Liu Daniu's wife recognized the person faster than Yan Xue, exclaiming almost immediately, "Aunt Guo?"
She quickened her steps, and Yan Xue and Liu Chuncai hurried to follow. As they drew closer, they heard uncontrollable sobbing and curses. "You’re money-crazed! You couldn’t wait just a little longer? You’d rather risk lives than delay! Why didn’t you get crushed yourselves? Why did you have to ruin our Chang’an..."
It was clear she now knew the whole story. When Qi Fang had informed the families yesterday, he hadn’t elaborated on how Li Shuwu’s rush to finish logging for side work had caused the accident.
The woman wrestling with Aunt Guo was much younger, in her thirties, likely interrupted while cooking—her hands were still dusted with cornmeal. Yet she fought fiercely. "You old hag, have you lost your mind? Coming here to wail at my doorstep?"
"Who’s wailing?" Aunt Guo couldn’t stand the word. She yanked at the other woman’s hair. "If your Li Shuwu hadn’t been greedy for those mountain profits, would my Chang’an have been crushed?"
"That’s your son’s fault for not dodging! Why wasn’t anyone else hurt?"
Neither backed down. Seeing Aunt Guo, older and weaker, about to lose the fight, Liu Daniu's wife quickly handed the bamboo steamer cover to someone behind her.
Liu Chuncai, still young, was stunned by the scene and froze. Yan Xue reacted faster, taking the steamer cover herself.
With someone holding it, Liu Daniu's wife rushed forward to pull the women apart.
The commotion soon drew neighbors, who stepped in to separate the two, some holding them back, others mediating.
Li Shuwu's wife, her hair now a tangled mess and face scratched, spat on the ground in fury. "Your son brought it on himself! He deserved it!"
The words were too cruel. Aunt Guo’s face paled, her whole body trembling.
Liu Daniu's wife patted her back. "Watch your tongue. We all work dangerous jobs up there—who knows when disaster might strike?"
Others chimed in, scolding Li Shuwu's wife, and someone pushed her away. Though she kept cursing, she was eventually led off.
The crowd then turned to Aunt Guo, asking what had happened—most still didn’t know the details.
Liu Daniu's wife knew some of it, but with Aunt Guo so distraught, anything said might upset her further. "Aunt Guo’s lips are colorless. Let me take her home first."
By now, Liu Chuncai had snapped out of her daze. Seeing her mother’s glance, she hurried over to support Aunt Guo’s other side.
Most neighbors, having rushed out without extra layers, soon dispersed. Only a young woman passing by, whom Liu Daniu's wife called Yue'e, followed them.
The courtyard was the same as yesterday, but today, a gloom hung over the Guo household, thick and suffocating. Even the lively little boy from last night sensed the tension. He timidly called out "Grandma" but hesitated to approach the crowd.
"Tiedan, where’s your mom?" Liu Daniu's wife asked as they helped Aunt Guo inside.
The boy, familiar with her, answered in a small voice, "Mom went to the hospital. She’s not back yet."
So Aunt Guo had returned alone, leaving Guo Changping and his wife at the hospital. Liu Daniu's wife wanted to ask about Guo Chang’an’s condition but feared hearing the worst.
Aunt Guo clutched her hand first. "Chang’an... he’s crippled now. He’s only 22... just 22..."
Guo Chang’an had survived, but his right shoulder and arm were shattered, his leg bones crushed. Even if he could walk again, his right hand would likely never function. For a young man, the blow was devastating—especially one who’d just gotten engaged, with a wedding planned for the New Year.
The room fell silent, amplifying Aunt Guo’s ragged sobs.
Yan Xue’s heart ached, but in the face of such harsh reality, words of comfort felt hollow.
She slipped out to wet a warm towel and handed it to Aunt Guo.
Stunned by the gesture, Aunt Guo took it and wiped her face automatically.
Without a word, Yan Xue fetched her a cup of warm water.
Rage, tears, blame—they’d all poured out. Now, soothed by small kindnesses, Aunt Guo’s weeping eased, though her tears still fell.
The others embraced her, murmuring that survival was what mattered most, that recovery might still be possible.
Yan Xue, an outsider here, stayed quiet. She caught Tiedan’s eye. "It’s almost mealtime. Are you hungry?"
Aunt Guo remembered her grandson then. As Liu Daniu's wife and Yue'e moved to cook, she struggled up. "I’ll do it. You’ve got families waiting too."
Her younger son’s tragedy couldn’t overshadow her duty to her grandson. However broken inside, she had to rally—for her eldest son’s sake, she couldn’t add to their burdens.
Seeing her gather strength, the visitors stayed a while longer before leaving.
As they left, Yue'e glanced at Yan Xue. Liu Daniu's wife, more familiar, said outright, "You’re quick-witted, Yan Xue. Bringing up Tiedan was smart."
Yan Xue only smiled faintly.
It wasn’t quick thinking. She’d lived through this before. In her past life, her presence had been the reason her father found the will to go on.
The worst pain wasn’t the initial shock—it was the unending hardship and hopelessness that followed.
If the forestry station took responsibility, there’d be some relief. The real fear was getting no compensation at all.
China’s late economic start meant decades spent catching up, improving living standards—accessibility had always been an afterthought. Even in Yan Xue’s original time, mobility and employment for the disabled were struggles. And this was 1969, a decade before reforms.
