The first time Zhou Wenhui helped Yan Xue sell goods, she showed Yan Xue the accounts she had recorded, feeling somewhat embarrassed.
When Yan Xue asked her to serve as the accountant for their pilot project, Zhou Wenhui only intended to lend a hand and didn’t even plan to ask for payment.
Yet, within just two or three years, she had grown confident enough to stand up and seize an opportunity to prove herself when faced with skepticism.
Yan Xue was surprised but mostly pleased for her—after all, no one’s support could be as effective as standing up for oneself.
She then turned to Zhuang Qixiang and said with a smile, "That’s right, Section Chief Zhuang. If you want to know whether she’s capable, why not test her?"
Her tone was polite, her smile gentle, but her words carried firmness—she had even prepared the method for the assessment.
Guo Chang'an, standing nearby, hadn’t spoken yet, but the look he gave Zhuang Qixiang conveyed the same message.
The office was subtly divided into two factions: the young team from Chengshui on one side, and Zhuang Qixiang on the other, making the latter frown in frustration.
No wonder some in the bureau were reluctant to take on this assignment—how could work proceed smoothly when everyone below was from the same tight-knit group?
He had barely asked a few questions, and they had already closed ranks. If this factionalism continued, how could any work get done?
The room fell silent for a long moment before Zhuang Qixiang finally stood up. "Fine, I’ll go ask Accountant Cao if he’s available."
He left decisively, soon disappearing into another office nearby. Only when he was completely out of sight did Zhou Wenhui unclench her tightly balled fists.
This was the first time the young woman had spoken so assertively in front of a superior, and her palms were damp with nervous sweat.
When she glanced up, she found Yan Xue smiling at her, which made her flush with embarrassment again. "Did I cause trouble for everyone?"
After all, no one had questioned Yan Xue or Guo Chang'an—only her.
But Yan Xue shook her head. "It’s not about you personally. As a group, we’re all too young, and this also involves the issue of authority."
Say what you would about Zhuang Qixiang, but arriving early to review their files showed he was serious about his work, not just coasting along.
And a man who wanted to get things done would naturally have his own opinions about his subordinates—he wouldn’t just take others’ word for it.
Yan Xue and Guo Chang'an were in technical roles, but Zhou Wenhui was different. In those days, it was rare to find such a young female accountant, and the position itself was crucial.
The accountant held the books and the money—they were the ones responsible for bank deposits. Moreover, accountants in that era could defy even their superiors: if the department head demanded funds but the accountant refused to stamp the paperwork, the money stayed put, and the head couldn’t simply fire the accountant at will.
Still, while Zhuang Qixiang wanted to make his mark, so did Yan Xue, and Zhou Wenhui was someone she had brought in. This was a line she wouldn’t concede.
Yan Xue smiled reassuringly at Zhou Wenhui. "I know you’re good at bookkeeping. Just do what you do best—no need to be nervous."
Before long, Zhuang Qixiang returned, accompanied by a short man carrying ledgers and an abacus.
"Who’s being tested on accounting?" the man asked as he entered. When Zhou Wenhui stood up, he looked taken aback.
By now, Zhou Wenhui had composed herself. Since she was the one who had proposed this, backing down would reflect poorly on the entire pilot team.
Her calm demeanor made Accountant Cao study her more closely. "I happen to have the mid-year accounts submitted by the subordinate units. I’ll read them out, and you verify the figures."
He offered her his abacus, but Zhou Wenhui declined politely, pulling her own from her bag.
Carrying her own tools was a good habit, Accountant Cao noted, watching as she set the abacus on the table before he began reading.
People always had their strengths and weaknesses. Though Zhou Wenhui wasn’t particularly assertive by nature, the moment she started calculating, an air of focus and certainty settled over her.
With each number Accountant Cao called out, her fingers flew across the abacus, and she reported the results in a steady, clear voice.
At first, Accountant Cao would pause after each entry to check her work, but he soon realized she didn’t need the extra time.
This made him pick up the pace, eventually rattling off several figures in succession before pausing briefly for Zhou Wenhui to respond.
Zhou Wenhui, whether at the slower start or the accelerated later stage, remained unflappable—her abacus clicked swiftly yet methodically.
For a while, the office was filled only with the crisp, rhythmic sound of the abacus, so sharp that even Zhuang Qixiang’s expression grew more attentive.
At the very least, this young woman had composure—unlike some who panicked at the slightest challenge.
But after several more entries, Zhou Wenhui reported a result as usual, only for Accountant Cao to frown.
"What did you say just now?" he asked again. Clearly, her answer didn’t match the figure in the ledger.
Zhou Wenhui didn’t rush to reply. Instead, she studied the abacus carefully before confirming the same number.
Accountant Cao’s frown deepened. "What’s wrong? Did she make a mistake?" Zhuang Qixiang asked.
