Sold into a ghost marriage? Four-year-old and his thuggish father go on a killing spree.

"Gu Yanqiu, come here for a moment."

Cheng Tiezhu stood on the edge of the threshing ground, a half-smoked cigarette between his fingers, and waved to Gu Yanqiu, who was walking home.

The fourteenth of the first lunar month.

The afternoon sun peeked through the gaps in the gray clouds, casting a cold, white light on the threshing floor.

The threshing floor was piled with haystacks from last autumn, with withered ears of rice sticking out from the gaps in the haystacks, rustling in the wind.

Gu Yanqiu walked over.

He had just rushed back from the brickyard—

There was more work than usual today. I rushed through a batch of urgent orders, and I only had time to eat half a steamed bun for lunch.

The cuffs of his cotton-padded jacket were worn through, revealing the cotton wadding. The webs between his thumb and forefinger on both hands were cracked and bleeding, stained dark red by brick dust.

"Uncle Tiezhu, what's up?"

Cheng Tiezhu looked him up and down.

Compared to a month ago, Gu Yanqiu has changed.

It's not that his complexion has improved. No. He's still skin and bones, with sunken cheeks, prominent cheekbones, and a messy stubble on his chin.

What has changed is the look in their eyes.

A month ago, those eyes were a deathly gray—like a well that had dried up.

Now—there is water in the well.

Not much. Just a shallow pool.

But alive.

Cheng Tiezhu stubbed out his cigarette and rubbed it on the sole of his shoe.

"Old Qin from the brickyard said you're a good worker."

"It's just work, it doesn't matter who does it."

"You're just talking big." Cheng Tiezhu's lips twitched slightly—not sarcasm, but a "you're still pretending" kind of tone. "Old Qin said you're the most hardworking temporary worker he's ever seen. You move four thousand bricks a day, two hundred more than the regular workers under him."

Gu Yanqiu did not respond.

Four thousand bricks. Each brick weighs ten jin (approximately 5 kg). That's forty thousand jin (approximately 20,000 kg) a day.

After carrying the load, my legs felt like lead, and my back ached so much I couldn't bend over. On the eleven-mile mountain road home, I had to squat down and rest twice by the roadside halfway through, otherwise I couldn't walk any further.

But he didn't tell anyone about these things.

Cheng Tiezhu glanced at him twice, then suddenly asked:

"You've been to school before, haven't you?"

Gu Yanqiu was taken aback.

"...I've been with him."

"Where to?"

"...Graduated from elementary school."

Cheng Tiezhu nodded.

In Chengjiawan—a rural area in 1964—graduating from higher primary school was considered "educated." Less than half of the able-bodied men in the village could even write their own names.

"How's your handwriting?"

"...It's alright."

"What about your memory?"

Gu Yanqiu looked at Cheng Tiezhu, wondering what he was up to.

Cheng Tiezhu didn't beat around the bush. He pulled a crumpled piece of paper from his cotton-padded coat pocket—it was a mimeographed notice, the words on it cut into several pieces by creases, but still legible—

"Baiyang Commune is recruiting trainees for its winter agricultural machinery repair training course. The training period is three months, and graduates will be assigned to work at the agricultural machinery stations of various brigades. Requirements: age 18 to 35, primary school education or above, good health, and a clean political background."

Gu Yanqiu's gaze fell on the paper.

His finger twitched slightly.

Agricultural machinery repair.

Training courses.

Three months.

Jobs will be assigned after graduation.

He knew all too well what this meant.

This means I no longer have to carry bricks. I no longer have to walk eleven miles of mountain roads. I no longer have to rely on temporary work for five cents a day to support my family.

This means—technology. A permanent job. A government job.

Cheng Tiezhu noticed the change in his eyes.

"I mentioned you to Director Zhao of the commune," Cheng Tiezhu said, his voice low but full of confidence. "There's one spot available in Chengjiawan. I recommended you."

Gu Yanqiu's Adam's apple bobbed.

"...Uncle Tiezhu, I..."

"What?"

"What should we do about Niannian?"

The four words just came out.

It's not about "Can I do it?" or "Are there any problems with the ingredients?"

