[{"data":1,"prerenderedAt":-1},["ShallowReactive",2],{"origin-that-year-the-flowers-bloomed-in-1981":3,"chapter-that-year-the-flowers-bloomed-in-1981-that-year-the-flowers-bloomed-in-1981-chapter-271":6,"glossary-terms-4489":23},{"origin":4,"title":5},"chinese","That Year, the Flowers Bloomed in 1981",{"chapter":7,"nextChapterSlug":19,"prevChapterSlug":20,"totalChapters":21,"novelImage":22},{"id":8,"novel_id":9,"title":10,"slug":11,"index":12,"content":13,"wordcount":14,"created_at":15,"updated_at":15,"volume":16,"translator":17,"content_hash":18},2294689,4489,"Chapter 271: Big Names Aren","that-year-the-flowers-bloomed-in-1981-chapter-271",271,"\u003Cp>Li Ye had no idea that Pei Wencong trusted him so completely that he was willing to invest the four million U.S. dollars he had just acquired—still warm from his hands—into the foreign exchange market, blindly following this benefactor of his.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Had he known, Li Ye might have advised Pei Wencong a few words.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I am a reincarnated emperor; a thousand gold pieces spent will return. You are a commoner who barely scraped by until thirty—what if you get liquidated and your qi rushes to your heart? Can you even bear it?\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Li Ye spent two hours at Tawang Literature Publishing reviewing analytical reports, focusing especially on the sales data of the top-selling translated versions.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Such as regional sales, reader reviews, and manuscript submission speed.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Finally, he called Pei Wencong over. “Old Pei, which version do you think is most suitable?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Pei Wencong smiled and said, “I think they’re all excellent, so it’s up to you, Mr. Li, to choose the first-prize winner of the contest—we’ll then send someone to sign follow-up translation contracts with them.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Pei Wencong was extremely humble, handing over the decision entirely to Li Ye.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Because in his view, a man of destiny could blow a single breath and summon a mountain of gold by sheer will—ordinary people should never interfere with heavenly fate, but simply bask in its glow.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Li Ye nodded. “Have them come to Hong Kong to claim the final prize, and draft a strict translation contract.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Li Ye selected six translators: the top two from the Americas, Europe, and Asia based on sales and reviews.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Pei Wencong looked and confirmed they were indeed the six translators with the strongest market response—their styles differed, but all possessed strong writing skills and received widespread praise from readers.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Yet he still said to Li Ye, “Mr. Li, shouldn’t we decide on the first prize now? If Wood doesn’t know whether he’ll receive the prize money, he may not want to come to Hong Kong.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Originally, Li Ye had offered a thirty-thousand-dollar prize pool for the contest, with first, second, and several merit awards—the first prize being the highest, nearly twenty thousand, the second only one thousand, and the rest purely symbolic.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>A thousand or so dollars is fine if you’re writing from home—but if someone has to fly halfway across the globe only to possibly get a consolation prize, a well-known writer like Wood might not come.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>After all, this is just a magazine-hosted contest, not some prestigious literary award—who isn’t here for the money?\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>A thousand bucks? That won’t even cover the fuel.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Li Ye smiled. “If they truly love this story, they’ll come. If they see it as merely a translation job, then they’re not who we need.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Although Li Ye had fully constructed the world, characters, and plot of A Song of Ice and Fire, to make this book a global bestseller and match the original’s critical acclaim, he needed more than just a translator.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Li Ye gave A Song of Ice and Fire flesh and blood; now he needed a suitable writer to give it a soul.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>So a big name isn’t necessarily the right fit.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Mr. Wood from the Americas may be an excellent writer, but if he doesn’t deeply love this story, if he lacks the burning, irresistible desire to translate A Song of Ice and Fire, then he’s not the man Li Ye seeks.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Alright then! I’ll arrange it immediately.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Pei Wencong understood Li Ye’s meaning and immediately told A Min to contact the translators and get them to Hong Kong as soon as possible.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Although Li Ye hadn’t said he wanted to meet these translators personally, Pei Wencong accepted Li Ye’s authority and resolved to do the job right.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Due to time differences, it was already 4 or 5 a.m. in the Americas, so before quitting time, A Min had only reached the other four translators.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Two clearly said they’d come immediately if round-trip tickets were provided; one said he had no time available.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The other, however, was strange.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The British summer was the most comfortable season of the year—temperatures moderate, neither cold nor hot, never exceeding thirty degrees, no need for air conditioning or fans.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>And in summer, Britain had long days and short nights: from six a.m. to nine p.m., no lights were needed—pure divine blessing for those who loved sunlight.