Liu Weiguo had no real understanding of hydrostatic transmissions—he’d just heard people raving about how impressive this batch of domestically produced logging tractors was and came back to gossip about it with his buddies.
Qi Fang could tell from his expression that she’d asked the wrong person. She lowered her gaze again. "Never mind, I was just curious."
Having known Qi Fang for years, Liu Weiguo could tell this wasn’t the kind of thing she usually asked about. He grabbed his shovel. "Hold on, I’ll go ask for you."
He was fast on his feet, covering a long stretch of the mountain path in no time, heading straight for Secretary Lang’s group. He didn’t bother with anyone else, instead zeroing in on Xu Wenli, the director of the small repair factory.
For one, Liu Daniu and Xu Wenli were close, and secondly, since these tractors would eventually be maintained by the small repair factory, Xu Wenli was bound to know more.
Before long, Liu Weiguo came jogging back, shovel in hand. "Asked around—it’s a hydrostatic system. Said it was only developed last year, doesn’t use hydraulic cylinders, saves a lot of fuel compared to the old ones. Ours are the first batch to get it."
Then, curiosity got the better of him. "What’s up? You interested in this stuff?"
"A little." Qi Fang tried to steady her voice but still paused before adding, "Thanks."
"No big deal. Even if you hadn’t asked, I’d have been curious myself," Liu Weiguo waved it off.
He couldn’t help clicking his tongue. "You have no idea—Uncle Xu went on and on until my head was spinning. All I caught was ‘no hydraulic cylinders’ and ‘saves fuel.’"
Of course, a hydrostatic drive would reduce energy consumption—no one understood that better than Qi Fang.
She also knew that hydrostatic transmissions offered smooth operation, low noise, high precision, and long service life in high-speed or deceleration systems, unaffected by torque, impact, or vibration. After all, her and her mentor’s primary research focus had been the application of hydrostatic drives in construction machinery.
The problem was, China’s mechanical engineering industry had started late and lagged behind. Whether it was the first crane or the first tractor, both had been imported from the Soviet Union in the 1950s.
Models like the earlier Dongfanghong-54 or the current Jicai-50 were all developed and improved under the guidance of Soviet experts, based on the Stalin-54 and TY-12.
But due to Western technological blockades, Soviet tech in the ’50s was only on par with the West’s 1940s level—and China’s was even worse. As early as 1957, someone abroad had already built the first fully hydrostatic-driven tractor, yet her and her mentor’s research progress had remained frustratingly slow.
Now, nearly a decade after Soviet experts had withdrawn from China and with her mentor gone, hydrostatic transmission had somehow been implemented in this batch of Jicai-50s…
Qi Fang didn’t want to assume the worst. After all, she hadn’t seen the actual machines, and her mentor couldn’t have been the only one researching this in China. Still, her heart sank uncontrollably.
So after finishing work on the mountain, she didn’t rush home. Instead, she bid Liu Weiguo goodbye and turned toward the riverbank.
Last time, her foul mood had led to careless words that upset Yan Xue. She couldn’t go back today still carrying that weight, letting Yan Xue see right through her.
These were her own burdens—no need to drag someone else into her turmoil.
It was nearly dark by the time Qi Fang returned. The house was already lit when she stepped inside, and Yan Xue was laying out the clothes she’d washed that day on the heated bed to dry.
Late April was still chilly; sometimes air-drying clothes outside took longer than drying them over the bed’s warmth. Hearing her come in, Yan Xue didn’t look up. "What took so long? Dinner’s in the pot—go ahead and serve yourself."
Under the soft glow of the lamp, she looked small, her hair—still loose from washing—framing a face no bigger than a palm.
The strands kept falling into her way as she worked, and she absently pushed them back with the back of her hand, only for them to slip free again. Just as she set the clothes aside to fix it properly, a hand reached from behind and gently tucked the stray locks behind her ear.
Yan Xue hadn’t expected it. The sock she’d been holding slipped from her fingers, tumbling toward the floor.
Qi Fang hadn’t expected that either. She lunged to catch it.
Thankfully, her long arms snagged it just before it hit the ground—but in doing so, she ended up pressed flush against Yan Xue’s back.
Her other hand gripped Yan Xue’s shoulder to steady herself, their bodies overlapping so completely it was as if Yan Xue had been enveloped in her arms.
Qi Fang froze. Yan Xue, who’d also been reaching for the fallen sock, stiffened in her hold.
