Chapter 17: Reporting, Using Strength Against Strength (Fourth Update)

Chapter 17 Leveraging a Report to Settle Scores (Fourth Update)

"Get rid of them?" Auntie Yu hadn’t given much thought to disposing of the items left behind by Song Fenglan and her child.

"Right, that room needs to be cleared out," Jiang Yufei said. "I don’t even have a spot to crash when I come back to my parents’ home. Song Fenglan has already moved out—didn’t she say she wouldn’t be living here anymore? She’s already married; she should have her own home by now."

"She does have her own home," Auntie Yu replied. "Your younger cousin did say she didn’t want those things before she left. Some of them are still in good condition and can be used."

"Then you all can divide them up," Jiang Yufei said, unwilling to use Song Fenglan’s castoffs. She didn’t want people saying she was using hand-me-downs from Song Fenglan. Jiang Yufei cared about her reputation—even if she was short on money, she wouldn’t stoop to that.

Auntie Yu had initially thought Jiang Yufei might want those items, but she hadn’t expected her to react this way.

"What? You think I’m desperate for Song Fenglan’s leftovers?" Jiang Yufei scoffed. "Those things are all old, not new, and worthless anyway. If they were valuable, she’d *never* have left them behind."

"Don’t say things like that," Auntie Yu chided, finding her words harsh. Song Fenglan had kindly left usable items behind and let them decide what to do with them. Not everyone would be so considerate. "Your younger cousin has already moved out and doesn’t live here anymore. There’s no need to speak ill of her—she doesn’t owe you anything."

"Doesn’t owe me? When she lived here, I had no room of my own when I visited," Jiang Yufei retorted. "Don’t tell me that just because I’m married or live in this city, I can’t stay at my parents’ home for a few days?"

Jiang Yufei resented Song Fenglan and felt her own mother favored her cousin more.

"Leaving those things behind was just her treating us like beggars," Jiang Yufei sneered. "She never respected us—she saw us as nothing more than vermin."

"How can you think like that?" Auntie Yu was baffled. "Your younger cousin was always careful when she stayed with us."

Auntie Yu had noticed how cautiously Song Fenglan lived. Though Song Fenglan rarely did household chores, she wasn’t completely idle. And the gifts the Song family had given Auntie Yu beforehand were already more than generous.

"Careful? She was downright arrogant," Jiang Yufei snapped. "I don’t care—just clear out that room quickly. It’s an eyesore. Free up the space—rent it out or let someone else live there. I’m not insisting on staying in that room, so you can’t accuse me, a married woman, of meddling too much."

"You…" Auntie Yu shook her head helplessly. She didn’t know how to reason with Jiang Yufei, who was determined to hold a grudge against Song Fenglan. Even though Song Fenglan was no longer around, Jiang Yufei still wouldn’t let it go.

The next day, Shi Guilan was stopped by Political Commissar Zhao’s wife and several others from the RevCom.

Someone had filed an anonymous complaint letter accusing Shi Guilan of feudal superstition, claiming she had cursed Regiment Commander Qin’s wife, Song Fenglan, for bringing misfortune to the Fang family’s child. The letter had already been submitted, and the authorities couldn’t ignore it—it had reached both the RevCom leadership and Political Commissar Zhao.

Shi Guilan had offended many people in the past, but most hadn’t dared to confront her directly. This time, however, she had targeted Song Fenglan—Regiment Commander Qin’s wife from the capital, whose in-laws were influential. Someone saw an opportunity to retaliate, especially since Shi Guilan had publicly accused Song Fenglan of being a jinx.

Several people had heard her, not just Auntie Fatty.

But while some pretended not to hear out of fear of Shi Guilan’s husband, others weren’t afraid—and some even saw a chance to turn the situation to their advantage.

Staff Officer Xu hadn’t even left for work yet; he was still eating breakfast when the group arrived. He was completely lost, having no idea what was happening.

"What’s the meaning of this?" Shi Guilan balked, refusing to go with them. Their attitude was too hostile.

