Her dad thought if he just quoted a high price, her mom would wash diapers herself to save money.
But her mom skillfully shifted the responsibility: “Two big jobs with a baby—feeding I’ll do, but diapers are all yours.”
Zhao Lingcheng added, “But I’ll be working overtime and on business trips.”
He was trying to shirk responsibility, but Chen Mianmian said, “Then just save them up and wash them when you’re back.”
She suddenly said, “Feel that? Niuniu just raised her hand—she agrees.”
Zhao Lingcheng definitely wasn’t going to wash diapers himself.
He didn’t mind borrowing money to buy a washing machine.
But if he bought it, the ex-wife would quietly carry it back to her mother’s house?
He had a sharp tongue and wanted to tease his ex-wife, but just then her belly rumbled—or rather, the little one really kicked him.
For a fetus, that was a powerful kick.
Hopefully, it’s a daughter, because Zhao Lingcheng wanted a daughter even more.
Because he didn’t retort and tacitly accepted diaper duty, acting better, Chen Mianmian was happy to share something new with him, smiling, “You’d never guess—the Xu family were probably big landlords before.
They had already entered the city when Zhao Lingcheng stopped the bike, genuinely surprised.
“Their records show poor and lower-middle peasants, Red Five Categories.”
Chen Mianmian had pieced this together through the female supporting character’s memories and scattered clues.
Because of bandits, Quancheng wasn’t liberated until 1952.
The Xu family were not locals but had fled the liberation from the interior, escaping all the way here.
Analyzing the Xu siblings’ living details, she instinctively felt they were not poor originally.
She asked Zhao Lingcheng, “Think about it—how many ordinary Northwestern people know what a Longines watch is?”
Ordinary folks didn’t even recognize imported luxury watches.
This pride caused trouble, and the local work teams’ understanding of the locals was superficial.
The Xu family fled west with the revolution in ’49, settled three years later, but the work teams never investigated deeply.
And the Xu siblings, including Xu Xiaomei, went to school and were even absorbed into the work teams.
The irony was thick: the rightists who were sent to labor reform were actually old revolutionaries.
But the Xu brothers, as landlord dogs, transformed into whip-wielders, beating and reforming them?
A scream came from afar: “Wow, Mianmian, is that you?”
Still dozens of meters from the state guesthouse, Wu Jingjing was hanging laundry on the second floor and spotted the bike.
She recognized it—
Zhao Lingcheng had sent Chen Mianmian here before.
She shouted, and two postal workers came out: “Oh, it’s you, Little Chen! You’re back again?”
Chen Mianmian handed them a handful of little bok choy.
“You two share.”
Then she gave the sweet little thing to Wu Jingjing.
“Dinner’s on me tonight.”
The two postal workers were just here for gossip but actually got gifts.
They sniffed the bok choy, “This smells so sweet!”
They gossiped, “That Wang Ximei must be your mother, right? A few days ago, she fell into a cesspit, almost drowned.”
Wu Jingjing said, “She said someone pushed her. The police didn’t care, so she stayed at the police station.”
She added, “Xu Xiaomei can’t work because your mom keeps pestering her, so she asked for leave and went home.”
The two postal workers said, “Don’t know what to do…Director Jiang hasn’t shown up these days either.”
Director Jiang had been secretly sending letters to Jiang Xia and was warned by the base’s Public Security Bureau; he was probably laying low.
Chen Mianmian was curious: “My mother’s still in the city?”
After Xu Xiaomei embezzled 300 yuan, Wang Ximei wouldn’t tolerate it, so she sat at the guesthouse door day and night, cursing.
One night when she went to the bathroom, someone pushed her into the cesspit.
But she climbed out herself and moved into the Public Security Bureau, refusing to leave.
The police had asked the base to release Chen Jinhui because they couldn’t stand her anymore.
That was everything that happened in Quancheng after Chen Mianmian left.
While they spoke, Zhao Lingcheng packed the luggage and gave his ex-wife a small parcel and more than half a steamed bun.
He shook Wu Jingjing’s hand.
“Mianmian’s pregnant; please take good care of her.”
Then looking at Chen Mianmian, “Don’t wander off. I’ll come pick you up in two hours.”
Wu Jingjing understood.
“You two are going to get a marriage certificate, right?”
Several women eagerly watched.
Zhao Lingcheng took off his helmet, put his arm around Chen Mianmian’s shoulders, voice gentle: “Yes.”
The military uniform suited a man like him—handsome and sophisticated—making Chen Mianmian seem rustic and awkward.
The women smiled dryly.
“Congratulations.”
When Zhao Lingcheng got on the bike, all three said in unison, “Has he stopped his domestic violence habit now?”
Chen Mianmian frantically waved her hands.
“Shh, shh, shh.”
It was already exaggerated that he abandoned his wife and child; if they said he was violent too, she was afraid Zhao Lingcheng might get angry enough to really do it.
Watching him ride off, she sighed deeply, hoping he hadn’t heard.
Then she said earnestly, “He’s never hit me—not once.”
Wu Jingjing sighed.
“That’s good. Don’t be like our Director Jiang—he looks like a coward on the surface. I heard his wife didn’t jump into the water pit because she was mentally ill—he beat her to death and threw her in.”
Director Jiang’s wife was said to be crazy and jumped into the water pit.
But rumors outside said he beat her to death first, then threw her into the water pit.
Chen Mianmian couldn’t let Zhao Lingcheng’s reputation be ruined further; she said firmly, “My man really doesn’t hit women.”
The two postal workers clutched the bok choy, wishing they could eat it raw.
“This is so green, tender, and fragrant.”