Marriage in the 1970s: The Political Commissar's Contract Wife

Zhi Xia lay there motionless, her eyes fixed on the ceiling, as all the light in her eyes gradually faded away.

It’s over.

This matter could no longer be concealed. From the moment she collapsed at home, was carried out by Wang Chun, and taken to the hospital… every step was exposed to the light of day. Rumors would grow like rampant weeds, instantly devouring all her reputation and dignity.

She had finally managed to emerge a little from the shadows of the past, finally dared to wear a red dress, and feel a sliver of sunlight... Now, it was all over. A more powerful and merciless force had ruthlessly plunged her back into that cold, dark abyss, even deeper than before.

Just when she was feeling utterly hopeless and unsure how to face what was to come, the ward door was gently pushed open.

Fang Chu walked in carrying a large pile of things.

He was carrying extremely rare and expensive nutritional products for that era—canned malted milk powder and milk powder. He even managed to obtain even more precious donkey-hide gelatin and bird's nest through some unknown channel.

With a cautious, even humble, expression, he placed these items on the bedside table, making a slight clinking sound.

His arrival, and the things in his hands that symbolized "compensation" and "care," formed the sharpest and most ironic contrast with Zhixia's desolation and despair at this moment.

He stood by the bed, looking at Zhixia's pale, almost translucent face, his voice extremely soft, with an almost pleading tone:

"Zhixia... I'll find you a quiet house in the county town, and let Wang Chun come and keep you company. Once you've recovered... let's get married, okay?" This was the only way he could think of to be "responsible" and to protect her under his wing.

Zhi Xia's gaze drifted aimlessly to the white ceiling. She didn't look at him, nor did she show any excitement; only a stagnant silence. After several seconds, she spoke slowly and calmly, her voice weak yet clear:

"Marriage... forget it." These four words, spoken lightly, were like four cold knives, cleanly severing all his plans and expectations.

She paused, her breathing slightly weak, but her logic was exceptionally clear: "Could you help me find a place to stay, and once I'm better... help me find a job, okay?"

She didn't cry, didn't blame, and didn't even show any hatred. She simply made two very practical requests to him, concerning her future survival, in an almost negotiating tone stripped of all emotion—a place to stay and a job that would allow her to support herself.

She accepted his "compensation," but rejected him as a person, and his attempt to use marriage to "redeem" her.

Fang Chu was stunned. He had anticipated her anger, her tears, but he hadn't expected such cold clarity and rejection. He looked at her calm, expressionless profile, all the words he had prepared stuck in his throat. After a long pause, he finally managed a dry reply: "...Okay."

"Then you can go ahead and get busy," Zhi Xia said, closing her eyes and subtly dismissing him. "I want to rest."

"...Okay." Fang Chu seemed to have all her strength drained away. She gave her a deep look and left the ward with heavy steps.

As soon as the door closed, Wang Chun immediately picked up the can of milk powder, trying to break the suffocating silence with his actions: "Zhixia, let me make you a cup of milk powder to replenish your energy."

Zhi Xia did not respond, her eyes still tightly closed, as if she were asleep. But Wang Chun saw a tear silently sliding down from the corner of her closed eye, quickly disappearing into the hair at her temple.

She wasn't crying for the loss of a child that shouldn't have existed, nor was she crying for the physical pain.

She shed tears of humiliation and despair for the refuge she had been forced to accept, provided by her perpetrators, and for her shattered life that she could only piece back together with the help of others.

Her calmness was an expression of utter despair; her plea was the last pitiful space she could fight for to survive on these ruins.

Zhixia sipped the milk powder that Wang Chun had prepared, the warm liquid sliding down her throat, bringing a faint warmth.

"Drink more," Wang Chun said, looking at her with concern. "Don't think about anything right now. Even the biggest problems can wait until you've recovered."

"I know," Zhixia replied softly, her gaze somewhat vacant as she looked ahead. She understood the importance of health, especially after her brush with death.

Wang Chun's attention was quickly drawn to the unusual items on the bedside table. She picked up the box of donkey-hide gelatin and the paper-wrapped bird's nest, examining them closely with the curiosity and bewilderment of a country girl seeing a peculiar object: "These things... how do you eat them? I've only seen their names in old books. These... don't you have to stew or boil them? How exactly do you prepare them?"

Zhi Xia glanced at it too, then shook her head: "Didn't it say so on the packaging?"

"No," Wang Chun handed the document to her, "It's bare, there's nothing written on it."

Zhi Xia paused for a moment. She didn't want any more direct contact with Fang Chu, not even a simple inquiry. She lowered her eyelashes and said softly, "Then... when you go back, ask Fang Chu about it."

"Okay," Wang Chun readily agreed, carefully putting the things away. "Leave it to me."

The atmosphere relaxed a little. Zhi Xia seemed to suddenly remember something, looked at Wang Chun with apologetic eyes, and asked, "Did you take the day off? Won't not coming to work cause you trouble? Will the shop say anything?"

"I took the day off and sent someone over first thing this morning." Wang Chun waved her hand, trying to reassure her. "It's alright! The old man is very kind. Knowing you were brought to the hospital, he told me to take good care of you. What's more important than work?"

Hearing this, Zhi Xia felt a warm current flow into her cold heart. She looked at Wang Chun's sincere and slightly childish face, said nothing more, just gave a soft "hmm," and continued to drink the milk powder.

In this time of utter despair and disgrace, at least she had Wang Chun as a friend, who stood by her side without reservation. This friendship was one of the few solid supports she could grasp in this mire.