It's "What to do about Niannian".

Cheng Tiezhu's lips twitched slightly.

He knew it.

"Aunt Wang said the baby can stay with her during the day, and if you're worried about her at night, she can sleep with her." Cheng Tiezhu's voice was calm, as if he were talking about something he had already thought of. "It's only three months. The baby won't go hungry. I'll keep an eye on her."

Gu Yanqiu stood there.

The north wind blew across the threshing floor, swirling the straw on the haystacks in the air before landing on his shoulder.

He kept his head down and didn't say anything.

But Cheng Tiezhu saw it—his eyes were red.

A 26-year-old man, so thin he was just skin and bones, stood in the cold wind of the threshing ground, his eyes reddening.

"Go back and think about it." Cheng Tiezhu patted him on the shoulder. "Registration closes the day after tomorrow."

-

That night, Gu Yanqiu told Niannian about it.

Niannian sat on the kang (a heated brick bed), hugging her knees, and listened to the whole thing.

Her eyes shone brightly in the light of the kerosene lamp.

"dad."

"Um."

"you go."

Gu Yanqiu looked at her.

"Three months—all by yourself..."

"Grandma Wang and I," Niannian said softly, but each word was clear and distinct. "I don't cause trouble. I'm obedient. I can cook sweet potatoes by myself. I can also feed the chickens."

She paused for a moment after she finished speaking.

Then he added a sentence.

"Dad, go and learn a skill. Once you've mastered it, we'll have a better life."

Gu Yanqiu looked at her four-and-a-half-year-old daughter.

He remembered a sentence Song Wanqing had said—written in a letter—

"Yanqiu, don't be afraid of hardship. Niannian won't blame you. As long as you keep moving forward, she will wait for you."

He closed his eyes.

It felt like there was a stone stuck in my throat.

"it is good."

He only said one word.

That word—it lingered between the mud walls of the dilapidated house for a moment, then was absorbed by the warmth of the last embers in the stove.

Niannian leaned closer and rested her head on Gu Yanqiu's arm.

Gu Yanqiu reached out and hugged his daughter.

The two of them sat under the lamp for a long time.

-

However, the news of Cheng Tiezhu recommending Gu Yanqiu spread throughout the entire Chengjiawan in less than half a day.

In the main room, Wang Guifang was drinking brown sugar water when she heard the news.

Her hand paused for a moment—

"Training courses? Learning agricultural machinery repair?"

"Yes." Sun Xiufen's voice was very low. "Tiezhu recommended him. Three months. After that, he'll be a full-time employee—a government-employed worker."

Wang Guifang frowned.

They eat the government's food.

What this meant in 1964—a secure job. A guaranteed income regardless of drought or flood. More than ten times better than toiling in the fields.

If the eldest child were to go—she would wholeheartedly agree.

But it was the second son who went.

The second son she looked down on, a spineless coward who married a woman of unknown background and then brought home a "wild girl".

Wang Guifang's lips twitched downwards.

"Why him?"

"Who knows?" Sun Xiufen replied. "I heard that Uncle Tiezhu has already spoken to Director Zhao of the commune. He's already registered—he's leaving the day after tomorrow."

"What about Yanchun?" Wang Guifang's voice rose.

"Yanchun..." Sun Xiufen's lips twitched. "Yanchun is the militia captain; he can't leave. Besides—you know, when Yanchun was in school..."

They didn't continue.

But the meaning is clear—Gu Yanchun's grades were not as good as Gu Yanqiu's when he was in school.

Far from it.

This is one of the facts that Wang Guifang is most unwilling to admit.

"Hmph." The old lady slammed the bowl on the table, spilling half of the brown sugar water.

"So what if he gets a degree? He doesn't contribute a single penny back to that family—"

She muttered something, but didn't say "you can't go."

Because she also understood that she couldn't stop Cheng Tiezhu from recommending someone.

But in her eyes—that resentment and calculation—two undercurrents surged silently beneath the murky whites of her eyes.

Sun Xiufen stood to the side, a slight smile curving her lips.

Gu Yanqiu will be gone for three months.

I've been away from home for three months.

Thinking of someone.

...Some things are actually easier to handle.

-