Even when they’d held each other while sleeping before, it had always been to comfort Yan Xue—both maintaining a careful, mutual distance. They’d never been this close.
After a moment, realizing Qi Fang still hadn’t moved, seemingly dazed, Yan Xue snatched the sock back. "Did you even wash your hands? Don’t make me rewash this."
Finding her in the way, she even nudged her aside with an elbow while turning.
Qi Fang took half a step back, her hand dropping. "I did. Washed them as soon as I got back."
"That’s no excuse to sneak up on people. You nearly scared me to death, you know?"
Yan Xue kept scolding, spreading the socks out on the bed one by one as she spoke.
The busy motions, the grumbling, the sheer domesticity of the scene—it all abruptly pulled Qi Fang out of her emotional quagmire.
She hummed in acknowledgment, then, thinking that too curt, added, "Got it."
Then, to Yan Xue’s surprise, she reached out again, this time to tidy the hair on the other side.
Now Yan Xue really felt awkward. She instinctively smoothed it herself again. "Aren’t you going to eat?"
"After I change," Qi Fang said, grabbing her everyday clothes.
With some distance between them and her tasks done, Yan Xue paused, then gathered both sides of her hair again.
The bucket of fish Liu Weiguo had brought them ended up with the smaller ones pickled by Yan Xue, while the larger ones were kept alive a couple more days. Along with dumplings stuffed with wild celery, they made for a decently hearty May Day celebration.
Not long after May Day, the massive tree-planting campaign began, and Yan Xue finally saw just how many people worked at the forestry center—even third-graders and up were brought up the mountain under their teachers’ supervision.
The saplings had been cultivated in the nursery beforehand. Everyone was divided into groups—some dug holes, others filled them with soil or watered the young trees.
Beyond the planting steps, safety was hammered home repeatedly, especially tucking pant legs and sleeves tightly and avoiding thick underbrush.
Every spring, aside from poisonings from misidentified wild vegetables, the biggest foraging danger came from ticks—tiny parasites that burrowed under the skin. The common ones were bad enough, but the white ones were venomous. A single bite could cause forest encephalitis. One of the women in the dependents’ team had lost her husband that way.
Usually, if a forestry worker died on the job, their family member would take over their position as a formal employee—unless, like Aunt Guo, they were already past retirement age. But this woman’s misfortune was that her husband hadn’t died in a work accident—he’d been foraging in the mountains. In such cases, the forestry center couldn’t directly assign her a job, leaving her stuck in the dependents’ team.
Fortunately, this year the Forestry Bureau had over a hundred quotas for converting temporary workers to permanent staff, and Jinchuan Forest Farm was allocated two. The farm showed consideration for its female workers by directly assigning one of the spots to her.
The other quota was awarded after comprehensive evaluation of work tenure and performance, ultimately going to Jin Baozhi, the wife of Guo Changping, who lived next door to Yan Xue.
When the news reached the Guo household, it came as a tremendous relief to the family, which had been shrouded in gloom since the start of the year.
"It's been three months, and finally, some good news. My heart felt like it was weighed down by a stone all this time," Aunt Guo confided to Yan Xue in private.
With her younger son bedridden, her eldest son and his wife bearing the burden of supporting the whole family, and her grandson still young, the elderly woman had no one to share her sorrows with except Yan Xue.
The girl wasn’t one to gossip, nor was she like some people who pretended to console you while secretly taking pleasure in your misery, wishing nothing but more suffering upon you. Yan Xue was sweet-faced and always cheerful—sometimes just seeing her smile was enough to lift one’s spirits.
True to form, Yan Xue responded enthusiastically, "That’s truly wonderful news! No wonder I heard magpies singing this morning—it must’ve been an omen for your family."
"You’re such a smooth talker. I didn’t hear any magpies this morning," Aunt Guo retorted, clearly delighted.
Yan Xue happily indulged the old woman. "That’s because you’re getting on in years and your hearing isn’t what it used to be. I’m still young—just turned eighteen!"
Aunt Guo grinned from ear to ear. "Fine, fine, you’re young. Here, take some of the bean sprouts I grew. They’re already cleaned—just wash them and they’re ready to cook. Save yourself the trouble after a long day’s work." She bustled off cheerfully into the house.
Qi Fang watched as Yan Xue came in, her face bright with smiles. "You seem to have a way with the elderly."
Aunt Guo was one example, and so was Liu Weiguo’s mother—any mention of Yan Xue brought an unstoppable smile to their faces.