"You need to give us a proper explanation," Staff Officer Xu said, shielding Shi Guilan. Though he knew they wouldn’t act without reason, he had little respect for the RevCom. Even with Political Commissar Zhao’s wife present—who wasn’t part of the committee—he remained uneasy.

Shi Guilan had borne him a son and helped raise his children. He couldn’t just abandon her.

"‘Feudal superstition,’” Political Commissar Zhao’s wife stated. "She claimed Regiment Commander Qin’s wife cursed Gao Xiuxiu’s daughter."

Political Commissar Zhao’s wife had heard Shi Guilan’s remarks before but had chosen to let it slide, thinking it better to avoid unnecessary trouble. But now that someone had formally reported Shi Guilan, the RevCom couldn’t ignore it—even with relaxed policies, the committee still existed.

If they didn’t act, people would accuse them of favoring Staff Officer Xu.

This time, they *had* to drag Shi Guilan in. Just because she also worked in the RevCom didn’t mean they could let her off the hook. Even if they intended to whitewash it, they still had to question her.

"It was *just* a slip of the tongue," Shi Guilan argued. "Everyone misspeaks sometimes. Like *one* time makes it okay?"

She refused to go with them, unwilling to let word get out. She’d *die* before letting anyone know she’d been reported. It would be like having her pride gutted. Even if she only received a reprimand later, losing face? *That* was unacceptable.

"Auntie Zhao, I really only said that one sentence. I see my mistake now and will think hard about it," Shi Guilan said, being flexible when needed. She had to maintain a good impression in front of her husband. If she didn’t admit it, things would only get worse. "I’ll write a self-criticism."

"You’re coming with us now," said the member of the Revolutionary Committee.

"Do I really have to go?" Shi Guilan replied. "If I go... can we just say I’m going to work? I’ll go over myself later, okay?"

With so many people present, it would look like they were hauling her off, and Shi Guilan felt that would be humiliating.

Staff Officer Xu stared at Shi Guilan in disbelief. He clearly hadn’t expected his wife to say such things, even if it was just one sentence. Did this mean the wife he knew wasn’t real? His wife was indeed capable of saying harsh words—so was what Qin Yizhou said actually true?

He had previously insisted to Qin Yizhou that it was all a misunderstanding. Now, Staff Officer Xu realized that if his wife could say one such thing, she could say many more. How many other harsh words had she spoken when he wasn’t home? Had she really been making trouble for Regiment Commander Qin’s wife?

"You’re coming with us now," the Revolutionary Committee member said firmly. They knew if they let Shi Guilan go alone later, people might accuse them of shielding her. They didn’t want that—there was already a written complaint, and more than one person had heard her remarks. "This is a serious matter."

"We’re all neighbors here. What’s the harm in saying a word or two?" Shi Guilan still refused to see it as a big deal.

After speaking, she glanced at Mrs. Zhao and then at Staff Officer Xu. Shi Guilan didn’t want to lose face like this. In the past, she had been the one dragging others to the Revolutionary Committee for criticism—not the other way around.

"If it’s true, then you should go and cooperate with their investigation," Staff Officer Xu said. He couldn’t, in good conscience, stop them from taking his wife away now that she had admitted it.

"..." Shi Guilan felt miserable. Was her husband really just going to watch her be taken away?

Then again, she thought, she couldn’t blame him. With so many people coming to their home, they were forcing his hand. To spare her husband further embarrassment, Shi Guilan had no choice but to go with them.

The written complaint hadn’t been made by Song Fenglan. Her parents hadn’t been politically rehabilitated yet, so it wasn’t appropriate for her to file such a report. Nor had it been made by Auntie Fatty—she might needle Shi Guilan with a few sharp words, but she wouldn’t go so far as to write a formal complaint.

Many people believed minor issues shouldn’t be blown out of proportion. Making a big fuss would only make things worse for everyone and invite grudges.

News of Shi Guilan being taken away by the Revolutionary Committee spread quickly.

Auntie Fatty came all the way to tell Song Fenglan, who was at the time helping Qin Zihang try on new clothes.

Song Fenglan had finished stitching a cute little dog on the outfit, and it looked remarkably detailed.

