To everyone's surprise, Donggou Town actually came to submit their payment, and they arrived so quickly that even Accountant Cao was taken aback. Secretary Tang had instructed him to open a separate account for these transactions, and he had initially thought it unnecessary, assuming only Chengshui Town could afford it.
Yet, just two days after Chengshui Town had submitted their payment, Donggou Town showed up—and they weren’t exchanging a small amount either. Accountant Cao squinted as he counted the money. "Did you strike gold this year?"
"Not bad," the forestry bureau secretary from Donggou Town replied modestly, though the smile on his face and the stack of cash he handed over told a different story.
Accountant Cao couldn’t help but ask, "Is growing black fungus really that profitable?"
He knew Chengshui Town was doing well—they had been at it for years and were the earliest black fungus cultivation base. But Donggou Town was in their first year.
Yet, the Donggou secretary didn’t deny it. "It’s quite lucrative."
There was no point hiding it anyway. By year-end, all town forestry bureaus had to submit their accounts, and as the accountant, he’d find out sooner or later.
So the secretary decided to be upfront. "It’s only November, and we’ve already sold nearly 10,000 jin—and we’re not done yet."
Their town bordered a neighboring county, so they could easily transport their goods to another city without worrying about sales.
But when Accountant Cao calculated how much 10,000 jin of black fungus would bring in, he whistled. "That’s impressive for your first year. No wonder you’re doing well."
Someone else in the office chimed in, "No wonder you handed over the money so easily. You’re planning to keep growing it next year, right?"
"Absolutely," the Donggou secretary said with a grin. "We’ve already ordered more fungal strains to expand production next year."
With that, the Changshan County Forestry Bureau was looking at a prosperous future—two golden geese laying eggs for them.
After seeing the Donggou secretary off, the conversation naturally turned to Liuhu Town. "They must be making a fortune selling to the Japanese, right?"
Most of them were office workers with little time to forage in the mountains, so they weren’t aware that wild vegetables weren’t being harvested this year.
One person who did know was about to speak up when the door opened, and the Liuhu Town forestry bureau secretary walked in. She promptly swallowed her words.
"Did Donggou Town just submit their payment? How many machines are they modifying?" the Liuhu secretary asked Accountant Cao as soon as she entered.
She was genuinely curious. If Donggou was only modifying one or two machines, maybe the bureau could scrape together the funds—though she’d rather not. She hadn’t even wanted to pay for the fungal strains, let alone cover the modification costs herself.
But Accountant Cao’s answer stunned her. "Four."
"Four?" she blurted out.
This wasn’t a matter of squeezing funds anymore. Even Chengshui Town, as wealthy as they were, had only requested seven modifications.
The Liuhu secretary couldn’t help but exclaim, "Are they bankrupting their bureau?"
Forestry bureaus were better off than other departments, but they couldn’t just splurge like this. If they spent everything on modifications, how would they cover other expenses?
Someone nearby remarked, "But they’ve got the money now. It’s only November, and they’ve already sold nearly 10,000 jin—with more to go."
"Nearly 10,000 jin?" The Liuhu secretary recalled they had only bought 5,000 bottles of fungal strains. The yield was unexpectedly high.
And since black fungus could be harvested for three years after a single planting, didn’t that mean Donggou would rake in tens of thousands annually even if they stopped planting?
A sour feeling settled in her stomach. Meanwhile, Accountant Cao turned to her. "You’re here to submit your payment too, right? How many machines are you modifying?"
The abacus and ledger were ready, waiting for her answer. But she stood there silently for a long moment.
Accountant Cao raised an eyebrow. "If you’re reconsidering after hearing Donggou’s numbers, you can always add more later. No need to decide everything now. The machinery factory can’t handle too many modifications at once anyway."
It was a reasonable suggestion, but the Liuhu secretary’s expression remained grim. "No, I just came to ask." And with that, she left.
Accountant Cao and the others exchanged baffled looks. "She came all the way from Liuhu Town just to ask that?"