Though Yan Xue hadn’t been selected for the permanent position this time, at least it gave her hope, especially since the spot had gone to a neighbor she got along with. In good spirits, she teased back, "So only the elderly like me? No one else does?"
"That’s not the case."
Tiedan adored Yan Xue, as did the younger children of the Liu family, and even Liu Weiguo back in the day...
Qi Fang didn’t dwell on that thought. He successfully lit the large stove and said, "I’m heading out after dinner."
Yan Xue gave an acknowledging hum, but before she could ask, he volunteered, "The repair shop’s dismantling a tractor today. I’m going to take a look."
To learn how to fix something, you first had to know how to take it apart. The county had even sent an engineer to teach them. Since Qi Fang had his suspicions, he wanted to see for himself—better to confirm things firsthand than to stew in uncertainty.
Yan Xue was slightly surprised by his sudden interest in tractors, but then again, he hadn’t always been this forthcoming about his whereabouts or reasons before.
She nodded. "I’ll leave the door unlocked for you."
"I won’t be late," Qi Fang assured her. "I’ll be back by eight."
But before they could even clear the dishes after dinner, the farm’s loudspeaker crackled to life, summoning all members of the dependents’ team, including the educated youth, to a meeting at the farm office.
"After working all day, why call a meeting now?" Yan Xue wondered aloud.
Leaving the dishes in the sink, they hurried out, running into Jin Baozhi, Guo Changping’s wife, who was equally clueless.
At the office, the rest of the dependents’ team was just as puzzled, grumbling about the abrupt notice and unfinished chores at home.
Before long, Secretary Lang arrived. Though the announcement had included the educated youth, only a handful showed up—Zhou Wenhui, two other girls, and two of the quieter male youths. In contrast, the dependents’ team was fully present, including Yu Cuiyun, who wasn’t even a member but had shown up with her arm in a splint.
Yan Xue couldn’t help but glance at her, sensing trouble.
Yu Cuiyun immediately caught her look. "I may not be on the dependents’ team, but I’m still a worker’s family member. Can’t I come and see what’s going on?"
Yan Xue merely smiled. "I was just curious. Didn’t say a word."
The woman was already conspicuous enough—now she was drawing even more attention by jumping in unprompted, as if afraid people wouldn’t notice her. What more needed to be said?
Once everyone had gathered, Secretary Lang ignored the absent educated youth and got straight to the point. "We’ve called you here today to discuss the permanent position quotas. Initially, based on work tenure and performance in the dependents’ team, the farm selected Comrades You Jinfeng and Jin Baozhi. However..."
The "however" was the crux of the matter, and everyone perked up.
Sure enough, Secretary Lang continued, "A comrade has raised objections, stating that Jin Baozhi doesn’t meet the criteria and requesting a reevaluation."
All eyes turned to Jin Baozhi, whose face registered shock before tightening into a frown.
She wasn’t one for words—after all, she’d resorted to fists when Li Shuwu’s wife had run her mouth before. Now, blindsided by this, she was momentarily at a loss.
Li Shuwu’s wife, on the other hand, couldn’t hide her glee, though she refrained from jeering with Secretary Lang present.
Yan Xue was the one who spoke up. "What exactly does this comrade claim disqualifies Jin Baozhi?"
Secretary Lang answered plainly, "They allege that Jin Baozhi lacks diligence, citing her month-long absence during the busiest period for the dependents’ team."
Not just Yan Xue, but the entire team found the accusation ludicrous.
You Jinfeng, never one to mince words, blurted out, "That’s nonsense! Everyone knows Jin Baozhi took leave because a family member was injured and she had to care for them in the hospital."
Her own spot was secure, and as far as she was concerned, the other quota could go to anyone—but Jin Baozhi was the most deserving.
Others chimed in too—some who knew their own work tenure was too short to qualify this year, others simply outspoken and fair-minded.
"Exactly! Everyone knows Jin Baozhi’s the hardest worker—she even joins the agricultural team after seasonal work ends."
"Someone’s just jealous. Spouting lies with their eyes wide open!"
Secretary Lang sought confirmation. "So the consensus is that Jin Baozhi’s selection is well-deserved, with no issues?"
The group nodded in agreement. Even Li Shuwu’s wife stayed silent, not daring to oppose the crowd.
Just as it seemed the matter was settled, Yu Cuiyun, still standing to the side with her arm in a splint, interjected, "Can we really say there are no issues? What about her problematic class background?"
The chatter died instantly as all eyes swiveled toward her—especially Jin Baozhi’s.