"Is this Fu Wangwang?" Qin Zihang pointed at the dog on the clothes.

"You can call it whatever you like," Song Fenglan said. "Take it off for now, and—"

"Mom, can I wear it right away?" Qin Zihang didn’t want to take it off. He wanted to keep it on. "It’s so pretty. I want to wear it."

"Fine, keep it on," Song Fenglan gave in. The clothes weren’t dirty, and if her son wanted to wear them, why not?

That’s just how kids are—when they got new clothes, they couldn’t wait to show them off.

"Did you stitch that dog yourself?" Auntie Fatty gushed.

"Yes, my mom did it," Qin Zihang said proudly. "Isn’t it nice?"

"Very nice, very nice," Auntie Fatty praised. "It’s beautiful. I’d never manage that!"

"Does Xiao Hu have one?" Qin Zihang asked.

"No, he doesn’t," Auntie Fatty replied.

"Well, that’s his loss. This is my mom’s embroidery for me," Qin Zihang said, not offering to have his mother slave over someone else’s stuff. He didn’t want his mom working hard for anyone but him—she was his mom, and she should focus on him.

Song Fenglan chuckled as her son spun around in circles, not caring if he got dizzy.

"Isn’t Xiao Hu here?" Qin Zihang wanted Zhang Xiaohu to see his new clothes.

"He’ll come find you to play later," said Auntie Fatty.

"It's okay if he doesn't come," Qin Zihang replied. "My mom embroidered this for me."

"Alright," Auntie Fatty nodded.

Song Fenglan gently patted her son’s head and let him sit nearby to play. She was planning to knead dough—though summer weather was a bit hot, it was good for fermenting. She wanted to make meat buns for her son—his favorite. Using ration tickets at the canteen never got him enough, but making them at home allowed for more.

With Auntie Fatty here, Song Fenglan didn’t rush to knead the dough just yet—there was still time. The meat buns were for dinner, and if they were ready early, they could eat them sooner. She planned to make about a dozen, keeping the quantity modest. She wasn’t about to give any away—if she did, she’d offer vegetable buns or plain steamed buns instead.

"Staff Officer Xu’s wife, Shi Guilan, was taken away by the Revolutionary Committee!" Auntie Fatty finally mentioned the reason for her visit.

"Didn’t she work for the Revolutionary Committee?" Song Fenglan had heard about it before.

"That’s right," Auntie Fatty said. "Word is, someone anonymously reported her, claiming she threw her weight around as Staff Officer Xu’s wife and promoted feudal superstitions."

"Feudal superstitions?" Song Fenglan wondered if this had anything to do with her.

"Yes, she’d accused you of cursing Gao Xiuxiu’s daughter," Auntie Fatty explained. "Several people heard it. In the past, no one would’ve dared to report her for saying something like that. But now it’s different—you’re the wife of Battalion Commander Qin, and folks figure you’ve got pull."

"They’re using me to take her down," Song Fenglan realized. Even keeping to herself lately, others were still scheming behind the scenes.

She didn’t blame whoever reported Shi Guilan—if it were her, she’d have done the same in their shoes. With others taking the lead, no one would suspect her of writing the report. Whoever did it had some sense, knowing the right time to act. Even if the anonymous letter went nowhere, there’d be no consequences.

"Are you... not happy about it?" Auntie Fatty asked.

"Why wouldn’t I be happy?" Song Fenglan said. "Staff Officer Xu’s wife has a problem with me—she dislikes me and talks behind my back. Someone reported her, so I should be glad."

"It wasn’t you who reported her?" Auntie Fatty asked.

"Of course not. If it were me, I wouldn’t have done it anonymously—I’d have reported her openly," Song Fenglan said. "Anonymous letters? They might just brush those off. But if I sat right at the Revolutionary Committee’s doorstep with a formal complaint, they’d have to deal with it properly, don’t you think?"

"That’s true," Auntie Fatty nodded.

"Raising hell gets things done. If some old coot kicks up a fuss, it usually resolves ninety percent of issues," Song Fenglan said. "Worry about saving face, and folks’ll walk all over you."

