With this award displayed, the Red Guards wouldn’t dare beat anyone and would go to labor.
Higher-ups liked to commend Chen Secretary because Chen Mianmian was his protégé.
Without it, Red Flag Commune’s glory would be gone.
Chen Secretary didn’t want to lose face and tried to play the victim.
But before he could speak, Zhao Lingcheng said coldly, “Mianmian’s success isn’t because of her mother or you. It’s because of the people, the Party and government—it’s her own ability. She owes none of you gratitude or repayment.”
Chen Secretary thought this was strange, how did Officer Zhao know what he wanted to say?
Under Zhao Lingcheng’s icy stare, he stood at attention and saluted: “Chief, please go slowly.”
His wife’s heart pounded, her belly kicked—her daughter moving inside.
Zhao Lingcheng raised his hand in return: “Goodbye, Secretary Chen!”
This trip, everything Chen Mianmian did must have dazzled Zhao Lingcheng’s eyes—but it wasn’t over yet.
Chen Huan Di’s in-laws lived in Jianshe Xincun, along a cement road, right by the highway.
Worried about running into his mother-in-law, Zhao Lingcheng tried to speed up.
But Chen Mianmian kept patting him: “Go slower, slower…okay, stop.”
Zhao Lingcheng braked sharply just in front of Chen Huan Di’s courtyard.
He looked back and saw his mother-in-law.
Wang Ximei was sitting in the middle of the yard, basking in the sun, wrapping cloth around her feet.
Chen Mianmian greeted warmly, “Dear Mother!”
That day, not a cloud in the Hexi Corridor sky, the sun blazed fiercely and the air was hot.
But Zhao Lingcheng suddenly broke out in cold sweat, feeling like he’d fallen into an ice cave.
He thought he’d been dreaming, that his wife had reverted to her old self.
But it was too late.
Wang Ximei looked up, letting the cloth slip off her foot: “Mianmian!”
She grabbed a stick and came outside, calling out: “The most filial, most capable girl in all Red Flag Commune, my Mianmian!”
Chen Mianmian held up something: “Mother, look what this is?”
That morning, Chen Jinhui had just been released from detention and reported back to work.
Though scolded by the leadership, he kept his job.
Wang Ximei finally felt relieved and came to her eldest daughter’s home to recuperate.
At noon, Chen Huan Di cooked a dish of cadres’ countryside vegetables with the only two eggs and some vermicelli left in the house, filling her mother’s stomach.
Then Chen Huan Di carried her son to the fields to earn work points, and Wang Ximei basked in the sun, rewrapping her feet.
She didn’t really believe her second daughter had been so heartless as to sever ties and abandon her.
Seeing her daughter arrive, she was overjoyed.
Looking at the radio her daughter carried and the motorcycle she sat on, she smiled widely: “You want to give me a radio?”
She thought it was new and said again, “If I had known, I would have squeezed you to death. You sold me off; back then there were even cannibals. But I kept you, raised you with difficulty, knowing you’d repay me.”
Zhao Lingcheng stiffened, his daughter kicked him inside.
Father and daughter both puzzled—they couldn’t figure out what Chen Mianmian was doing.
Then she leaned close to Zhao Lingcheng’s ear: “Ride forward, don’t go too fast or the old lady won’t catch up.”
Turning back, she laughed: “Mother, look, a nice radio to give my brother.”
Wang Ximei’s foot wasn’t wrapped properly; she couldn’t run fast.
Seeing the motorcycle speed off, she had to painfully chase after it: “Right, right, give it to your brother.”
She added, “A girl is an outsider, a son is a support. To repay your mother’s grace, you have to be good to Jinhui.”
But the motorcycle kept moving forward, and the old lady struggled to keep up.
She bent over to rest.
Chen Mianmian then pulled out a wad of money and said, “Mother, look, I have lots of money. What do you think I should do with it?”
Wang Ximei saw the big stack of big unity bills in her daughter’s hand.
She tore off her foot bindings and started running: “Mianmian, your brother’s wife’s gone. Your brother’s going to remarry. I’m a widow who raised you; that bride price has to be paid by you. Come get the money.”
Chen Mianmian shook the money while supporting her belly: “Come and get it, come on.”
Wang Ximei sprinted hard, almost grabbing the money but missed.
She tried again, almost touching it, but still missed.
She ran two miles out before realizing something was wrong.
“Damn you, Mianmian, short-lived Mianmian, are you fooling your old mother?”
Then with a crash, the radio shattered at her feet.
Furious, Wang Ximei chased and shouted, “That’s my radio, you damn girl, you broke it!”