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Many people would set up a bed in their backyard and luxuriate in the warm, bright sunshine.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But in Jonina’s world, sunlight had vanished two years ago, leaving only cold darkness surrounding her.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Mom, can we have lunch early? Dean is so hungry.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Louisa, lunch isn’t for another four hours. Why don’t you and your brother reread yesterday’s storybook?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“But Mom, we’ve read it so many times already! Honestly, we’re not even that hungry.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Jonina looked at her eldest daughter, then at her younger son retreating into their small room, and her heart ached sharply.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Jonina’s own stomach was growling—she knew perfectly well Louisa was comforting her, this useless mother.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Jonina opened the cupboard and stared at the eleven potatoes of varying sizes—she dared not soften her heart.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Unemployment benefits wouldn’t arrive for three more days—these eleven potatoes had to last three days.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But even if the benefits came, what good would they do?\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Two years ago, after a long struggle, Jonina divorced her abusive husband and moved out with her two children.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>With one child five and the other just two, demanding constant time and energy, Jonina became utterly exhausted, running from dawn to dusk.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>In one year, she changed seven jobs—the longest lasting less than a month.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Even landlords had no surplus grain; capitalists didn’t support idlers. No kind-hearted capitalist would hire an employee who couldn’t guarantee work hours or work state.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Eventually, Jonina began fearing job interviews, fearing human interaction—everyone around her urged her to see a psychologist.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But Jonina dared not see one—she feared a diagnosis of mental illness would cost her custody of her children to her ex-husband.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Though poor, at least her children ate and were clothed—if she left them with that drunkard, the five-year-old daughter might have to cook for her two-year-old brother and her thirty-year-old father.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Jonina moved out of London to Manchester, where the cost of living was lower, and barely settled in.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Her benefits barely covered rent for two rooms; all other expenses fell on her shoulders.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>With help from classmates and friends, Jonina found work “polishing” articles for newspaper reporters.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>If the reporter needed scandalous gossip, Jonina had to craft suggestive metaphors, painting seductive, tantalizing imagery for readers.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>If the reporter was a righteous warrior, Jonina had to portray a towering knight of justice, riding a gaunt, bony steed, clad in tattered armor, fearlessly charging into battle.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Many reporters’ demands were extremely demanding; Jonina often felt she was being driven mad.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But at least this work let her earn money without leaving home, and gave her free time to be with her children—so she endured.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Yet the pay was meager—barely enough for the three of them to eat bread and mashed potatoes every meal, living in extreme hardship.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But misfortune always targets the unfortunate: two months ago, Jonina knocked over an elderly woman while cycling, leaving her with a medical bill and fine totaling over seven hundred pounds.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Jonina had no savings—how could she pay? Desperate, she sought odd jobs—but found her social anxiety had worsened after over a year of isolation.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Jonina locked herself and her children in their room, hunting for any writing opportunity to earn money, while eating only two meals a day, hoping to survive by cutting expenses and tightening her belt.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But no matter how hard she struggled, her monthly income barely exceeded one hundred pounds—how long would it take to repay seven hundred pounds of debt?\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Ding ding ding~”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The house phone rang.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Jonina, still wiping silent tears, rushed to the phone without pausing.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>A phone call meant work—had it not been for maintaining contact with those reporters, she’d have disconnected the line long ago.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Hello? This is Jonina.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Good day, Ms. Jonina. Congratulations—you’ve advanced to the final round of the A Song of Ice and Fire contest. The organizers invite you to Hong Kong.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Jonina froze, then surged with joy—her tears, just stopped, began flowing again.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Did I win first prize?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“I’m sorry, Ms. Jonina—you haven’t won yet. The final results will be announced in Hong Kong.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Jonina’s heart sank. “Hong Kong? Where’s that?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The caller paused. “Hong Kong is in East Asia—the Eastern Pearl of the British Kingdom. Don’t you watch the news, Ms. Jonina?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“...”