Was the Liuhu Forestry Bureau so idle that their secretary had nothing better to do than visit the county office?
Worse, after the other two towns had submitted their payments and the parts were purchased, Technician Qi from the machinery factory had already started the modifications—yet Liuhu still hadn’t paid.
People began whispering. "Is Liuhu really that stingy? Are they just ignoring their logging quotas?"
The Liuhu Forestry Bureau would have loved to act, but they simply didn’t have the funds. The issue had sparked multiple heated arguments within the bureau.
"We were supposed to grow black fungus. The money was even paid, and then we backed out. If we’d gone through with it, we wouldn’t be in this mess!"
"Our bureau didn’t make much this year. Now every other town is modifying their machines, and we’re stuck. Are we going to rank last in logging this year?"
The blame inevitably circled back to the black fungus project—discussed not just privately but in meetings, especially by the directors of the forest farms.
They had missed out on the benefits while the bureau tried to monopolize everything. Now, they were suffering alongside the bureau for not being able to afford the modifications.
The other towns had involved their forest farms, reaping both political achievements and profits.
The Liuhu secretary’s face darkened. "Who could’ve predicted the wild vegetables wouldn’t be harvested this year? Could you? Could I?"
He had no interest in dwelling on the topic. "Next year will be better. Maybe their black fungus won’t even sell then."
After much deliberation, the Liuhu Forestry Bureau managed to scrape together enough funds to modify just one machine—the one in the worst condition.
When they submitted the payment, even Accountant Cao was exasperated. "Just one? That’s not even worth the supply department’s trip."
At least three modifications were needed to justify purchasing parts. They couldn’t just order for one machine at a time.
So Liuhu’s single request was put on hold, waiting to see if other towns would submit more orders—effectively leaving them in limbo.
Meanwhile, the cultivation center received two large orders from towns eager to expand production next year after tasting success.
Donggou Town had even built a new base, increasing their fungal strain order to 8,000 bottles. Wugang Town had done the same, clearly having profited handsomely.
Donggou’s secretary admitted they were being cautious—afraid of overproduction and sluggish sales—or else they would have had all their forest farms participate.
From 8,000 bottles, their order could have doubled to 16,000.
Adding to the buzz, another forestry bureau had even requested a visit to observe their operations.
By then, the black fungus had stopped growing, and the logs were in winter dormancy—hardly the best time for a tour. Clearly, word had spread through other channels.
After the visitors arrived, they indeed showed great interest in the mushroom cultivation. Within a few days of their tour, the supply department sent someone over and placed an order for 3,000 bottles.
"3,000 plus 16,000, and another 12,000 from Chengshui Town—that’s over 30,000 bottles in total," Zhuang Qixiang calculated after recording the deposit.
It might not seem like much at first glance, but these were all stable clients. As long as no issues arose, several towns under Chengshui’s jurisdiction might expand production further in the future.
Last year, they had to make endless phone calls and pull every string just to secure two orders. This year, people were already coming to visit on their own.
As Zhuang Qixiang tallied the numbers, he couldn’t help but feel that starting a new unit was like raising a child—slowly nurturing it, watching it grow bit by bit, and finding joy in every small milestone.
But just like a child growing up, the more it thrived, the more people took notice. Within days, his home welcomed two unexpected guests in quick succession.
That morning, on his way to work, he ran into yet another one, leaving him in such a foul mood that he walked into the office with a stern face, even more serious than usual.
Yan Xue had also been approached, though not as frequently as Zhuang Qixiang, since she was only a deputy manager at the center.
But some things that had been easier to deflect last year were becoming harder to brush off now. She eventually brought it up with Zhuang Qixiang. "We’ll need to hire more people next year."
"Short on hands?" Zhuang Qixiang had been worrying about the same thing, especially since next year’s orders were projected to increase by more than half.
Sure enough, Yan Xue nodded. "With over 10,000 more jars to clean, sterilize, and fill with culture medium, we’ll need to hire temporary workers at least twice—once in March and again in April."