Auntie Fatty was surprised—she hadn’t expected Song Fenglan to think this way. She’d pegged Song Fenglan as the prim-and-proper type who always stuck to reasoning.

"Sometimes, what’s truly reasonable doesn’t matter," Song Fenglan said.

"You’ve got a point," Auntie Fatty admitted.

"I’ll knead the dough later and whip up some buns for my son," Song Fenglan said. "He loves them, but the canteen skimps on portions. Making them at home means he can have more."

"You know how to make buns?" Auntie Fatty was shocked again.

Hell—her husband had it all wrong. Song Fenglan clearly knew her way around a kitchen.

"Yes," Song Fenglan nodded. "As long as I don’t have to stir-fry, I’m alright. Steaming and boiling? No problem. I’ll whip up extra later and let Xiao Hu try some too."

"No, no, that won’t do," Auntie Fatty insisted. "We have flour at home too. How about this—I’ll bring flour, vegetables, and meat, and we can make them together."

"Sure," Song Fenglan agreed.

"I know how to make tofu," Auntie Fatty quickly added, not to seem like a mooch. "When we make tofu, I’ll handle it. My tofu’s melt-in-your-mouth tender—I’m good at making soy milk, tofu skin, and fried tofu too."

"I don’t know how to make tofu—it’s tricky," Song Fenglan admitted. Her mom had schooled her in fancy pastries—things that looked and tasted good. "Another time, when you make tofu."

"Alright, alright," said Auntie Fatty. "I'll go home to get the flour. We just bought a pound and a half of pork too."

"Good," Song Fenglan nodded. "Do you have any daikon radishes?"

"Yes," Auntie Fatty replied. "Are we making daikon buns?"

"Daikon and glass noodle buns," Song Fenglan said.

"I'll grab the stuff and come right over," Auntie Fatty said. "Xiao Hu drank the mung bean soup you made and keeps saying he wants you to be his mom. But who your mom is, that’s fate."

"This is my mom," Qin Zihang, hearing Auntie Fatty's words, quickly clung to his mom’s leg. "My mom."

"Yes, she's your mom," Auntie Fatty said. "I’ll grab the stuff and come right over."

Auntie Fatty returned home and was about to leave with the ingredients when Zhang Xiaohu stuck his head out.

"Mom," Zhang Xiaohu whispered.

"What is it?" Auntie Fatty asked.

"Is Zi Hang practicing writing?" Zhang Xiaohu asked.

"Scared of writing?" Auntie Fatty immediately saw through her son's thoughts. "No one asked you to write. Zi Hang is doing it on his own."

"He's writing... but I'm older than him. I’d feel lazy if I didn’t write too," Zhang Xiaohu said, feeling that if he saw Qin Zihang practicing writing, he couldn’t just stand there playing without writing something himself.

"Nah, he’s not," Auntie Fatty answered.

"I wanna go! I wanna go!" Zhang Xiaohu said excitedly. "Mom, what are you carrying?"

"Didn’t you say you liked the food Zi Hang’s mom makes?" Auntie Fatty said. "They’re making buns, so I’m bringing our ingredients so we can all eat together later."

"Great, great!" Zhang Xiaohu said. "Zi Hang’s mom is so amazing. I wish she were my mom."

"You asking for a spanking?" Auntie Fatty said.

"No way!" Zhang Xiaohu covered his butt—he definitely didn’t want that. "Mom, come on, let’s go! If we don’t leave now, it’ll be too late. Zi Hang’s mom’ll start without us!"

Zhang Xiaohu yanked on his mom’s sleeve, trying to pull her along, but with her being so heavy, he couldn’t budge her.

"Mom, faster, faster!" Zhang Xiaohu urged.

"Auntie Song said she’d wait," Auntie Fatty said. "You really like hers that much better?"

"I want Zi Hang’s mom’s cooking," Zhang Xiaohu said.

Auntie Fatty gave her eldest son a few instructions—he could stay home if he wanted—then took the ingredients next door. She couldn’t let Song Fenglan do everything; she had to contribute too.