"The result doesn’t match the ledger," Accountant Cao said, stopping short of outright accusation but clearly trusting the written record more.
After all, these accounts had been submitted by the subordinate units—their accountants had recorded them, and they were only being verified here. Issues were rare.
All eyes turned to Zhou Wenhui, who also furrowed her brow. Resetting the abacus to the previous figure, she asked, "Could you read that again, please?"
Meticulous by nature, she had jotted down intermediate results on paper between entries.
Though Accountant Cao believed she must have erred, her earlier performance earned her the benefit of the doubt, and he repeated the figures for her to recalculate.
This time, when she finished, she said nothing. Accountant Cao assumed she had arrived at the correct answer—but then she looked up and stated firmly, "My calculation is correct."
This was unexpected, especially for Zhuang Qixiang, who had just begun to respect her composure but now frowned again.
Accountant Cao was also taken aback, but Zhou Wenhui’s gaze was unwavering. "If you don’t believe me, Accountant Cao, you can verify it yourself."
So he did. Picking up the abacus, he ran through the numbers again—and his frown deepened further.
"Well? Was she wrong?" Zhuang Qixiang pressed, his expression tense.
"She was," Accountant Cao said—then quickly clarified, "I mean the ledger was wrong."
This was the last thing Zhuang Qixiang expected. The subordinate units under the Forestry Bureau had been operating for years, staffed by experienced accountants.
He paused, unable to resist asking again, "Are you sure it was miscalculated?" His tone still carried disbelief.
Accountant Cao’s expression was equally grim. "Yes, it was wrong." He couldn’t help adding, "What’s going on with Old Zhang? How could he mess this up?"
A young woman barely in her twenties had gotten it right, yet this seasoned accountant had botched the numbers. Didn’t they even cross-check their own accounts?
Moreover, every financial transaction in their unit had corresponding records, and the cash flow was documented. How could they reconcile the books like this? Were they just winging it?
The more Accountant Cao thought about it, the darker his expression grew. He didn’t linger. "I need to ask their unit what the hell they were doing."
Closing the ledger and grabbing his abacus, he bid a quick farewell to Zhuang Qixiang and left, leaving the visibly stunned man behind.
The air grew heavy with silence again. This time, even Zhuang Qixiang was at a loss for words—a veteran accountant had been outdone by a young girl.
Amid the quiet, Zhou Wenhui neatly packed away her abacus and writing tools. Though she said nothing, her eyes flicked toward him.
This only deepened Zhuang Qixiang’s silence. After a long moment, he finally nodded. "Accountant Zhou is indeed capable."
The title "Accountant Zhou" was an acknowledgment of her skill. Zhou Wenhui felt a weight lift from her shoulders, and Guo Chang'an’s expression softened as well.
At least Zhuang Qixiang was willing to admit Zhou Wenhui’s competence instead of stubbornly making excuses. That meant he was reasonable.
Since he could be reasoned with, there was no need to press further. They still had to work together, after all. Yan Xue smoothly shifted the topic. "Section Chief Zhuang, does the bureau have any thoughts on the location for the cultivation center?"
The change in subject visibly eased Zhuang Qixiang’s mood. "Based on Director Qu’s requirements, I’ve scouted a few potential sites."
He listed several locations before realizing none of them were locals. He fetched a county map to illustrate.
On paper, all the spots seemed suitable—proof that he’d carefully considered every factor. But maps weren’t enough; they’d need on-site inspections.
For the next few days, the team busied themselves with this task. It wasn’t until Yan Xue’s first day off that they finally settled on a location.
Meanwhile, Zhuang Qixiang had learned the truth about the accounting mishap from Accountant Cao. The other unit had lost a receipt, couldn’t balance their books, and had fudged the numbers, assuming the bureau wouldn’t scrutinize them.
This wasn’t just about poor arithmetic—it was a matter of professional integrity. How could they just lose a receipt? Or casually falsify records?
The culprit had likely been trying to avoid a pay cut, but getting caught meant both penalties and a reprimand were inevitable.
In contrast, Zhou Wenhui had been meticulous these past days. Whether reimbursing travel expenses or managing construction costs for the cultivation center, her accounts were crystal clear. She never let a day’s records spill over into the next.
Even if Zhuang Qixiang had wanted to nitpick, he’d have found no openings. Besides, he was here to work, not to stir up trouble.
Then there was Yan Xue. Petite, young, and pretty, she spoke and acted with flawless precision. Despite the grueling site visits, she never once complained of exhaustion.
Zhuang Qixiang wondered if all women from the forestry stations were this capable. Yan Xue had certainly shattered his expectations—he’d assumed her expertise was purely technical.
