Feng Man carefully sized up the man. Under the dim yellow light from the ceiling, a faint halo enveloped Cheng Lang. When he lowered his brows to read, the man’s sharp jawline seemed to soften a bit, even carrying a vague air of an intellectual.
“You like reading this too?” Feng Man hadn’t expected a man with Cheng Lang’s heroic bearing to enjoy novels. Could it be they shared the same hobby?
This was pretty good. A marriage partner with common topics was clearly more suitable.
The man lifted his head from the book, his gaze firm and shining slightly under the incandescent light. “Mm, I’ve loved reading since I was little.”
“Really?” Feng Man reflected on her stereotypes. She had always thought someone like Cheng Lang probably hadn’t been much for studying growing up. “I remember lots of kids in our village elementary school didn’t like going to class. Plenty skipped school.”
That was true. Feng Man vaguely recalled that deep in the mountains of Nine Mountains Village, education was quite backward. The only village school was rundown, with outdated teaching equipment and teachers who moonlighted in various roles. Parents in the village didn’t care much about schooling, so the kids down the line naturally had little interest.
The original owner had been one of the standouts, good enough material to continue to vocational school after junior high, and even get assigned a sales clerk job in town after graduation—a true example of how reading changed one’s fate.
In this era, vocational school graduates carried real weight, not losing out to university students in many eyes. It seemed the whole of Nine Mountains Village only had two such graduates: the original owner was one, and the other was…
Feng Man’s thoughts drifted, and she was just on the verge of recalling the other vocational school graduate from Nine Mountains Village when the man’s low voice interrupted her.
“Yeah, I loved studying and reading too. While others skipped school, I didn’t.” Cheng Lang conveniently ignored the fact that he’d led a gang of kids in skipping school during elementary and junior high, and said it with a straight face.
“Comrade Cheng Lang, you’ve got some real ideological awareness.” Feng Man truly hadn’t expected such a big contrast between Cheng Lang’s exterior and interior. She’d originally wanted to hear about the interesting childhood of the stereotypically unstudious Cheng Lang, but now it turned out he was a good boy, a model student. Her interest vanished instantly.
She herself had been a diligent student from childhood to adulthood—who wanted to hear about someone else’s serious studying stories?
Yawning, Feng Man lay down to sleep. “Let’s sleep. If you like this book, borrow it. I’ve got several more.”
Cheng Lang: “…”
Having transmigrated to the late 1980s, Feng Man slept beauty sleep every day. There weren’t many entertainment options here anyway—just watching TV or movies at most. By nine-something, it was deep night, perfect for sweet dreams.
Going to bed early meant waking early. Feng Man rose refreshed. In the courtyard, Yuan Qiumei and Dong Xiaojuan were already bustling about.
From temporary helper to full-time, nothing much changed for the three. They busied themselves as before, the only difference being that Yuan Qiumei had only handled rear tasks like washing veggies, chopping, and dough-making in Feng Man’s courtyard the past few days. This time, she was formally joining them to sell food at the mine district entrance.
Food went on two stalls now, quantities surging. Sesame flatbread sales jumped from sixty to eighty a day to one hundred twenty. Braised pork sold twenty to thirty jin per mealtime, plus two pots of stir-fried noodles wafting fragrance.
Yuan Qiumei was truly deft-handed. On her first day at the stalls, she worked methodically: packing sesame flatbread and braised pork swiftly, boxing noodles with long chopsticks without delay.
Dong Xiaojuan privately marveled to Feng Man, “Qiumei’s really great. With her here, we’ve all got it easier.”
Today’s food sold out quickly. Yuan Qiumei bent to gather empty basins and buckets, tidying the stall. She wiped everything spotless with a rag.
Watching someone deft work was somewhat pleasing to the eye. The only oddity was…
In the scorching summer, Yuan Qiumei wore a silk scarf around her neck, giving her a strangely eccentric look. Feng Man and Dong Xiaojuan hadn’t seen her like that when they headed out; Yuan Qiumei explained her face had been dry lately, and the windy mine district made it hurt, so she wrapped a scarf to cover most of it.
Feng Man’s gaze swept lightly over her. “Sister Qiumei’s great at the work. We really scouted well hiring her.”
“That’s right!”
Yuan Qiumei was efficient. She picked up goods from the slaughterhouse around six in the morning, arrived at Feng Man’s by seven, and started washing and prepping in the courtyard. With food prepped ahead, they only sold two mealtimes, so stall time wasn’t long, and midday breaks were decent. Feng Man let her move freely.
Usually after lunch sales, Yuan Qiumei went home to rest, returning around three in the afternoon to Feng Man’s, continuing till past six in the evening when everything was packed up, ending the day’s work and heading home.
Over several days like this, the three coordinated well. Feng Man eyed the doubled revenue and easing workload with satisfaction.
Yuan Qiumei was faultless at work, only her skin seeming delicate. Three days as full-time helper, and each time at the stall, she wore the scarf.
In thirty-degree heat, Feng Man felt hot just looking, but Yuan Qiumei didn’t mind, persisting drenched in sweat.
On Sunday, Dong Xiaojuan’s family prepared to move. Feng Man announced a day off and got ready to help with Cheng Lang.