When Auntie Fatty arrived next door, Song Fenglan split the stuff half-and-half so it would be fair when sharing later. Halving it was easier than calculating proportions.

As for whether the flour was the same quality, same place, same price, same flour.

Song Fenglan started kneading the dough while Auntie Fatty washed and chopped the pork filling. The dried rice noodles and shredded daikon also needed to be prepped, and since radishes are watery, they had to be drained.

"See this? A little dog. My mom embroidered it," Qin Zihang bragged, showing off the design on his clothes to Zhang Xiaohu.

"It’s so pretty," Zhang Xiaohu said. "Your mom is so amazing. Can’t she really be my mom too?"

"No, everyone has their own mom. My mom can’t be yours," Qin Zihang said. "Get your mom to stitch you one."

"My mom can't," Zhang Xiaohu pouted. "She can't do this stuff."

"Didn’t your mom make your clothes?" Qin Zihang asked.

"They're ugly," Zhang Xiaohu said.

Auntie Fatty sometimes had others help make clothes because hers never looked as good. She wondered why, even though everyone sewed clothes, hers always turned out less attractive. Today, when she saw the clothes Song Fenglan made, she realized hers weren’t just a little worse—they were way worse—even the simplest styles she made couldn’t compare to Song Fenglan’s. If someone said Song Fenglan couldn’t cook or wasn’t a good wife, Auntie Fatty wouldn’t believe it for a second.

Song Fenglan could bake pastries, sew clothes, and raised her child so well. Auntie Fatty thought she was incredible. A woman that pretty and good at everything seemed like she had stepped right out of a painting—too perfect.

Auntie Fatty and Song Fenglan were in the kitchen, eavesdropping on the kids in the living room.

"My mom’s clothes are ugly, really ugly," Zhang Xiaohu said. "The sleeves are all uneven."

"They look the same to me," Qin Zihang replied, looking at his own clothes and then Zhang Xiaohu’s.

"I can tell," Zhang Xiaohu insisted. "Kids make fun of me for it. If your mom were my mom, I could wear cool clothes like yours too."

"She’s *my* mom—I’m not sharing!" Qin Zihang said. "Kids get clothes from their moms or the store."

Qin Zihang had never considered asking his mom to make clothes for Zhang Xiaohu, but Zhang Xiaohu really wanted Song Fenglan to make some for him.

"Auntie, Auntie, can you make clothes for me?" Zhang Xiaohu couldn’t resist running to Song Fenglan.

"Mom-made clothes are the coziest," Song Fenglan said.

"If it gets any warmer in this heat, I’ll melt!" Zhang Xiaohu retorted.

Auntie Fatty, who was washing vegetables with wet hands, reached out and grabbed Zhang Xiaohu by the ear.

"What are you saying?" she scolded.

"Ouch!" Zhang Xiaohu cried. "It hurts, Mom, it hurts!"

"I hardly even pulled, and you’re already crying," Auntie Fatty said.

"Don’t yank a kid’s ear—it might affect their hearing, and you’ll regret it later," Song Fenglan advised. "Kids are sensitive; many things are more fragile for them than adults."

Auntie Fatty let go. "You really know how to raise kids, sister-in-law."

"Auntie, can you make clothes for me?" Zhang Xiaohu asked.

"One’s okay, but don’t push it," Song Fenglan said. She didn’t have time to make clothes for everyone, and she didn’t want anyone getting greedy.

"One is enough!" Zhang Xiaohu said. "Zihang’s clothes are so cool."

"See my puppy?" Qin Zihang pointed to the little dog on his clothes. "I also have Fu Wangwang. Wanna see, Xiaohu?"

"Yes!" Zhang Xiaohu nodded.

Qin Zihang happily pulled Zhang Xiaohu along to see the real little dog, and Zhang Xiaohu dropped the clothes thing.

"Ignore him," Auntie Fatty said. "He always thinks others’ clothes are nicer and wants them. Once, I even got someone else’s clothes for him, but he refused to wear them. Kids are fickle."

"Basic clothes all look alike; there’s not much difference," Song Fenglan said. "Kids ruin clothes in no time."