Chen Mianmian shouted back, “I broke it and wouldn’t give a damn to you, old witch.”
Zhao Lingcheng dared neither go too fast nor slow, nor say a word.
He didn’t know what his wife was doing.
He wasn’t afraid of her cursing, but scared she might hurt the elderly.
Wang Ximei ran so much her feet bled.
She was angry: “Mianmian, you heartless, you’re an ungrateful wolf.”
Chen Mianmian smashed half a bottle of Maotai to the ground: “Come on, come hit me!”
That was Chen Jinhui’s favorite liquor, only ever drank half a bottle when entertaining Section Chief Wei.
She had smashed it?
There were still the Russian Nesting Dolls, postcards—she opened the bag and tossed everything around.
Wang Ximei, bleeding but still cursing, chased after her: “I should’ve sold you off long ago.”
Chasing, she stumbled and fell, screaming with heart-wrenching pain: “When Jinhui was little and craving meat, I never dared sell you to buy meat. Ungrateful girl, I curse you to only ever bear daughters, ten daughters!”
Tearing her clothes, she shouted, “Help! Help! My daughter is killing her mother!”
Of course, Zhao Lingcheng stopped the motorcycle because the field workers heard the screams and ran over.
If he hadn’t stopped, he might be accused of hit-and-run.
He had no idea how to end this; his mind was blank.
But clearly, Chen Mianmian had a plan.
She stayed on the bike, one hand on her belly and the other gripping Zhao Lingcheng’s back, shouting, “Neighbors, that’s my mother, but we severed ties long ago.”
She held up a paper and showed it to the approaching crowd: “Neighbors, my mother and I have broken all relations.”
Wang Ximei remembered the severance letter Xu Xiaomei had tricked her into signing.
Being illiterate, she thought the document was valid.
The villagers thought the same—once ties were broken, no obligations remained, no one could say anything.
But how could Wang Ximei feel comfortable being treated this way by the daughter she had painstakingly raised, once more loyal than a dog who always reported everything to her immediately?
She began a curse ritual, biting her finger and drawing a circle on the ground with blood.
She said, “Damn Mianmian, even as a ghost, I won’t let you go!”
Chen Mianmian giggled: “You little bound-foot ghost can’t catch my big feet.”
She had always run wild in the mountains as a child; her feet were naturally large.
She was indeed fast, impossible for the little-footed old lady to catch.
Wang Ximei looked at her festering, bleeding feet, then at her daughter’s wild, natural large feet, and stopped drawing circles, utterly defeated.
Because even as a ghost, she couldn’t catch her daughter.
But the daughter who once had iron-blooded loyalty—no matter what she found, she would first bring it to her?
How had she become so heartless and cruel, not caring for her mother at all?
She slammed her hands on the ground: “We have the severance letter, I’m not afraid. Let’s go.”
She got on a brand-new motorcycle and swaggered off.
She waved and said, “Goodbye, little foot ghost!”
Though the old lady was miserable, someone couldn’t help but say, “Your little feet—really, even as a ghost, a little-foot ghost.”
Someone else said, “Ugly and dirty, why bind those feet? So disgusting.”
In Wang Ximei’s childhood, bound feet were a symbol of nobility, the life of a young lady—the smaller the foot, the more noble.
How had it become, after Liberation, that everyone thought small feet were disgusting?
In a fit of rage, she grabbed her foot bones and cracked them, making them click: “Chen Mianmian, I won’t forgive you.”
So that as a ghost she could catch her daughter, she broke her own foot bones.
She turned and told everyone, “I advise you, if you give birth to daughters, kill them right away. Otherwise, no matter how well you raise them, once married, they’ll turn their elbows out and reject their mothers. To be a person, you have to have sons and raise sons.”
Muttering and gnashing her teeth: “Mianmian, I curse you to bear only daughters, only daughters!”
Ignoring all decency, she embraced a wicked life.
Chen Mianmian finally dealt with this awful old lady.
Felt so good!
Wang Ximei wasn’t without reason—her maternal family was actually wealthy, running a grain shop.
In the old society, poor girls often didn’t bind feet.
She did because her family was rich.
But her father smoked opium and squandered the family fortune, selling her off to the secondary female lead’s family.
So no more lady’s life for her.
Her obsession with bound feet was really a nostalgia for a high-class life.
She had no laborers to use but could give birth.
She raised her daughters like laborers.
Though the government repeatedly urged her to send her daughters to literacy classes after Liberation, she refused to avoid enlightenment.