Qi Fang, however, had mixed feelings watching Yan Xue return home exhausted each day. Since leaving the family support team, she hadn’t worked this hard in a long time.
When she kicked off her shoes and started massaging her calves, he pulled her feet onto his lap and took over. "Still not done running around?"
His long, deft fingers found the sore spots far more easily than she could. Yan Xue winced as he hit a particularly tender spot.
She grimaced, waiting for the ache to fade before answering. "It’s done. We’ve even bought all the bricks and cement."
A thought struck her, and she added, "Oh, the center also commissioned a few small boilers from your factory. Did you know?"
"Yeah," Qi Fang said. "Master Hong recognized the blueprints and asked if I’d drawn them."
"He remembers your drafting style?" Yan Xue laughed, then sucked in a breath when his fingers pressed deeper.
Originally, Zhuang Qixiang had wanted to purchase a large, ready-made one-ton boiler through the bureau’s connections.
But Yan Xue had argued that mother culture and spawn cultivation didn’t require that much space—a smaller one would suffice.
Now that someone was overseeing her decisions, everything required discussion with Zhuang Qixiang. It was inconvenient, to say the least.
Qi Fang seemed to read her thoughts. "How’s that supervisor the bureau assigned? Giving you trouble?"
"Not really," Yan Xue said. "He listens." Though it did mean extra steps to explain things.
Remembering Qi Fang was also new to the machinery plant, she asked, "What about you? Work going smoothly?"
"Fine," he murmured, his peach-blossom eyes lowered as he kept kneading. "I was here on loan before. Everyone knows me."
Her legs finally felt less sore. Yan Xue flopped onto the kang with a sigh. "So much to do—finding housing, helping Jigang with school applications..."
Her muttering softened her tone, lending it a hint of whininess that would’ve been unthinkable in their early married days.
Back then, Yan Xue never spoke of weariness or work frustrations. But over the past year or two, she’d gradually opened up.
Before she could ask why he’d swatted her sole, Qi Fang pressed a thumb into a pressure point, making her yelp. "Ow!"
"You never even flinched when you smashed or twisted your feet before," he remarked lightly.
Yan Xue was torn between laughter and pain. "That was ages ago! Can’t you—ah! Be gentler!"
The last word rose in pitch, edged with a coquettishness that made Qi Fang’s hands still.
In the sudden quiet, the noise outside their door became conspicuous. His expression darkened as he set her foot down and yanked the door open.
The speed caught the eavesdropper off guard. Sister-in-law Lu froze mid-peek, her nosy posture exposed.
Awkward didn’t begin to cover it. Towering over her, Qi Fang’s icy stare made the neighbor shrink. "Oh, Qi Fang, you’re home."
"You greeted me when I returned ten minutes ago. Forgotten already? Memory problems?"
His tone was flat, but the subtext—are you stupid?—was unmistakable.
Sister-in-law Lu stiffened. Seeing him fully dressed, she realized her assumptions were off, but her eyes still darted past him.
Qi Fang’s gaze turned glacial as he blocked the doorway completely. "On my way back, I saw people arguing at the alley entrance."
That diverted her attention instantly. "Who? Arguing in public—how shameless."
"No idea," Qi Fang said. "Something about a drainage ditch running past someone’s doorstep."
"That's a big deal, I gotta go check it out." Sister-in-law Lu immediately forgot about them and dashed outside.
Qi Fang closed the door again, though his expression remained sour. "Not even as good as our son."
It was unclear whether he meant the other party lacked propriety—being less convenient than their own son—or that they were older yet less sensible than him.
Yan Xue had never encountered someone so fond of eavesdropping. Thankfully, she and Qi Fang hadn’t been up to anything, or it would’ve been downright awkward.
"We should hurry up and buy a house," she said, making the man’s face darken further. After a long pause, he finally reached out and grabbed her ankle again.
Unexpectedly, Sister-in-law Lu took so long that she even forgot to cook. Her husband waited at home for ages before finally losing patience and going to scold her.
At the time, Qi Fang was sketching on the creaky table and didn’t even flinch at the news, as if he’d expected it.
This piqued Yan Xue’s curiosity. She leaned in and whispered from behind, "You knew she’d get so caught up in the drama that she’d forget to cook?"
Without turning, Qi Fang reached back and pulled her close. "Last time the neighbors had a fight, she was pressed against the fence listening at one in the morning."
No wonder Qi Fang had called her nosy the day Yan Xue arrived. This was next-level gossip-mongering.
It reminded Yan Xue of the time in her past life when a celebrity scandal broke, and some fans stayed up all night tracking updates across six platforms.
The next day, the two took a day off and returned to Jinchuan Forestry Station with Zhou Wenhui. As soon as they entered, they heard the chubby little boy whining, calling out for his mom every few moments.