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Sorry, I haven’t been following the news lately.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Jonina felt ashamed—her home had no TV, and she hadn’t subscribed to newspapers for years; she had no idea Britain was currently fighting with China over Hong Kong’s sovereignty.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Hong Kong will provide round-trip tickets. If you’re interested, please prepare your luggage and passport—the flight is expected tomorrow afternoon or evening.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Can I not go?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“What? Ms. Jonina, you just said you won’t go?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“...”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Yes, can I skip Hong Kong? Just send me the final results—and the prize money.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Jonina’s voice dropped ten decibels, trembling with panic.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The thought of crossing half the globe—from the Atlantic to the Pacific—with her children, in a foreign land, attending some final judging... terrified her.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>How many people would she have to deal with? How many polite lies would she have to tell?\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Worse—her two children had no decent clothes.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>In two years, they’d grown—old clothes now showed their legs. Would she shame them to the ends of the earth?\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Ms. Jonina, are you declining the final judging of this contest? Your work is very popular—you have a strong chance of winning.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Heh~”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Jonina smiled silently.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>When she first translated A Song of Ice and Fire, Jonina believed her translation was brilliant.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>She felt Daenerys Targaryen was her own shadow.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But after her initial draft, she faced heavy criticism.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Because Jonina turned A Song of Ice and Fire into a “female-led” story.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Over seventy percent of the text focused solely on the female protagonist; everyone else was glossed over, even deviating from the original plot outline.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Jonina was crushed. She once considered abandoning the rest of the translation—but her love for it was too strong. Eventually, she completed all contest chapters.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Yet during later translations, she stopped reading newspaper reviews and refused to open reader letters sent by the organizers.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>She feared losing the courage to translate this story she loved so deeply.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Now, hearing the organizers would reveal the final result only in Hong Kong, Jonina felt she’d heard another ridiculous lie.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Over the past few years, she’d heard too many lies—she felt her entire life had been ruined by believing them.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Hello? Ms. Jonina, are you still there?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“I’m listening,” Jonina paused, then asked: “What’s my probability of winning first prize?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“I can’t say for sure—I can only say you have a good chance.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“What about the second prize?” Jonina said anxiously. “What are my chances of winning the second prize?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Ms. Jonina, I cannot give you a definite answer, but you have a good chance at the second prize. Still, I recommend you go to Hong Kong.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Jonina fell silent again for a long while, then spoke hesitantly, almost humbly: “Then if I only want the second prize money, and don’t go to Hong Kong, can you send it to me quickly?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The second prize was one thousand U.S. dollars—enough to repay Jonina’s debts and pull her out of her imminent crisis.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Ms. Jonina, why are you unwilling to go to Hong Kong? Many people are fighting for this opportunity.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Can you guarantee I’ll get the third prize? I have two children. If we fly ten thousand miles and come back empty-handed, they’ll be disappointed.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“I’ll ask for you. Please wait for my call.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The phone hung up. Jonina suddenly felt dizzy and quickly gripped the table, crouching down.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Then, she suddenly regretted it—wondering whether her responses on the phone had been appropriate.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>If I’m not even going to Hong Kong, why would they give me the first or second prize?\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>What’s all this about reader ratings? Do you think this is a prime ministerial election?\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But what if I go to Hong Kong and still don’t win anything?\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Haven’t I seen enough of this kind of thing over the years? Manuscripts that are total dogshit get labeled as “gold medal journalists.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>And I’ve been told since childhood that I had writing talent—yet here I am, counting potatoes to get by?\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>In this world, talent is worthless.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Ring ring ring~”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The phone rang again. Jonina, crouched on the floor, snapped awake—but found she couldn’t stand up.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Her legs were numb.