She knew that if her daughters learned and understood, they wouldn’t listen to her crooked logic.
She not only harmed the secondary female lead but also her granddaughter, Nvtongzhi.
Finally escaping her mother-in-law, they quickly entered the city, and Zhao Lingcheng breathed a sigh of relief.
Stopping the motorcycle, he handed his wife a thermos cup and said hoarsely, “Drink some water, eat some buns.”
Since breakfast, it was almost 3 p.m., and they still hadn’t eaten.
The only thing to eat was buns—thankfully Jiang Xia steamed good ones; otherwise, Chen Mianmian would have been fed up.
Suddenly, she felt something was off and looked at him: “Why are you staring at me?”
Zhao Lingcheng’s pale skin and red ears were obvious, but luckily he wore a helmet, so Chen Mianmian didn’t see.
Because of her pregnancy swelling, she looked plumper and whiter—quite pretty.
Before, besides sleeping, she was always scavenging food, thin as a ghost.
Zhao Lingcheng said, “You took up three brick cellars—one for buns. What about the others?”
Chen Mianmian was surprised: “There are no names on the kilns. How do you know I have three?”
Zhao Lingcheng just asked, “What’s stored in the others? Also buns?”
She only took him into one brick cellar, but he had noticed three doors.
Grass ash and kaolin clay were spread at the entrances to keep ants and rats away.
Only Chen Mianmian did that because she wanted to store grain.
Of course, he was curious what treasures were inside the other two.
But Chen Mianmian wouldn’t say—they contained things the secondary female lead had earned with blood and sweat.
That was her and Nvtongzhi’s wealth, which she planned to convert into money later.
She smiled and steadied Zhao Lingcheng: “If you want to know, trade money. I’m rested; let’s go.”
Zhao Lingcheng helped her onto the bike and awkwardly got on himself, then said, “What you did earlier—trying to force Wang Ximei to unwrap her feet—I don’t think she’ll appreciate it. She’ll only hate you, think raising daughters is useless.”
Indeed, Chen Mianmian wasn’t idle, just playing with the old lady.
But Chen Jinhui was an unfilial son who wouldn’t care for elders, and Chen Huan Di often got beaten by her husband and dared not help their mother much.
Wang Ximei’s bound feet left her unable to work and dependent on support.
Was the commune going to force her to support herself?
If she could make Wang Ximei unwrap her feet and become independent, Chen Mianmian wouldn’t have to worry about support.
She’d been sitting too long and her waist hurt; she leaned her chin on Zhao Lingcheng’s shoulder, murmuring, “Thank you. Take me to the Public Security Bureau next.”
Every man had fantasies about married life.
Today was what Zhao Lingcheng had imagined on their wedding day as their honeymoon.
Only 40 kilometers, the journey was short.
He also had to go to the Public Security Bureau.
Because war with the Soviet Union was inevitable, spies existed and were hidden.
He had to talk to the police to reopen the spy case, find the big spy who sold military industrial coordinates years ago, and eliminate the threat.
He thought Chen Mianmian had unimportant matters, and their daughter now needed nutrition.
He said, “I’ll go to the Public Security Bureau alone. You wait in the station and drink formula and eat biscuits.”
Chen Mianmian chuckled, “So, you can handle the Red Guards and stop them from going to the farm and beating up old revolutionaries?”
Then immediately: “If I don’t care, some of those old men will get beaten to death. How will you thank me then? Or should we talk money? You pay me?”
The Red Guards hadn’t been to the farm recently because they were busy dealing with the Xu brothers.
But after that, they would go back.
Especially Qi Jiali, the stubborn old man—
Red Guards loved to beat him the most.
Yesterday, the Steel Factory Women’s Federation’s Director Qiu was beaten by Red Guards.
Yan General, Quancheng’s deputy party secretary, feared the Red Guards, trembling.
But those kids ignored him completely, and could even whip him with a cane.
Across the country, many government leaders worked during the day and went to be whipped by Red Guards at night.
But Zhao Lingcheng had only seen one who could get along with Red Guards—his wife, Chen Mianmian.
Money matters could wait; the important thing was she could truly handle the Red Guards.
Zhao Lingcheng took it seriously: “Should I take an extra day off? That would require a telegram to the Base.”
Chen Mianmian smiled, “It’s just a kid. Just coax them on the way. Why take leave?”
The dreaded Red Guards—she only needed to coax them a bit!
She then asked again, “Let’s talk money. How much will you give me?”
Zuo Mohan, Zhao Lingcheng: I want to talk about feelings.
Chen Mianmian: No, talking about feelings costs too much money!