CHAPTER 106: BEATING AROUND THE BUSH

Li Xiaoqin didn’t have as many reservations as her, and said regretfully, "Well, since that’s how you feel, I can’t do much about it. But you still need to take what you’re owed. He’s a city person, definitely wealthier than us villagers. Don’t hold back—if there’s anything in the world we can’t argue with, it certainly isn’t money."

Oh, come on. Xiaoqin, are you a time traveler too or something?

Tian Sangsang chuckled and changed the subject. "By the way, Sister Xiaoqin, is there any news from Dongzhen? We haven’t heard from Brother Tian for ages."

At the mention of Tian Yi, Li Xiaoqin softened completely, her face lighting up with a smile. "Our family got a letter from him a few days ago. Turns out Yi, my brother, and my uncle were wholesaling toothpaste and shampoo to sell, but business wasn’t great. Now they’ve started working in a factory refining iron. It’s tough work, but the monthly pay is 60. Yi even said he’d come home for the New Year and bring me and Gou Sheng some clothes from outside. The clothes out there are so pretty—not like the ones we stitch together ourselves here. They’re machine-made! When the time comes, I’ll show them to you."

"Refining iron?" Tian Sangsang asked with some confusion, "What kind of iron? Did you ask exactly what he’s doing, Sister Xiaoqin?"

"Eh... I don’t really know either... It takes forever for letters to go back and forth," Li Xiaoqin replied absentmindedly, waving her hand with a contented smile. "As long as I know they’re refining iron, that’s good enough... What’s the point of knowing more? I’m just a woman; it’s not like I’d understand it anyway."

Li Xiaoqin had the classic round face, fair skin, a tall figure, and large, expressive eyes. Once again, Tian Sangsang felt that Xiaoqin was too carefree, almost to the point of being heartless. This is your man we’re talking about—how could you not bother finding out what he’s doing? If you say she cares about Tian Yi, it doesn’t seem like it. But if you say she doesn’t care... actually, she kind of does. But it’s just...

Tian Sangsang had a vague sense of foreboding.

Refining iron? Sixty yuan a month?

"Sister Xiaoqin." Zhao Chun had at some point wandered over to the two of them, and he mimicked Tian Sangsang, addressing Xiaoqin warmly as Sister Xiaoqin.

"Oh? What’s up, young man?" As soon as the city boy stood in front of her, Li Xiaoqin visibly tensed. It was a deep-seated insecurity, straight from the heart. Especially since, even though the young man leaned on a crutch, he was handsome, refined, polite, and easygoing.

Zhao Chun asked, "I heard you all mention a deputy secretary—what deputy secretary is that?"

Tian Sangsang raised an eyebrow in surprise, watching Zhao Chun’s profile.

Li Xiaoqin was stumped. "A deputy secretary is a deputy secretary. What, there’s more than one kind of deputy secretary?" Li Xiaoqin didn’t really understand what a deputy secretary did. All she knew was that it was someone in a government position, and not a minor one at that.

"Of course," Zhao Chun said, keeping a straight face. "There are mayors and governors, but they can still be categorized as full or deputy positions. Same with secretaries. You also have to see whether they’re provincial level or municipal level."

Li Xiaoqin nodded uncertainly, her understanding still limited. "Provincial or municipal, I wouldn’t know. All I know is, the secretary coming this time, his wife is a relative of the village chief—she’s the wife’s younger sister."

"Is the secretary’s wife’s surname Lin?" Zhao Chun’s face turned pale.

"Yes." Li Xiaoqin blinked in astonishment. "Young man, how do you know? Do you know her?" The village chief’s wife was from the town and had married into Tian Family Village—she was Chen Ming and Chen Ying’s mother. Her younger sister, however, was even more impressive; she was a college graduate and had married a city man.

Zhao Chun gave a couple of dry chuckles, his smile more bitter than black coffee. "Well, it’s just that your village chief’s wife has the surname Lin, so I made a lucky guess."

After a few more words, Li Xiaoqin excused herself to go home and do housework. Left in the courtyard were a languidly cross-armed Tian Sangsang, Meng Shuyan, who was watching Zhao Chun seriously with his head down, and Zhao Chun, whose expression was as sour as a bitter melon.

"Tian Sangsang... how about you and Yanyan go to the meeting tomorrow? My leg hurts—walking isn’t convenient for me."

"Sure," Tian Sangsang said with a light tone. "If you insist."

Hell no. Out of reflex, Zhao Chun reached for his right butt cheek. Not this again. In a trembling voice, he asked, "So tomorrow, you really aren’t going to sing?"

"Let’s wait and see."

Zhao Chun wiped a tear. Hell no. Damn this blasted deputy secretary. He wanted so, so much—so desperately—to hear Tian Sangsang sing. But what if the deputy secretary recognized him? If the deputy secretary recognized him, his grandpa would come charging over in less than a day.

...

By the next day, the village was noticeably more solemn, the tension permeating the air like some invisible mist. Anyway, in the morning, the deputy secretary’s party walked around the village, conducting research. As for the specifics of their work, it had little to do with Tian Sangsang, and she didn’t want to know. Politics and such—she figured it was best left to people who had a stake in it. Around two o’clock in the afternoon, the villagers started heading toward the destination. People from several neighboring villages also began gathering, making for a rather crowded scene. Eventually, it was decided to split into multiple groups.

Meetings back then weren’t like the ones in later years, where people would nap, daydream, play on their phones, or chat while others were talking. Here, everyone fixed their gaze attentively, standing or sitting with an air of respect, focusing fully on the deputy secretary at the center of the group. The deputy secretary’s outfit was quite plain but very meticulous—a clean and neat Zhongshan suit. Standing there, his kind eyes scanned the crowd, and Tian Sangsang was reminded of a familiar phrase:

"Comrades, good day. Comrades, you’ve worked hard."

Tian Sangsang straightened her back, listening attentively to the deputy secretary’s speech.

Even though it was sweltering and the speech’s content was as dry as the political classes in later years, she took in every word without missing a syllable, her focus unwavering.

This was just her way.

In her previous life, this good habit had earned her the admiration of many teachers and elders. Whether it was a teacher’s speech at the start of a term, introductions, or even monotonous lectures that sounded like droning incantations, she always listened with utmost attention, hands folded and sitting properly, never daring to let her mind wander or do something else like other students.

Once, during freshman orientation, the head teacher was giving a talk, and she was the only one in class listening intently. She believed not paying attention or doing something else was disrespectful and impolite. At the time, perhaps because she was the most attentive, the head teacher directly assigned her as the class representative for the subject they taught.

Then there was another instance, during the final semester of senior year, in the intense review period. The politics teacher, a veteran instructor, was explaining exercises from the workbook. Most of the students weren’t interested, as the workbook already had answers and explanations, so they busied themselves working on other exercises. Being old-school, the teacher’s lectures were known to be dry and tedious. Only two or three students in class were listening attentively, and the teacher said, "Alright, let’s have someone explain the thought process for this question." Then their gaze fell upon her.

Tian Sangsang was caught between laughter and tears. From then on, during every politics class, whenever the teacher decided to call on someone to answer, the entire class would instinctively glance her way... It wasn’t until college that she stopped putting so much focus on lectures. Maybe it was the changed environment, or maybe her mindset had shifted.

People change. Different ages, different life experiences—they all bring changes in perspective. Sometimes, things you once found trivial might later seem natural; books or works of art you once disliked might one day captivate you.

Perhaps when you’re young, your interests are narrower, but as you grow, you start to embrace more and expand your horizons.