“Good times? How dare you say that? If I’d shot your parents dead and dumped you in a pile of corpses, would you still call it good times?”

Two minutes later, Lao Lu finished organizing the letters and mailbags, then wrote the recipients’ names on the small blackboard outside the reception office to remind them to collect their mail.

The courtyard didn’t allow postal workers inside, and Lao Lu wouldn’t deliver letters directly to households—what if they vanished from private mailboxes and caused quarrels among neighbors?

In five minutes, Lao Lu had already completed more than half of his most important daily task.

He brewed a cup of tea, picked up the newly arrived newspaper, and began enjoying his leisure.

The little rascal deliveryman was right—Lao Lu’s job was truly idle.

Ever since a bullet pierced his chest decades ago, his body had been weakened, and he’d been in a state of “being cared for” ever since—any idle duty was up for grabs.

But when your job is idle, your rank doesn’t rise. Now, nearing old age, he ended up as a gatekeeper.

Yet even this gatekeeper position was coveted by many.

Just a few months ago, a man surnamed Mei from the neighboring No. 3 Courtyard thought he was older than Lao Lu and wanted to swap positions—Lao Lu to guard No. 3, himself to guard No. 1.

Lao Lu swung a chair right at the man.

“Fuck, your age means nothing to me! You sweated for the Party? I bled for it!!”

Though both courtyards belonged to the Zhongliang system, No. 3 Courtyard housed over a hundred households—each a minor grandee, with extended family and relatives, their connections absurdly complicated.

Even if nothing ever went wrong, with so many veterans from the battlefield who could out-blow each other, wasn’t that exhausting?

But Lao Lu’s No. 1 Courtyard was completely different.

It housed only eight or ten households, and “the higher the rank, the fewer the duties”—they barely spoke to each other.

Lao Lu was utterly idle every day, yet still received his share of holiday gifts—so swapping with Old Mei? That’d be idiotic.

After two strong cups of tea, Lao Lu felt refreshed and bored, his eyes scanning the courtyard with vigilance.

He was only responsible for daytime duties; at night, dedicated guards took over, so even a flying mosquito had to be checked for gender.

“Leng-leng-leng~”

A brand-new bicycle emerged from deep within the courtyard, wobbling to a stop at the reception office entrance.

The girl on the bike carefully read the blackboard twice before mounting again and pedaling unsteadily out the courtyard gate.

Lao Lu watched the girl ride back and forth on the small street outside the courtyard, unable to suppress a knowing smile.

She’d just moved in; rumor had it her parents were highly capable, but clearly they’d suffered hard times in recent years—when she first arrived, she couldn’t even ride a bicycle.

【Sigh, her parents really are something—why give a girl a 28-inch men’s bike? Isn’t a 26-inch Phoenix hard to get?】

But there’s a virtue in children who’ve known hardship: resilience.

On sweltering summer days, she’d ride for two hours straight, with two burlap sacks on the rear rack—each weighing no less than a hundred jin.

She’s training her leg strength!

Those two calves of hers—long, straight, powerful—just like the medics in the old army.

Wen Leyu rode for two hours straight, then felt hungry and turned back toward her courtyard.

As she passed the gate, she unconsciously glanced again at the blackboard, a pang of melancholy rising in her chest.

【It’s been days—why hasn’t the letter arrived yet?】

Yet beneath the melancholy, Wen Leyu felt a quiet hope—she could now carry a hundred jin; a few more days of training, and she’d be able to carry Li Ye all over the city.

Lao Lu noticed Wen Leyu’s gaze and wanted to tell her: “When your letter comes, I’ll deliver it personally.”

But in the end, he kept quiet—she was polite, but one must know one’s place.

“Tut-tut-tut-tut-tut~”

The roar of a motorcycle echoed from the end of the street, rapidly approaching.

Lao Lu peered out and saw a green-clad rider—a green motorcycle chugging like a German soldier from the movies.

This was the postal express telegram deliveryman.

In the 70s and 80s, postal telegrams came in two types: ordinary telegrams, which might arrive the same afternoon if lucky, or the next day if not.

But express telegrams were different—they had dedicated motorcycle couriers ready to deliver at any time; you paid a premium, not just a few cents.

“Squeee~”

The green motorcycle screeched to a halt, stopping with perfect flair at Lao Lu’s reception office entrance.

Wen Leyu heard the brake and turned toward the courtyard gate—her handlebars wobbled, and the bicycle toppled over.

Seeing Wen Leyu fall, Lao Lu angrily shouted at the deliveryman: “What are you showing off for? You scared the child!”

“.”

The deliveryman blinked, dared not reply.

In those days, express telegram couriers rode big motorcycles, wore tinted goggles, and were utterly cocky—only those with connections got the job.

But swagger had its limits—here, at this courtyard gate, you couldn’t act tough.

“Express telegram, delivered in a hurry—please forgive the rush.”

The deliveryman handed Lao Lu the telegram, waited for his signature, then left.

Normally, express telegrams were delivered directly to the recipient—but since he couldn’t enter, he had no choice but to hand it to Lao Lu.