That kind of information was recorded on household registration papers, not something just anyone could access. How did Yu Cuiyun know, and why bring it up now?
Yan Xue’s sharp eyes also caught the displeased glance Secretary Lang shot Yu Cuiyun.
After piecing things together, she quickly grasped the gist of the situation. Most likely, the "dissenting comrade" had raised this very point when voicing their objection. Secretary Lang, unwilling to replace anyone, had deliberately omitted mentioning it, yet Yu Cuiyun still singled it out.
Li Shuwu’s wife seized the opportunity and declared loudly, "Then she shouldn’t be made permanent! Why should we poor and lower-middle peasants stay as temporary workers while a landlord’s whelp gets a permanent position?"
"My family was only classified as rich peasants," Jin Baozhi retorted sharply, her eyes blazing as she glared at Li Shuwu’s wife.
Li Shuwu’s wife, emboldened by Secretary Lang’s presence, wasn’t intimidated. "What’s the difference? You still exploited us poor and lower-middle peasants. What, you wanna hit me now?" She even planted her hands on her hips.
The topic was undeniably sensitive, and many who had earlier supported Jin Baozhi now fell silent.
Li Shuwu’s wife grew even more smug. "No wonder she’s violent—rotten roots bear rotten fruit. Nothing good comes from that kind of background."
Yan Xue didn’t defend Jin Baozhi, nor did she engage with Li Shuwu’s wife. Instead, she asked Secretary Lang, "Since this person raised an objection, did they suggest who they think would be more suitable?"
This time, Secretary Lang glanced at her, a hint of amusement in his eyes. "They proposed Cheng Yuzhen, Lin Shangming’s wife, as a better candidate—longer tenure, and she often steps in to organize work when Lin Shangming is unavailable. Lin Shangming recused himself to avoid bias, which is why I’m chairing this meeting instead."
Cheng Yuzhen?
The room, already quiet, grew even more hushed. Even Li Shuwu’s wife shut her mouth.
Some glanced at Cheng Yuzhen, while others looked at Yu Cuiyun, whose arm was still in a sling.
Who the dissenting comrade was needed no explanation.
Clearly, Yu Cuiyun had spoken up because Cheng Yuzhen hadn’t been selected.
This rubbed people the wrong way. Everyone remembered how, when Yan Xue had gone to sign up with Captain Lin, Yu Cuiyun had ensured Cheng Yuzhen didn’t notify her.
Last time, their collusion had nearly cost Yan Xue her job in the dependents’ team. Now they were targeting Jin Baozhi—who knew if they’d come for someone else next?
Cheng Yuzhen noticed the shift in mood. She glanced at Yu Cuiyun and frowned slightly. "How about this—let’s take a vote by show of hands."
As everyone turned to her, she explained, "An open vote. Those in favor of Comrade Jin Baozhi receiving this permanent position, raise your hands. Those against, don’t. It’s fairer this way. If the majority disagrees, we can still vote on an alternative candidate."
Her words sounded perfectly reasonable. Yan Xue raised an eyebrow, finding the suggestion—and the person—quite intriguing.
In reality, most people preferred silence over raising their hands, especially when doing so openly was akin to picking sides.
And when the choice was between Cheng Yuzhen—the wife of the dependents’ team captain—and Yu Cuiyun—the daughter of the farm director—versus Jin Baozhi, who had no backing, the answer was obvious.
Moreover, Cheng Yuzhen had framed it as a re-vote, not necessarily for herself, which might tempt others to throw their hats in the ring.
But without Jin Baozhi—the most capable and senior candidate—who else stood a chance against her?
She was securing her interests while playing the gracious mediator. Compared to Yu Cuiyun, who wore her intentions on her sleeve, Cheng Yuzhen was the far more formidable opponent.
Sure enough, Yu Cuiyun was the first to object. "Her family’s rich peasants—why even bother with a vote?"
Cheng Yuzhen gently tugged her sleeve, conceding that a vote was fine, but she personally wouldn’t raise her hand.
Others hesitated, and soon Jin Baozhi stood alone in the crowd, visibly isolated.
Li Shuwu’s wife watched smugly, as if Jin Baozhi’s downfall meant her own chance had arrived.
Then, someone raised their hand—Yan Xue.
Even Jin Baozhi was surprised. At this point, raising a hand changed nothing, and it blatantly defied Yu Cuiyun, Cheng Yuzhen, and the rest.