Fan Zhenghua and Dong Xiaojuan had packed luggage piecemeal a week ahead: clothes and bedding in woven sacks, hauling one or two bags to the big courtyard now and then.
Moving day was fairly easy. They made three trips back and forth, handling luggage and leftover furniture.
Xiaoshan was thrilled, hugging pots and pans once, then clutching his sandbag, slingshot, and iron hoop as he dashed off to his uncle and aunt’s.
New furniture arrived simultaneously. Cheng Lang and Fan Zhenghua helped carry it in: a new TV cabinet and two wardrobes went into the three western rooms of the flat.
Feng Man liked the bustle. With Cheng Lang busy at the mine district, living alone in the spacious house with courtyard felt a bit lonely. With cousin-in-law and Xiaoshan over, it livened up.
“Cousin-in-law, is Little Aunt not coming?” Plenty of rooms; Feng Man figured Little Aunt could stay casually.
Fan Zhenghua positioned the last sofa and shook his head at the question. “Mom doesn’t want to come. Says watching us young ones annoys her. Better alone.”
Feng Man had heard Little Aunt didn’t want to leave due to her late husband’s sake, so she nodded and let it be.
With cousin’s family of three moved in, Feng Man helped clean. Soon, the bell of a 28-inch bike rang at the door.
An olive-green uniform corner appeared. Feng Man leaned out: the postman delivering a package and letters.
Postman Xiao Zhang was enthusiastic. “Comrade Feng, someone’s sent a package and letter for Brother Lang. Probably didn’t know he’d moved, so it went to Liberation Mine District. I saw and brought it over.”
“Thanks.” Feng Man took the hefty package. Before she could look closely, Xiaoshan bounced excitedly, curious.
“Auntie, who’s it from?”
“Let me see.” Feng Man glanced at the label. Recipient: Cheng Lang. Sender: a somewhat familiar name—Jiang Ping.
Feng Man scanned the courtyard with the package, but didn’t spot her husband. “Cousin, where’s Cheng Lang?”
“A-Lang just moved the sofa to the door, said something came up back at the mine district. Be back soon.”
“Oh, okay.” Feng Man figured it must be important, or he wouldn’t rush off like that.
……
In the mine district chief’s office, the man gripped the red landline receiver in his broad hand. His low voice sounded. “How’s the check on Zhao Gang going?”
A few words came back from the line. Cheng Lang paused silently. “That’s not enough. Zhao Gang’s boss has connections in the city. In Chongling Town, he’s all-powerful. This bit of gambling evidence handed to the police would just get a slap on the wrist at most, and it’d alert the snake in the grass.”
“I’ll dig more. Can’t believe Zhao Gang won’t slip up.” The man on the line was Yang Jun, Cheng Lang’s brother-in-arms from his trucking days years back—taking all orders from Cheng Lang. “Back then Chongling Town’s number two was Zheng Er, and he still got taken down. I figure Zhao Gang’ll get taken down by someone someday too.”
“What’d you say?” Cheng Lang keenly caught something off.
“Huh? I said Zhao Gang’ll get taken down someday.”
“No, the bit before.” Cheng Lang’s voice sank.
Yang Jun recalled carefully. “Back then Chongling Town’s number two was Zheng Er, and he still got taken down…”
“How’d he get taken down?” Cheng Lang hadn’t been in Chongling Town for years, not even back home, so he wasn’t clear.
From Yang Jun, he learned Chongling Town’s biggest nightclub had suffered a fire and crackdown three years prior, massive losses. The then-number-two Zheng Er lost power. Instead, Zhao Gang, promoted by Zheng Er, earned trust from their bosses and took Zheng Er’s place as Chongling Town underworld’s number two.
“Fire, crackdown, Zhao Gang rises…” Cheng Lang held the receiver in one hand, knuckles tapping the desk lightly with the other. His furrowed sword brows relaxed. “Check into that three-year-old incident. Thoroughly. Miss nothing.”
Yang Jun’s eyes lit up. “You suspect Zhao Gang’s tied to it?”
“Mm. Big fuss, and Zhao Gang’s the sole winner.” Cheng Lang had sharp instincts and firm intuition. “If he’s really behind it, then the knife for borrowing to kill is found.”
Leaving the mine district, Cheng Lang strode home to help tidy and clean.
But just at the door, his nephew called out, “Uncle, you’ve got mail and a package. Open it quick—is it something tasty?”
Fan You Shan wore his scheming thoughts on his face. Cheng Lang ruffled his head.
Cheng Lang felt puzzled. Who’d send him a package?
The weighty parcel sat on the courtyard water table. Seeing Cheng Lang return, Feng Man smiled gently and handed over the letter. “Jiang Ping sent you a package and letter. Our neighbor Jiang Ping from Nine Mountains Village?”
“Mm.” Hearing Jiang Ping’s name, Cheng Lang’s jaw tightened. He took the envelope, tore it open, skimmed the text calmly, and said, “It’s him.”
“You haven’t seen each other in years, right? You two are still close?” Feng Man was surprised. Cheng Lang hadn’t been back home in years.
Didn’t expect them close enough for gifts.
Cheng Lang replied indifferently, “He’s thanking me for some help.”