Song Fenglan tied her hair up under a hat while kneading dough to keep it from falling into the mix and handed another hat to Auntie Fatty.

Auntie Fatty had brought her own apron, so Song Fenglan didn’t need to provide one.

Auntie Fatty had strong arms, so she was the one chopping the filling, while Song Fenglan added the seasoning and other preparations. They had everything they needed.

By the time the dough had risen, the fillings were done too.

When it came to folding the buns, neither Song Fenglan nor Auntie Fatty let the children help. The kids didn’t know how to do it right, and with food being so precious these days, it was better for the adults to handle it themselves.

Auntie Fatty glanced at the buns she had folded, then at Song Fenglan’s. She almost wanted to hide hers—they weren’t as neat as Song Fenglan’s. The buns Song Fenglan made were even prettier than those from the canteen, each one looking almost identical.

When the buns were ready to be steamed, Zhang Xiaohu ran to the kitchen and stared eagerly at the pot, practically salivating.

"Clean your mouth," Auntie Fatty said. "You’re drooling."

"Nuh-uh!" Zhang Xiaohu touched the corner of his mouth. "Not a single drop."

He’d already swallowed his spit—how could there be any left outside?

Meanwhile, Qin Zihang was making paper boats in the living room. He wasn’t in a hurry—he knew he just had to wait for her to finish.

As soon as the buns were steamed, Zhang Xiaohu reached out to grab one.

"Hot!" Auntie Fatty swatted his hand and instead took a bowl to serve him one, then did the same for Qin Zihang.

"Are they good?" Qin Zihang asked Zhang Xiaohu.

"So good! So good!" Zhang Xiaohu nodded vigorously. "Way better than Mom’s."

"I helped too," Auntie Fatty said.

"But the ones you made aren’t this tasty," Zhang Xiaohu insisted.

"Did she really want this kid?" Auntie Fatty stared at him.

"Your mom’s buns are delicious," Zhang Xiaohu said again to Qin Zihang.

"Of course, my mom makes everything really well," Qin Zihang replied. "Tell your mom to learn. My mom said she was new to being a mom at first, so she learned slowly."

"Mom..." Zhang Xiaohu turned to his mother. Could she try learning?

"I’m not a first-time mom," Auntie Fatty shut him down flat. "It was my first time being a mom to your brother, but it’s my second time being a mom to you."

"Why can’t you be a first-time mom?" Zhang Xiaohu had a sudden idea. "Is being my mom your first time?"

"Can’t you just eat and be quiet?" Auntie Fatty turned to Song Fenglan. "See? This is my son—always dissing his own mom."

"He loves you to bits," Song Fenglan said.

Before Zhang Chenghai and Qin Yizhou got off work, Auntie Fatty and Song Fenglan had finished steaming the buns and mantou. They divided them down the middle—one half for each family. When dividing them, Auntie Fatty deliberately grabbed the uglier ones she had made, thinking that since the fillings and dough were the same, only the appearance differed.

When Zhang Chenghai came home and saw the buns and mantou, he was puzzled. "Why did you make buns today?"

"Zi Hang’s mom wanted to make some, so I brought over flour and other ingredients," Auntie Fatty explained. "We split the supplies and made them together. The buns she made are really pretty and delicate, with great fillings. Your kid’s begging to trade me in again."

At the dinner table, Qin Yizhou initially thought the buns and mantou were bought from the canteen. But after taking a bite, he realized they weren’t.

"You made these?" Qin Yizhou blinked.

"Yes, Mom made them," Qin Zihang said. "Dad, eat up! There’s meat buns, vermicelli buns, radish buns, and mantou. They’re all so good."

The dough had risen perfectly, and the steamed buns and mantou were fluffy and white. They sprang back a little when poked. Not perfect, but close. You could tell they turned out great.

"Auntie Xiao Hu came over to help too, and took some home," Qin Zihang said.

"Their family provided half the ingredients, and ours provided the other half," Song Fenglan said. "We made these things together. Eat up, it's hot outside, and they won't last long."