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>She didn’t know how long she’d been crouching there.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Jonina stretched her arm as far as she could and pulled the phone toward her.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Hello? This is Jonina.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Hello, Ms. Jonina. Do you have a bank account?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Bank account?” Jonina gasped, then exclaimed happily: “I do have one! So they’ve agreed? When exactly will the results be announced? When’s the earliest they can transfer the prize money?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“No, Ms. Jonina. The organizers are willing to advance you two thousand U.S. dollars and cover round-trip airfare for you and your children—but you must go to Hong Kong.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Believe me, ma’am, this is an opportunity—a very good one.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The voice on the other end was no longer mechanical—it sounded envious: “I actually tried translating this book too, but never got the chance to go to Hong Kong.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Jonina finally began to believe she might win the first prize—after all, the second prize was only one thousand dollars.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Alright! I’ll go!”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Jonina reluctantly agreed. The lure of twenty thousand U.S. dollars overcame her social anxiety.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Two thousand U.S. dollars will be in your account this afternoon. Please prepare your luggage and passport. Wishing you all the best.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Wait—will someone accompany me?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“No one will. But someone will meet you at the airport in Hong Kong.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The phone hung up again. Jonina felt utterly drained—but deep inside, something new was beginning to stir.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>It was her confidence. Slowly, painfully, it was returning.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Mom, it’s eleven already. Can we have lunch?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Jonina looked up and saw her daughter Louise and her son Dean standing before her, eyes wide with hunger, waiting for her to serve the meal.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Jonina hurried to stand—but her numb legs made it agonizingly difficult.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Mom, rest a bit. I can cook.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Thoughtful Louise turned and dragged over a stool, climbed onto it, and pulled two large potatoes from the cupboard. Then she began washing them under the tap.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Her hands were still small; the potatoes slipped from her grip several times.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Louise, we’re not eating potatoes today.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“What, Mom? But it’s already eleven!”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Louise stared at her mother, unable to hold back her sense of grievance.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>She had woken up that morning—hungry.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The clock hands moved so slowly; she couldn’t wait for lunchtime.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Finally, she’d tried using Dean’s name to move lunch to the morning.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But in the end, she’d lost to her mother’s stubbornness.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Now, just as she was about to eat the fragrant boiled potatoes, why was her mother changing her mind again?\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Louise, could you bring me your piggy bank?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Louise: “.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Seeing her daughter stunned, Jonina spoke gently: “Louise, we’ll have money soon. Today, Mom will borrow some from you—and pay you back double, okay?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Jonina felt ashamed. When she’d left her husband with the children, she’d been so confident. Now she was reduced to using her daughter’s savings.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But Louise suddenly jumped three feet in the air.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Mom, you should’ve done this ages ago! Wait, I’ll get it!”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Scramble scramble scramble~”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Thud~”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Mom, look—we have so much money!”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The ceramic piggy bank shattered on the floor, scattering a glittering sea of coins.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>All coins.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Louise, squatting with her little bottom in the air, picked up the coins. Dean clung to his mother’s leg, asking in a tiny voice: “Mom, what’s for lunch today?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Before Jonina could answer, Louise said: “I’m treating you and Dad to Chinese food—two streets over in Chinatown. Every time we pass by, it smells so good.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>For Britons who made do with two slices of bread and jam for a meal, Chinese food would be strange if it didn’t smell amazing!\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Jingyao, sent money home again?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Yeah, a little.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Didn’t you send some in spring? Why again in summer? You need to keep some money for yourself.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Not much, Liqin. Only two hundred pounds total.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Sigh, Jingyao, you’re just too kind.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Yang Liqin stood in the corner of Dongshan Restaurant, chatting half-heartedly with Lu Jingyao beside her.