Hurrying inside, Yan Xue found him not just calling but banging a spoon against a bowl—like a pitiful little left-behind child, the begging-bowl edition.
She didn’t know whether to laugh or feel sorry for him. Pausing at the doorway, the boy spotted her.
"Mom!" His peach-blossom eyes—so like Qi Fang’s—lit up instantly, and he dropped the spoon to rush toward her.
But before he could, he noticed Qi Fang behind Yan Xue. He froze, glancing between them.
Once he confirmed Yan Xue had indeed returned with Qi Fang—and had clearly been with him all this time—his little mouth trembled, and he burst into loud, inconsolable tears.
In August, the Changshan County Edible Fungus Cultivation Center was officially completed. Though its area was half the size of Jinchuan Forestry Station’s pilot site, it had two extra rows of cultivation rooms.
The spores Yan Xue had extracted and the experimental logs she’d worked on in Jinchuan were all transported here, with Guo Chang'an continuing the observation records.
After the center’s completion, leaders from the county forestry bureau came to inspect. Upon their return, Qu Mingli arranged for the city newspaper to cover the story.
In Changshan County, the bureau’s secretary even brought it up during a meeting, encouraging the remaining two towns to contact the center if interested.
The news sent ripples through the region. No one expected Jinchuan Forestry Station—after just a few years of cultivation—to already have its techniques spreading county-wide.
Interest was undeniable, especially within Changshan County itself. They’d all seen how well Chengshui’s black fungus sold.
Hell, even beyond Changshan, which county in the city didn’t have Chengshui’s fungus in their markets? They’d been enjoying cheap fungus for two years now.
But taking the plunge was another matter. For starters, no one knew how to actually grow the stuff—they were completely in the dark.
Then there were the costs: How much would the spores cost? What were the profit margins? Would they end up working all year just to line the center’s pockets?
Faced with this new venture, most forestry bureau leaders across the counties and towns were cautious. Visionaries like Lang Zhongting and Qu Mingli were rare.
Two weeks after the center’s opening—and over a week since the newspaper feature—Zhuang Qixiang, the center’s head, had only fielded four inquiry calls.
He took his job seriously, having memorized all the relevant details, and answered each query thoroughly. Yet none of the calls led anywhere.
This left Zhuang Qixiang stumped. It was his first time leading a new unit, and he had no idea how to break the ice.
He even went to Qu Mingli, hoping the bureau could persuade the other two towns’ forestry offices.
"You’ll have to ask Secretary Zhu about that. Forestry stations aren’t under my purview," Qu Mingli said helplessly. "Besides, back in Chengshui, everything was voluntary."
Forcing the issue was tricky. The county bureau wasn’t funding these ventures, so if they flopped, who’d take responsibility?
Still, since the center was Qu Mingli’s brainchild, he cared deeply. Seeing Zhuang Qixiang’s frustration, he asked, "What’s the consensus within your team?"
"The team’s all technical staff. Who’s there to discuss with?" Zhuang Qixiang’s reply left Qu Mingli speechless.
Clearly, he hadn’t even consulted his colleagues—especially Yan Xue, whom he seemed to view purely as a technician.
"You should brainstorm with them more," Qu Mingli advised. "Three cobblers with their wits combined surpass Zhuge Liang. Someone might have ideas."
He stopped short of naming Yan Xue, not wanting to meddle or set unrealistic expectations.
Zhuang Qixiang nodded, though it was unclear if it sank in. Soon after, however, the Liuhe Town forestry office sent someone to buy spores.
Their secretary arrived, greeting Zhuang Qixiang like an old friend. "Congratulations on the promotion! Had I known you were heading this, I’d have come sooner."
"I’ve been swamped myself, meant to call you," Zhuang Qixiang said, leading him inside. "Let’s have Xiao Yan walk you through things."
He deferred to Yan Xue—ten of him couldn’t match her expertise in fungus cultivation.
After touring the labs and experimental log yard, Yan Xue outlined the growth process and yield estimates. The Liuhe secretary nodded along, seemingly satisfied, before heading to Zhuang Qixiang’s office to discuss orders.
"So we’ve got our first sale?" Zhou Wenhui asked Yan Xue afterward, clearly invested in the center’s success.
"Let’s wait and see," Yan Xue said cautiously. Liuhe Town rang a bell—Qi Fang had mentioned it before.
While drafting her proposal, she’d written "expand county-wide first." Qi Fang, reading over her shoulder, noted how Liuhe had initially agreed to 21 log shipments from Chengshui, then last-minute demanded 80.
Sure enough, in Zhuang Qixiang’s office, the Liuhe secretary boldly ordered 8,000 bottles of spores.
But when pricing came up, his face fell. "You know the costs are steep, and we’ve got to build our own base. Funds are tight. Since this is your first deal, how about a discount? Maybe... sell to us on credit?"