Song Fenglan thought that since Qin Yizhou had training, he expended a lot of energy and would have a bigger appetite. She couldn’t have made just a little—there were still plenty of buns and steamed bread left in the basin. She and her son would have some too.

"Drink some water," Song Fenglan gave Qin Zihang a bowl of water. She didn’t make any soup. She knew how to make soup, but only if she had a dedicated clay pot to simmer things in.

"Dad, eat more," Qin Zihang said. "I’ve eaten plenty already."

"Tastes great," Qin Yizhou continued eating the buns. The flavor was excellent—"Better than the mess hall’s."

"If we have time, we can make them a few more times," Song Fenglan said. "If not, we’ll just eat at the mess hall."

"Alright," Qin Yizhou said. "No need to do it so often—it’s too tiring."

"Mhm," Song Fenglan nodded. "Today, Auntie Fatty chopped the meat. It takes a lot of strength to do that."

"Since both families worked together, she should do it," Qin Yizhou said. "Don’t do it all by yourself."

"Of course. Doing it alone is exhausting," Song Fenglan said. "I’m not that generous."

"It’s not about being generous—it’s about fairness," Qin Yizhou said. "You can’t always be the one doing everything."

"Shi Guilan was anonymously reported," Song Fenglan said.

"Reported?" Qin Yizhou really hadn’t heard about this.

"It happened this morning," Song Fenglan said. "No one knows what the final outcome will be."

"Staff Officer Xu’s wife will probably have to write a confession and read it aloud in front of everyone," Qin Yizhou said. "Unless what she did was really unacceptable, she might just get sent back home."

Staff Officer Xu had made contributions, and his family did need someone to take care of the children. Qin Yizhou told his wife this to prepare her mentally—Shi Guilan might only get a slap on the wrist, so she shouldn’t be too disappointed.

"Who knows if there’ll even be a confession," Song Fenglan said. "Someone reported her for spreading feudal superstition. Didn’t she say I was cursing the Fang family? Others must have heard, probably people she bullied before, which is why they reported her anonymously. The reporter probably wanted me and Shi Guilan to clash—sneaky, making others do their dirty work. Without some status or backing, you can’t even stand up to Shi Guilan."

"At first, I considered talking to Staff Officer Xu and letting him handle it," Qin Yizhou said, frowning at the thought of Staff Officer Xu’s attitude.

Qin Yizhou hadn’t run into Staff Officer Xu today. If Staff Officer Xu knew about Shi Guilan’s situation, he probably wouldn’t spread it around. Before things were finalized, it was better not to let others know—rumors would only make it worse.

"If he doesn’t solve the problem, someone else will do it for him," Qin Yizhou said. "They had it coming."

"They had it coming," Song Fenglan agreed. She couldn’t say Shi Guilan was innocent—she was far from innocent.

"Mom, I want more," Qin Zihang said after finishing a meat bun.

"Alright," Song Fenglan gave him another bun.

Shi Guilan wasn’t detained—she went back home. The Revolutionary Committee ordered her to write a confession, one that was heartfelt, and read it aloud at the broadcasting station for everyone to hear. Shi Guilan didn’t want to read it publicly and asked if there was another way—if not, she’d rather apologize to Song Fenglan face-to-face.

The Revolutionary Committee refused. The anonymous letter also mentioned Shi Guilan bullying other military wives, so she had to read the confession publicly to calm everyone down. They couldn’t protect her just because she was part of the committee.

That wouldn’t do!

Shi Guilan didn’t even have time to make dinner when she got home. When Staff Officer Xu returned, he was starving, but there was no food. In the end, he had to go to the mess hall to buy a meal.

"It’s fine," Shi Guilan said quickly before Staff Officer Xu could get angry. "Just write a confession, read it, and that’ll be the end of it."

Staff Officer Xu’s children were still young—they wouldn’t dismiss Shi Guilan over something like this. She didn’t want to read the confession in front of a crowd, but at least at the broadcasting station, people would only hear her.

"I'll go recite it tomorrow," Shi Guilan said.

"Don't bully Commander Qin's wife. She just arrived and hasn’t offended you," Staff Officer Xu said, in a foul mood all day. He had initially thought Qin Yizhou was overreacting, but now he realized it was his own wife who was the troublesome one.