"That’s manageable. We can just notify the forestry bureau’s family labor team." The county forestry bureau had a dedicated team of family members who took on temporary jobs at factories and ginseng farms.
The real challenge lay elsewhere. Yan Xue continued, "We’ll also need two permanent hires. I plan to continue researching sawdust cultivation this year, and Guo Chang’an wants to experiment with hybridizing mushroom strains."
"Hybridizing mushroom strains?" While Yan Xue’s continued research into sawdust cultivation didn’t surprise Zhuang Qixiang, the latter statement certainly did.
"Yes," Yan Xue confirmed. "He said if rice can be hybridized, why not mushrooms?"
High-yield rice varieties had been developed through hybridization with wild rice, and coincidentally, mushrooms also had both cultivated and wild strains.
After relocating to the county, Yan Xue and Guo Chang’an had even ventured into the mountains to collect wild mushrooms, extracting spores and discovering subtle differences from those in Jinchuan.
As a cultivation center specializing in strain development, their mission was to conduct repeated trials to produce the highest-quality strains for sale and distribution.
But research and experiments meant more work, and their current team was stretched thin. At the very least, they needed two more permanent hires to handle miscellaneous tasks.
However, once they opened the door to hiring, certain pressures would be harder to resist. Zhuang Qixiang’s expression darkened. "What kind of people are you looking for?"
"At least one should have a high school education," Yan Xue said. "I’d like to train another technician. Next year, we’ll be overseeing four town-based cultivation sites."
Gao Daidi was skilled and reliable, but she wasn’t suited for teaching others. If they were to expand to forestry sites, they’d need someone else to step into that role.
Younger candidates with formal education tended to learn faster and adapt more easily than older ones with limited schooling.
Zhuang Qixiang understood that, but the more educated the candidates, the harder it would be to avoid the people trying to pull strings. Hiring from outside the forestry bureau wasn’t an option either—it would cause an uproar among bureau employees whose family members were still jobless.
After a moment of thought, he asked Yan Xue, "You know there are people trying to push their connections into the center. What do you think we should do?"
"Judge them case by case," Yan Xue replied. "Just because someone has connections doesn’t mean they’re unwilling to work."
The bigger issue was that, unlike in forestry sites, educated youth in the county were drifting away, and they couldn’t simply hire whomever they wanted.
But Zhuang Qixiang had no way of knowing who was genuinely willing to work. Frowning, he fell silent.
Yan Xue, however, smiled. "Manager Zhuang, there’s no need to stress. Why not call them all in for interviews?"
"Interviews?" The term was unfamiliar to Zhuang Qixiang, and he didn’t quite grasp the concept.
"Face-to-face evaluations," Yan Xue explained. "We can assess their attitude and capabilities, compare them, and pick the best fit."
While interviews weren’t foolproof, they could still reveal whether someone genuinely wanted to work or was just looking for an easy paycheck.
Zhuang Qixiang nodded in understanding. "That’s a good idea. We definitely can’t afford to hire someone who won’t pull their weight."
They were already understaffed. Bringing in someone who refused to work would only create more problems.
He glanced at Yan Xue with newfound appreciation. "You’ll need to take the lead on this." He was starting to realize just how sharp and resourceful she was.
Yan Xue agreed, then grew more serious. "Manager Zhuang, there’s one more thing I’d like to discuss."
"Go ahead." Zhuang Qixiang straightened slightly, already accustomed to giving her ideas his full attention.
"If possible—and I mean if it’s feasible—could we give people with disabilities a chance, whether as permanent or temporary hires?"
Her eyes were earnest. "Compared to those relying on connections, they might need this opportunity far more."
Zhuang Qixiang thought of Guo Chang’an and Gao Daidi—their skills, their diligence, their independence. Neither had let their circumstances hold them back.
His expression grew solemn. After a long pause, he finally replied, "I’ll do my best to negotiate with the bureau."