Yu Cuiyun’s face darkened instantly. Cheng Yuzhen, still smiling, turned to look at Yan Xue.
Yan Xue blinked innocently. "If we’re aiming for fairness, shouldn’t it be a secret ballot?"
"A secret ballot?" Jin Baozhi hadn’t considered that.
"Right," Yan Xue said. "When villages elect cadres or classes elect monitors, isn’t it always done by anonymous vote?"
Jin Baozhi caught on and turned to Secretary Lang. "For fairness, I request a secret ballot."
Before Yu Cuiyun could protest, Secretary Lang agreed and sent someone to fetch paper and pens from the office.
In the end, over thirty dependents’ team members voted. Aside from two abstentions and nine against, the remaining twenty-plus votes all supported Jin Baozhi for the permanent position.
Yu Cuiyun’s efforts had backfired, leaving her fuming. Cheng Yuzhen, however, managed to congratulate Jin Baozhen with a smile. "Since the results are in, I’ll inform Old Lin." She then pulled Yu Cuiyun away.
Yu Cuiyun left reluctantly, shooting Yan Xue and Jin Baozhi a glare each before departing.
Li Shuwu’s wife was equally displeased. "All that fuss, and she still got it. Should’ve just skipped the drama."
Yu Cuiyun overheard and snapped, "Who are you talking about?"
Li Shuwu’s wife immediately clammed up.
The others, regardless of how they’d voted, offered Jin Baozhi congratulations, some muttering about Yu Cuiyun and Cheng Yuzhen under their breath. Once the crowd dispersed, Jin Baozhi gripped Yan Xue’s hand tightly. "Thank you."
She wasn’t one for many words, but the strength of her grip conveyed her sincerity.
Yan Xue smiled. "I didn’t just do it for you. It was for everyone—myself included. Who knows if I’d be next if they’d succeeded in pushing you out?"
That was also why most had ultimately voted for Jin Baozhi once anonymity was assured.
But Jin Baozhi was stubborn. "Regardless, I owe you my thanks. Without you, I wouldn’t have gotten this position."
"Then thank Secretary Lang too," Yan Xue said, sharing her hunch. "I don’t think he wanted a re-vote either, but he couldn’t openly oppose Yu Cuiyun and Captain Lin."
Jin Baozhi nodded and thanked her again before letting go of her hand.
That evening, Qi Fang returned just before eight—7:55, to be precise.
After carefully washing his hands in the main room, he sat down at the desk, pulled out a pen and notebook, and asked, "What was discussed at the meeting today?"
He was a man of few words. If he didn’t ask, Yan Xue wouldn’t volunteer details. But since he had, she gave him a rundown.
Unlike Liu Weiguo, who’d eagerly discuss such matters, Qi Fang wasn’t the type to dismiss his wife’s concerns. He listened attentively, even looking up at key moments. "Secretary Lang probably left it out on purpose."
"Right? That’s what I thought too." Yan Xue smiled, her eyes curving. "I told Baozhi-jie to remember to thank him."
Whether Secretary Lang deliberately omitted mentioning it out of fairness or simply disliked Yu Cuiyun and Cheng Yuzhen meddling in these matters, Jin Baozhi was the one who benefited. Expressing gratitude once more and acknowledging the favor would only earn her more goodwill from Secretary Lang.
Since Qi Fang had asked her, Yan Xue decided to turn the question back to him: "How far along is the small repair shop’s demolition today?"
"They’re still dismantling the tracks and outer shell. They haven’t reached the core yet, so structurally, not much has changed. But there have been quite a few improvements in the materials used."
At this point, Qi Fang paused, recalling that most women—including her younger self—usually had little interest in such topics.
To his surprise, Yan Xue didn’t seem bored at all. Instead, she fixed her large, bright eyes on him, as if waiting for him to continue.
Lowering his gaze, Qi Fang went on sketching. "The Su’erguan tractors used a lot of nickel-chromium alloy, but since our country’s reserves of nickel and chromium are limited, they switched to manganese-aluminum, which is more abundant."
Yan Xue noticed he was drawing a component of the Jicai-50 tractor, complete with precise measurements. "You memorized all of this?"
"Yeah, I picked up some details from others."
His memory was impressively sharp—Yan Xue couldn’t help feeling a twinge of envy. "If only you’d been born a few years earlier, you might’ve had a shot at university and becoming an engineer."
Before she could finish, Qi Fang’s pencil stopped abruptly, and he suddenly looked up at her.
Qi Fang: Wait a minute… something feels off here.