Lao Lu took one look and stuck his head out of the reception office toward Wen Leyu, who had just righted her bike.

“Girl, you’re surnamed Wen, right? There’s a telegram for your family.”

Wen Leyu froze, then struggled to steady her bicycle before hurrying back.

Taking the telegram, the cool, quiet girl’s lips curled into the faintest smile.

【Why the rush? Express telegrams cost extra, you know?】

The scolding lasted only an instant—then overwhelming relief and joy flooded her.

She pushed her bike quickly home, locked herself in her room, and opened the telegram.

Five hundred characters of text appeared before Wen Leyu, leaving her stunned for a long time.

This wasn’t a telegram—it was a letter!

Moments later, Wen Leyu opened a locked drawer and pulled out a black leather diary.

The first page held a poetic little verse.

The second page listed, from top to bottom, a series of action reminders.

1: Take him to Tiananmen, stroll around Houhai.

2: Take him to the National Library, Beijing Planetarium.

3: Take him to the City God Temple, treat him to his favorite snacks. (Three days)

4: Take him to Friendship Store, give him a small gift. (35 foreign exchange coupons)

6: .

Wen Leyu took out her fountain pen and carefully added a new entry beneath the list.

10: Have a serious talk with him—no wastefulness, learn frugality.

After writing this, she paused, then added in parentheses after “frugality”: (Those who recognize and correct mistakes are true men).

Satisfied, the girl nodded, smiled again, and locked the black leather diary away.

Only then did Wen Leyu begin reading the telegram. Oddly, the moment she’d received it, she’d wanted to read it right there at the courtyard gate.

But now that she held it, she grew steadily calmer.

【Dear Xiao Yu, I’m truly sorry—I’ve been traveling across our country’s magnificent landscapes and only now saw your letter.】

The telegram opened with a form of address Wen Leyu hadn’t expected.

If it’s intimate, he calls her “classmate”; if it’s distant, he calls her “Xiao Yu”—it’s contradictory.

And such small contradictions weren’t rare in the four- or five-hundred-character message.

Unaware, as she read, Wen Leyu’s newly formed calm heart began to ripple like a spring pond stirred by a warm breeze.

When she read the last line, Wen Leyu froze.

“How does he know my foot is size 37?”

Wen Leyu’s confusion was not without reason.

Because in recent years, she and her mother had lived hard, and the cloth shoes on her feet were all made by Teacher Ke.

To make these cloth shoes durable, they had to be slightly larger, with several layers of thick cloth or cotton stuffed at the front.

If they were made to fit perfectly, her big toe would break the shoe within a month or so.

So Wen Leyu was puzzled—how could Li Ye tell that inside her size 38 shoe was a size 37 foot?

A faint blush rose on the girl’s cheeks, like spring peach blossoms, tenderly blooming.

“Xiao Yu, did you ride your bicycle again?”

A voice at the door jolted Wen Leyu out of her stillness.

She quickly tucked away the telegram and stepped out into the living room.

Teacher Ke had just come in, changing her shoes while carrying a large bag.

Wen Leyu hurried to take it, asking casually: “Mom, why are you back so early?”

Teacher Ke smiled: “I went to a meeting outside Jianguomen today, bought a few things, and will head back this afternoon.”

“Oh, then I’ll cook—tomato and egg noodles?”

“No need. I bought some ready-made food—we can manage. First, try these two pairs of shoes and see which fits better, so I can return the other.”

Teacher Ke pulled out two shoeboxes and handed them to Wen Leyu.

Wen Leyu opened them and exclaimed in surprise: “High heels? Mom, why did you buy these for me?”

Teacher Ke chuckled: “You’re asking me? Yesterday when Xiao Qin came over, you stared at her shoes the whole time—how could you forget already?”

“I was just looking.”

Wen Leyu muttered softly, trying on the shoes, when suddenly a small memory surfaced.

Several months ago, one evening at the Second Grain Store in Qingshui County, Wen Leyu had gone back to retrieve something she’d forgotten.

She’d overheard Jin Peng and Li Dayong and Li Ye excitedly discussing “the charm of high heels.”

Then yesterday, an old childhood friend came to visit Wen Leyu, wearing a pair of beautiful high heels—so naturally, Wen Leyu had glanced a little longer.

Teacher Ke, who always felt she’d shortchanged her daughter, had noticed—and today she’d bought them.

Not just one pair, but two: one size 37, one size 38.

Wen Leyu tried them on—size 37 felt the most comfortable, just a bit loose, perfectly not squeezing her feet.

“You’re this tall, yet size 37 still feels big—rare indeed.”

Teacher Ke smiled, put away the size 38 shoes to return them, then noticed Wen Leyu’s face was slightly flushed.

“What’s wrong, Xiao Yu? Uncomfortable?”

“No, I just got a little out of breath from riding my bicycle.”

“Oh~~”

Teacher Ke glanced sideways at her daughter, then asked suddenly: “Did Li Ye write?”

“.”

Caught off guard, Wen Leyu paused a second, then smiled: “No, just a telegram.”

“Oh~~~”

Teacher Ke stretched out the sound, making her daughter pout in mock annoyance.

(End of Chapter)