News traveled slowly in the logging camps, but Aunt Guo’s fight with Li Shuwu's wife spread it fast.
Some pitied the Guos, but more condemned Li Shuwu’s family.
The fault was theirs. Had they shown remorse, apologized, it might’ve been different. Instead, they’d doubled down, their words callous.
Even the forestry station’s hostel staff muttered to Yan Xue later: "They’re always scraping money together, yet never save a penny. Splurging on food, drink, two pairs of leather shoes—who needs those here? Borrowing by month’s end."
Two days later, Liu Chuncai bounded in excitedly. "Grandpa Liu agreed! We’re going pinecone picking tomorrow!"
She brought not just good news but also borrowed gear from Liu Daniu's wife: insulated boots, thick wool socks, and leg wraps for Yan Xue.
The snow on the mountain was thick, and only by wearing felt socks inside cotton boots and tightly wrapping leg bindings over the cotton pants could one prevent the cold from seeping into the bones. The long trek up the mountain made the leg bindings necessary—they helped blood circulation and kept the calves from swelling.
The next morning, after getting ready, Yan Xue arrived at the meeting spot to find Liu Chuncai and Grandpa Liu already waiting.
Grandpa Liu was in his early sixties, a lean man of modest height, wearing a bearskin hat and carrying a long hunting rifle on his back. When Liu Chuncai called out, "Yan Xue-jie," he turned, revealing a large, gruesome scar covering the left side of his face. His sharp, aged eyes exuded an intimidating fierceness.
Yan Xue noticed but acted as if she hadn’t, stepping forward with a smile—neither staring nor deliberately avoiding his gaze.
The old man finally grinned. "This little girl’s got guts." He then glanced back at his granddaughter. "Let’s go."
Liu Chuncai immediately grabbed hold of a sled about a meter wide and followed, whispering to Yan Xue, "That scar was from a black bear—it licked half his face and tore off part of his ear. My grandpa almost didn’t make it."
No wonder the old man was so cautious, bringing his rifle even just to harvest pinecones, wary of wild beasts.
Yan Xue reached out to help pull the sled. "How much can this carry?"
"Easily eight hundred to a thousand pounds," Liu Chuncai said. "But it takes one person pulling in front and another pushing from behind, or it won’t budge."
"That much?"
"Of course. There are even bigger ones, but those need livestock to pull..."
With Grandpa Liu leading the way and the two younger ones following, the bountiful forests of Changbai Mountain unfolded before Yan Xue like a mysterious scroll.
Meanwhile, standing atop another part of the mountain, Qi Fang saw a very different scene.
Due to limited technology, the logging in the country still followed the practice of clear-cutting—felling all trees indiscriminately, regardless of species or size, then sorting the usable timber afterward.
To his left, dense ancient forests stretched endlessly along the mountain ridges, vanishing into the white expanse of sky and earth. To his right, the land looked as if it had been skinned alive—barren snowfields dotted with the severed limbs of trees and headless stumps.
Lushness and desolation, antiquity and progress, clashed beneath his feet, with the latter rapidly consuming the former.
"How much longer can this mountain endure the logging?" he murmured, bending back to his work.
Liu Weiguo, the eldest son of Liu Daniu, was working alongside him, trimming felled trees—removing branches and tops to leave only standardized logs. Thinking Qi Fang was referring to this year’s logging area, he replied, "Probably less than a month. We’ll wrap up before the New Year and just finish the cleanup afterward."
Another old tree was swiftly stripped bare. Liu Weiguo paused to catch his breath. "Finally, a break. After three months up here, I’m practically a wild man."
Had Yan Xue been there, she would have recognized him as the one who had rushed back to the dugout that day—the same guy who’d casually called Qi Fang "our brother."
But compared to Liu Chuncai’s description of a handsome young man in his early twenties, Liu Weiguo, with his unkempt hair and beard, truly resembled a wild man.
Many others on the mountain looked the same—too busy and exhausted to care about grooming. Men like Qi Fang, who shaved daily and maintained hygiene, were rare.
And yet, while everyone else looked disheveled, why did Qi Fang still manage to look so striking—different from usual, but in a good way?
Liu Weiguo couldn’t resist asking, "Hey, does that sister of yours have a boyfriend or not?"
He wasn’t the first to ask, nor was it his first time bringing it up.
Qi Fang kept his eyes down, looking somewhat indifferent as he answered offhandedly, "No."
These past few days should have been enough for Yan Xue to think things through—to decide whether this place suited her.
Or maybe even these few days felt too long, and she’d already wanted to leave, just hadn’t found the right moment or the will to come up the mountain to see him...
In that case, did it even matter if she had a boyfriend or not?
Qi Fang couldn’t be bothered to elaborate. When the holiday break began on Minor New Year’s Eve, he followed his usual routine—skipping the dorm and heading straight to the bathhouse. After a hot shower and a haircut, he returned to drop off his things, intending to talk to Yan Xue.
The logging camp was small, with no entertainment to speak of, and the freezing weather outside made it even less appealing. He figured the city girl must have long grown restless in the guesthouse.
But as he casually glanced up, all he saw was the "bronze general" dutifully guarding his door—locked tight.
Huh. Where was she?