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Due to recent tensions between Britain and Zhonghua, fewer customers had come, giving them a rare moment to rest.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Xiao Yang, Xiao Lu, come here.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The restaurant’s owner suddenly called Yang Liqin and Lu Jingyao over.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“What is it, Sister Sun?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“As you’ve noticed, business has dropped sharply. So we’re not as busy anymore.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“From now on, you two will either alternate days, or only one of you stays. I have no choice—rent went up again this month.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Yang Liqin and Lu Jingyao’s faces turned pale.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Because of summer vacation, Yang Liqin had negotiated with the owner to switch to daytime shifts—though longer hours, at least she didn’t have to walk home at night.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But after just a few days of stability, the owner’s wife had spotted the “overlapping positions.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>They’d stagger their shifts to cover for one person, paying only one salary—every penny saved counted.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Sister Sun, we just made an agreement with Brother Zhao. We’re both struggling.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Brother Zhao’s too shy to say it, but we’ve got to have conscience, right? The business is clearly bad—this is final.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Yang Liqin spoke one sentence—and was shot down with eight.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Boss Zhao was kind-hearted, but his wife was sharp as a knife.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Stop standing there like fools—new customers just came. Go serve them.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The owner glared at them and walked off.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Yang Liqin and Lu Jingyao exchanged glances—both saw the helplessness in the other’s eyes.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Especially Lu Jingyao—she’d been introduced by Yang Liqin. Morally, she had to yield.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Yang Liqin waved her hand: “Alright, we take turns—one day each. Maybe things will improve soon. You go serve the customers. I’ll go talk to the boss again.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Lu Jingyao sighed and greeted the newly arrived Jonina and her family, seating them.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Before Jonina could order, Louise blurted out: “Today I’m treating Mom and Brother to dinner—we want sweet and sour chicken, sweet and sour pork loin, and seafood soup.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Lu Jingyao turned to instruct the kitchen. Jonina watched Louise with affection; the mother and daughter exchanged a glance and smiled.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Though young, Louise understood her mother’s pride. If the daughter treated the mother, it spared Jonina the embarrassment.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The food arrived quickly. Jonina’s family ate with great delight.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>At that moment, the restaurant’s TV showed news of negotiations between Britain and Zhonghua.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Both Jonina and Lu Jingyao unconsciously turned to the screen.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>When they saw Hong Kong citizens panic-buying goods, fearing the collapse of the Hong Kong dollar, Jonina suddenly realized: the place she was going to might not be safe.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>And when she heard Zhonghua’s firm statements, she realized she didn’t speak Zhonghua language—what if something went wrong, and she had her children with her?\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>After the news ended, Lu Jingyao turned back—and saw the new customer’s face had gone pale.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>So she walked over and asked, “Hello, ma’am, how may I help you?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Jonina shook her head and lowered her eyes to eat her portion of Chinese food.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But after only a few bites, she suddenly looked up at Lu Jingyao and asked, “Excuse me, are you flower growers?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Lu Jingyao sighed and said, “Yes, but we’re just students, not politicians.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Jonina said, “Please don’t misunderstand—I’m asking whether any of you would be willing to serve as my translator for a few days. I need to go to Hong Kong Island.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Lu Jingyao paused, then said, “Could you be more specific?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Jonina explained her situation, then added apologetically, “I’m sorry, but I can’t offer much in payment.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“You’re Jonina? Jonina Wals?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>(End of Chapter)\u003C\u002Fp>",3361,"2026-06-20T05:05:01.382Z",1,"Qwen3-Next 80B","a11ad58ddf627a63be34b3c7d739aa7cf94fd292c377d4bc94f18d1c60a0c947","that-year-the-flowers-bloomed-in-1981-chapter-272","that-year-the-flowers-bloomed-in-1981-chapter-270",884,"https:\u002F\u002Fnovelzhen.com\u002Fimages\u002Fcovers\u002Fthat-year-the-flowers-bloomed-in-1981-cover.jpg",{"terms":24,"userReplacements":610},[25,30,35,40,45,50,55,60,65,70,75,80,85,90,95,100,105,110,115,120,125,130,135,140,145,150,155,160,165,170,175,180,185,190,195,200,205,210,215,220,225,230,235,240,245,250,255,260,265,270,275,280,285,290,295,300,305,310,315,320,325,330,335,340,345,350,355,360,365,370,375,380,385,390,395,400,405,410,415,420,425,430,435,440,445,450,455,460,465,470,475,480,485,490,495,500,505,510,515,520,525,530,535,540,545,550,555,560,565,570,575,580,585,590,595,600,605],{"id":26,"raw_term":27,"original_term":28,"translations":29},1802322,"Li 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