Chapter 31

Bai Xinmei was dumbfounded. What were they talking about? Were they talking about the same thing? She began to doubt.
“What does this have to do with Song Jinping?”
Old Man Qin thought she was still pretending to be confused, fearing the family wouldn’t approve. He comforted her: “As I said, we won’t oppose your relationship with Song Jinping.”
“Inviting Song Jinping for New Year’s dinner wasn’t your idea?”
“I asked him to come, but my daughter-in-law has nothing to do with Song Jinping. You can ask Sister-in-law.”
All eyes turned to Li Zhaodi. Surrounded by so many, she shivered and repeated what she saw. Bai Xinmei listened.
Brother Qin listened and felt something was off, what Li Zhaodi said didn’t match what she told him on the kang the night before. It sounded like two separate matters.
After checking, it became clear, they were all in the same house, but thinking differently, each speaking their own version.
For the first time, Bai Xinmei was speechless. Only then did everyone believe that she had nothing to do with the refined, aloof Song Jinping.
The rest of the Qin family finally saw the light, so it had all been a misunderstanding.
Old Man Qin shot his eldest son a fierce glare. Wasn’t it him who’d told him the younger daughter-in-law and Song Jinping had already been “seeing each other” for a while?
Qin Yuangang, face dark, turned to look at Li Zhaodi. This wife of his really talked nonsense.
She’d sworn up and down she’d seen Song Jinping and Third Sister-in-law standing by the roadside curb, the two of them gazing at each other, eyes practically sparking, all tangled up in lingering looks.
From everyone’s expressions, Bai Xinmei could easily tell exactly who had cooked up the rumor that she had something going on with Song Jinping.
Sure enough, Li Zhaodi was completely unreliable.
Luckily, it was all sorted out in the end.
On New Year’s Eve, Song Jinping arrived at the Qin household through wind and snow for dinner.
The moment he stepped inside, he saw a whole table of people sitting neatly together. There were two big fish, one steamed and one boiled in broth, a plate of stir-fried meat placed right by the seat reserved for him, and several simple dishes of leafy greens and cabbage.
By village standards, this spread was already extravagantly sumptuous. Originally they’d planned on cooking only one fish; the other had been made especially for Song Jinping.
In these turbulent, transformative years, even families who could afford to eat well wouldn’t dare to lay out too much meat and fish. If someone caught them, it’d be “the landlord–capitalist class reviving in the dark,” and that would be no small problem.
As Song Jinping walked in, they noticed he was carrying a slab of pork and a bag of milk powder as well. He said that coming to their home for dinner was already imposing, and this was just a little token of his appreciation, he insisted they accept it.
The Qin family were stunned by just how “particular” and generous this educated youth was. In an instant, even in their own home, they felt a bit ill at ease.
Li Zhaodi gave Da Ya and Gou Dan, who were noisily slurping at their chopsticks, two smacks on the head, scolding them to stop making a spectacle of themselves.
When Qin Laotai fetched him a pair of chopsticks, she rinsed them again in well water and wiped them carefully with a clean cloth. Third Daughter-in-law loved to do this before eating. She’d always thought Third Daughter-in-law was fussy; now it was finally useful.
“Song Jinping, sit, sit, have some food. Our little house and little stove don’t have much to offer, just make do with it,” Old Man Qin said.
He suddenly remembered he still had a bit of sorghum liquor he’d been saving for years and added with great bravado, “Old woman, go bring out that sorghum wine I put down in the cellar.”
Watching the Qin family already bustling around their guest, Bai Xinmei suddenly wondered: Does he even drink? From the look of him, he didn’t seem offended.
But then she remembered what the plot had said, Song Jinping hated people scheming on him the most, and he had a bit of a cleanliness streak. Even if he was unhappy, he’d still put on a pleasant face.
She saw Old Man Qin dragging him to drink and even putting food directly into his bowl with his own chopsticks… By rights, he should be displeased.
On the surface, no matter how she studied his face from left and right, she couldn’t see anything. But he never touched the dishes Old Man Qin had picked up for him; his bowl stayed completely still. From that alone, you could tell he minded it quite a bit.
Since she was the one who’d invited him, Bai Xinmei decided she shouldn’t leave him in such an awkward spot.
She went and fetched another set of bowl and chopsticks, saying the one from earlier had a chip. How could they use a chipped bowl for Song Jinping on New Year’s?
Sure enough, Old Man Qin took a look and realised it really was chipped. He slapped his own forehead and apologised over and over.
Looking at the warm, bustling Qin family, Song Jinping suddenly began to miss his family in Beijing.
If only this revolution would end soon. The damage it had caused was already far greater than any “revolutionary value” it claimed to have created.
“Is Uncle Song missing home?”
His rising homesickness was cut off by a small, childish voice.
Children were always the most sensitive to other people’s emotions.
He looked at Niuniu, cradled in Bai Xinmei’s arms. So it was this little girl. Come to think of it, if he hadn’t met her under that tree that day, he probably wouldn’t be sitting here now.
“Yes,” Song Jinping admitted. “Uncle Song does miss home a little.”
Bai Xinmei wanted to comfort him and say he’d be able to go back soon, but before the words left her mouth, she remembered: for the sent-down educated youth, there was no set time to return. They had to wait for a new call from the state before they could go back to the city.
So she changed tack. “It’s all right, Song Jinping. After the New Year, when things are a bit quieter, you can buy a train ticket to Beijing. Best time is April or May, tickets are cheaper, and we won’t be so busy then. Even if something comes up, we can help you hold down the fort here.”
The rest of the Qin family nodded, expressing their agreement.
In the dead of winter, with firewood burning in the stove, they splurged for New Year’s, lighting both candles and the kerosene lamp so the room was bright and warm.