A man of his word, he never made promises lightly. Once given, he would see it through.
Yan Xue had only brought it up because she’d noticed his fair treatment of Guo Chang’an and Gao Daidi. Her eyes brightened with gratitude. "Thank you."
Soon, those hoping to place their connections received the news. The mention of "interviews" left them baffled—what exactly did that entail?
Zhuang Qixiang had already adopted Yan Xue’s approach. "Too many people have approached me, and turning anyone down would be awkward. Let’s test everyone and pick the most suitable candidate."
Yan Xue handled inquiries the same way, cheerfully informing visitors that they’d hold interviews in a few days due to the high number of applicants.
As Lang Yue'e watched her smoothly deflect another visitor, she remarked, "This was your idea, wasn’t it?"
Their manager Zhuang Qixiang is competent but lacks flexibility—nothing like Yan Xue, who’s full of clever ideas.
Yan Xue merely smiled, neither confirming nor denying it. "The roads are slippery. Are you sure you don’t want me to walk you home?"
Lang Yue'e got pregnant just three months after marriage. When the news was confirmed, her eyes welled up, and her mother rushed over from Chengshui Town in a frenzy.
She claimed it wouldn’t matter if she lost the baby, but the child Kang Peisheng had forced her to abort remained a lingering regret. Lang’s mother repeatedly cautioned her, terrified her daughter would suffer heartbreak again.
Fortunately, this time, she hadn’t placed her trust in the wrong man. Guo Chang'an treated her well, and the baby grew safely to four months.
Today, Guo Chang'an had some unfinished work, so Lang Yue'e went home first to cook. He even asked Yan Xue to keep an eye on her during the walk back.
Lang Yue'e had overheard. "Don’t listen to Chang'an’s fussing. It’s just a short distance—I can manage on my own."
Their rented place wasn’t far from Yan Xue’s home. As for buying, they had the savings but hadn’t found the right place yet.
Still, Yan Xue escorted her to the alley entrance and waited until she went inside before heading home.
From a distance, she spotted her little dumpling bundled up like a snowball, only his eyes visible as he stomped around in the snow outside their door.
The little rascal was over three now, and the older he got, the harder it was to keep him indoors. Even in the cold, he insisted on playing outside—though he never wandered far.
Just as Yan Xue was about to approach, a tall figure stopped in front of their gate. "Excuse me, little one, does Qi Fang live here?"
Someone looking for Qi Fang? But the voice was unfamiliar—Yan Xue couldn’t place it.
Before she could think further, her little dumpling answered crisply, "Nope, wrong place."
The tall man paused, glancing at their gate. "But the person who gave me directions said it was right here."
Another child playing nearby piped up, "Isn’t your dad surnamed Qi?"
"But my dad’s name is Technician Qi," the little dumpling declared with absolute conviction. "That’s what Mom calls him."
Yan Xue nearly laughed aloud.
She often teased Qi Fang by calling him "Technician Qi."
Only when she was angry—or in certain other moments—did she use his full name, which the little one rarely heard.
But that didn’t mean his father had officially renamed himself "Technician Qi." They weren’t some brand producing instant noodles or meat floss pastries.
She decided she’d have to clarify things with the little rascal later and stepped forward. "Are you looking for Qi Fang?"
"Yes. This is his home, right?" The man turned, and Yan Xue finally got a clear look at him.
In his thirties, gaunt but with sharp features—especially his nose and lips, bearing a striking resemblance to Qi Fang.
Yan Xue immediately understood. This man had to be related by blood—likely Qi Fang’s older brother.
She wasn’t one to discuss personal matters outdoors, so she scooped up the little dumpling as he barreled into her. "Qi Fang isn’t home from work yet. Come inside and wait."
The visitor seemed to piece things together too, studying her. "You must be Qi Fang’s wife." His tone shifted, more familiar now.
Yan Xue didn’t deny it, and the man removed his hat and gloves. "I don’t know if Qi Fang ever mentioned me. I’m Qi Kai, his older brother."