Staff Officer Xu couldn’t help but suspect whether his wife acted one way in public and another behind closed doors—and how she truly treated the children from his first marriage. He had to work and couldn’t stay home all the time. The fact that the two children hadn’t complained suggested they were doing fine.

"Don’t even think about Commander Qin for your cousin’s sake," Staff Officer Xu said. "He’s a married man. There are other single soldiers here—she can choose from them."

"Yes, yes," Shi Guilan didn’t dare say a single "no."

Staff Officer Xu continued, making it clear that she shouldn’t provoke Qin Yizhou and his wife, as they weren’t afraid to speak their minds. Even if they weren’t the ones behind the anonymous report this time, if Shi Guilan remained stubborn, they wouldn’t hesitate to take other measures.

After eating the buns, Zhang Chenghai found them so delicious that he kept eating several in a row, getting stared at by Zhang Xiaohu.

"Dad, you’re eating too much. If you keep going, my brother and I won’t get any," Zhang Xiaohu complained, upset that his father was eating up all the delicious buns. "Dad, you’re not even sharing!"

"Go ahead, eat," Zhang Chenghai said. "There’s still more, isn’t there?"

"Dad, you take huge bites—one bite and the whole bun disappears!" Zhang Xiaohu had been watching his father devour the buns, seeing the pile dwindle one by one. He was on the verge of tears.

"The weather's hot today—better finish them," Auntie Fatty said.

"But I want to eat them tomorrow too," Zhang Xiaohu said.

"I’ll ask Zi Hang’s mom to teach me another time," Auntie Fatty said. "Same flour, same ingredients, but the mantou and buns she makes just taste better."

"Definitely worth learning," Zhang Chenghai agreed. He also wanted to eat tastier food.

"Can’t we really save some for tomorrow?" Zhang Xiaohu asked.

"If we eat them tomorrow, they’ll turn sour and won’t taste the same," Auntie Fatty said. "In winter, we can wait till the next day."

"Winter, come faster! Winter, come faster!" Zhang Xiaohu muttered.

Auntie Fatty thought to herself that once winter arrived, her youngest would probably be wishing for summer again. Suddenly, she remembered the dried mesona grass at home—she could boil it into herbal jelly and share some with Song Fenglan. Apart from those two bamboo poles, they hadn’t given anything else in return. They couldn’t keep taking advantage of others.

After dinner, Zhang Chenghai stepped out and saw Qin Yizhou next door laying bricks for something. He went over to take a look.

"What are you making?" Zhang Chenghai asked. "An outdoor stove?"

"No, an oven," Qin Yizhou replied.

"An oven?" Zhang Chenghai was surprised. "For baking flatbread?"

"Not sure," Qin Yizhou said. "Once it’s built, we’ll see. We'll know when it's done."

Qin Yizhou worked with his tools and bricks. Song Fenglan wasn’t in a hurry, but he wanted to finish the job quickly. Once it was done, she could use it whenever needed.

"Commander Qin, you’re lucky," Zhang Chenghai sighed. "I’ll never say your wife’s cooking is bad again. Her buns are really delicious. While I was eating, Xiao Hu kept staring at me, afraid I’d finish them all. You should’ve seen him—he looked about to cry."

"Very lucky indeed," Qin Yizhou agreed wholeheartedly. "My wife is exceptional."

Not every man could marry a woman like her.

Originally, Qin Yizhou had thought they could just buy food from the canteen—he never expected his wife to cook for him. When he tasted the buns she made, he was filled with happiness. His wife was so good to him.

"..." Zhang Chenghai had expected Qin Yizhou to be modest, but instead, he’d been so straightforward.

Early the next morning, as Shi Guilan prepared to go to the broadcasting station, she was stopped. Members of the revolutionary committee led her to the big tree in the housing compound and handed her a loudspeaker, instructing her to stand there and read her self-criticism statement aloud.

"Wasn’t it agreed that I’d go to the broadcasting station?" Shi Guilan was confused. How could they break their promise after everything was agreed upon?