While he looked at Bai Xinmei’s face, slightly foxlike and too beautiful in normal days, he found that at this moment, with that soft smile, she seemed gentle and lovely, making his heart… thump wildly, leaving him a bit at a loss.
Seeing he still wasn’t picking up his chopsticks, she thought he was being overly polite. She opened another fresh pair to use as communal chopsticks and put some food into his bowl herself.
Her pretty eyes curved like new moons, silently urging him to eat more.
Watching her fetch a new pair of chopsticks to serve him, Song Jinping couldn’t stop his thoughts from wandering.
Does she dislike me?
Why was she refusing to use her own chopsticks for his bowl? She’d never done this for the rest of the Qin family. Strictly speaking, that was normal… but why did he suddenly feel the urge to compare himself to them?
Does he really mean so little to Comrade Bai in her heart?
Naturally, Bai Xinmei had no idea that this twenty-four-year-old, never-been-in-love young man was in the middle of a full-blown glass-heart moment.
The New Year’s Eve dinner passed peacefully and joyfully. In her mind, once the New Year was over, it would be time to officially kick off her “Second Spring” plan.
That night, Song Jinping lay back in the educated youth dorm, sleepless in the middle of the night. The next morning, he turned down Ming Xiaoxiao’s attempt to bring him breakfast yet again.
Who could have guessed that this time she’d say she’d gotten a new book, The Thorn Birds by Colleen McCullough. She thought it was fascinating and said maybe the two of them would “have a lot in common” over it.
Song Jinping rejected her with an icy face. This was already the umpteenth time Ming Xiaoxiao had come looking for him, trying to get close. He no longer wished to go through the motions with her, and had not the slightest interest in the forbidden love between a priest and a beautiful woman.
He much preferred Lu Xun’s works and current affairs commentary. He and Ming Xiaoxiao had absolutely no common language.
What’s more, every time she came near him, he could feel that determined, “must have you” edge to her attitude.
It made him very uncomfortable. He wasn’t stupid. With just a little digging into the other educated youths’ family backgrounds, he knew Ming Xiaoxiao’s home situation was nothing special. No one was going to plot a bright official future for her.
She was afraid her youth would be wasted out here in the countryside, with no clear date of return, and she refused to “marry down” to some farmer. So she started hunting among the educated youths instead.
And obviously, she’d chosen him as her target. By rights, he was supposed to feel honoured.
But he wasn’t interested. And it wasn’t because her background was poor. If he truly liked someone, even if she were a village girl, or had a “bad” class label, or was even a widow, he’d still be willing.
This was New China; he wasn’t some feudal noble fussing over perfect social matches.
Besides, these days, anyone in power was either a grandson of peasants or from the old clans who’d gone as low-profile as humanly possible for fear of being dragged into another round of “cleansing.”
Ming Xiaoxiao’s mistake was making her intentions too blatantly utilitarian. If she hadn’t, he might have treated her politely, as a comrade, a fellow soldier, maybe even as a friend.
Thinking this, Song Jinping raised his brows slightly. The corners of his mouth curved into a faint, ambiguous smile as he looked at her and said, word by word:
“Comrade Ming Xiaoxiao, our educated youth spot also has Comrade Liu Yongkang and Comrade Zhang Shaoyong. One has an older brother who’s a workshop director at the shipyard, and the other’s father is a deputy director at a steel plant. You still have other options, there’s no need to cling so hard to Jinping.”
Ming Xiaoxiao wanted to die of shame and rage on the spot.
So he had seen through her game, and he’d ripped open her little plan to climb the social ladder right to her face. She’d thought that, at the very least, he’d leave her some dignity...
Her mind went blank. She ran out, and after a long while, resentment started seeping up from the bottom of her heart.
Fine, Song Jinping. Refusing me over and over is one thing, but did you really have to be this ruthless?
[I knew it. Our Little Song likes the “baiting” type.]
[Sigh, bold confessions don’t work.]
[Got it. Time to switch flirting tactics.]
Bai Xinmei still didn’t know the audience had seen all of this. She was baffled by the random barrage popping up on her screen.
Someone’s confessing to Song Jinping?
But she had her hands full at the moment.
She’d gone to find a matchmaker, Auntie Wang Cuilan, the same one who’d carried Niuniu that time, and was chewing her fingernails while listing her requirements for a Second Spring.
“First,” she said, “he has to be good to Niuniu. Really like Niuniu.
Second, he has to have a solid family background. If he’s not from a dual-income city family, he at least needs to be a proper worker. That’s the most important point.
Third, he can’t be too ugly. Not too tall, not too short, not too fat, not too thin, better if he’s on the handsome side.
Fourth, he needs to have read a fair bit of books…”
At first, Wang Cuilan nodded along, saying she understood. Then, by the end, she was poking her little finger into her ear, half-convinced she’d misheard.
Did this girl think she was the emperor picking concubines?
Annoyed, she asked, “Anything else?”
Completely oblivious to Auntie Wang’s frozen expression, Bai Xinmei continued, “Let me think… there should be a sixth requirement…”
“Bai Xinmei, what’s wrong with you, you little widow? Do you think you’re some city miss picking imperial consorts? Just because you’re good-looking doesn’t mean you can toss out demands like this. That’s not going to work. You set your bar like that, how am I supposed to find you a man?”
Bai Xinmei felt unconvinced. She was stunningly beautiful, she’d drunk foreign ink, fine, recycled foreign ink, but still foreign ink, so why couldn’t she have standards?
But seeing Auntie Wang’s man-eating expression, she could only meekly mutter a single line of protest. “There was a time when I was.”
“What? Say that again?”
Auntie Wang hadn’t heard clearly; this little widow was mumbling too much.