So it was him. Yan Xue led him to her and Qi Fang’s room, setting down the increasingly heavy little dumpling. "He’s mentioned a little."
Qi Kai finally got a proper look at her—a young, strikingly pretty woman with a sweet, approachable smile, her eyes curving like crescents. A stark contrast to Qi Fang’s usual demeanor.
But the name he’d heard during his inquiries…
Qi Kai didn’t dwell on it, instead focusing on the child. "Is this your and Qi Fang’s son?"
His gaze was complicated. The last time he’d seen Qi Fang, his brother had been an eighteen-year-old boy.
When Yan Xue unwrapped the little one’s scarf, Qi Kai’s expression grew even more tangled. The resemblance was uncanny—like a younger, livelier version of Qi Fang before he’d left the capital.
But Qi Fang had never been this bubbly. At Yan Xue’s prompting, the little one grinned, his eyes—so like Qi Fang’s—crinkling. "Uncle."
After Yan Xue sent him off to visit the Second Old Lady and Yan Jigang next door, Qi Kai finally collected himself. "Actually, I came mainly to see you."
"Me?" Yan Xue feigned surprise. "I can’t imagine why I’d be worth your visit."
Unless he’d already tried reaching Qi Fang and failed. Or knew Qi Fang’s temper well enough to realize direct appeals were futile.
The truth, it seemed, was the former. Weariness crept into Qi Kai’s expression. "I didn’t want to intrude, but Qi Fang refuses to see me. You were my only option."
He studied her. "My father and I were stuck in the labor camps all these years. We couldn’t do anything. Now that we’re back, my father’s worried. He sent me as soon as we were settled, to check how Qi Fang’s been doing."
"If you want honesty, his early years weren’t easy. Especially at the start." Unlike most women, Yan Xue didn’t offer empty reassurances.
Qi Kai stiffened as she continued, "He was forced into logging work, struggled with insomnia, and refused to see a doctor."
None of this matched what Qi Kai had imagined—nor was it something Qi Fang would ever volunteer.
But why stay silent? So others could assume he’d had it easy, then later make demands from some moral high ground?
Qi Kai stood frozen for a long moment before finding his voice again. "Is he… better now?"
"Now that you’re back, have you forgotten the suffering of the labor camps?" Yan Xue countered softly.
Another stretch of silence. Qi Kai hadn’t forgotten. Sometimes, the hardest scars weren’t physical.
He rubbed his sleeve cuff absently—a long-ingrained habit to steady himself.
Finally, he spoke again. "About what happened to Qi Fang’s mentor… My father and I truly had no power to intervene back then."
No point lying here. "We were in no better shape ourselves. Otherwise, we wouldn’t have been sent away for so many years."
"So you shut him out and yelled at him instead?" Yan Xue’s voice remained gentle, but her words weren’t.
Helplessness wasn’t the issue—attitude was. Qi Fang had never demanded the impossible from his family.
This time, Qi Kai’s pause stretched even longer. "I didn’t want to shout at him. I had no choice but to drive him away."
He said, "At that time, my father and I were also under investigation, and my father fell ill. If he hadn’t left, he might have been dragged into our troubles."
When Qi Fang entered the room, he happened to hear this sentence. His footsteps paused by the door, his expression unreadable.
Qi Kai continued, "He had already been sent down for support work back then. As long as he stayed out of things, he’d be safe—and in the end, he wasn’t implicated."
It was clear he felt no regret about his actions at the time, even convinced he’d made the right choice.
Qi Fang lowered his gaze and was about to step inside when Yan Xue spoke up: "Then why didn’t you just tell him the truth? Did you think he wouldn’t understand, even if you explained?"
That familiar voice seemed to pierce straight to the heart. "It’s been so many years—surely he’s figured it out by now. So if he still refuses to see you, is it because he’s angry about what you said back then… or because you underestimated him, never treating him like family?"
