Chapter 34: You Truly Are Stingy

The security guard at the tax office was actually frequently interviewed. For all sorts of official news from the tax system, reporters from the television station across the street would occasionally come over, striking poses for a quick segment. Maybe the first time, there was some curiosity and excitement about being on city TV. But when it aired, it was just a fleeting moment, and no one ever cared about these politically assigned news pieces. Even within the tax bureau compound itself, no one paid any attention; they’d just send a security guard to deal with it perfunctorily, and the TV station only needed to fulfill its quota, so anyone would do.

Later, all kinds of random freelance media started popping up, with someone holding up a phone for some street interview about the elementary school next door or how the tax bureau was handling things. This completely stripped away any mystique or glamour reporters might have once had in Weidong’s mind. And with the growing public opinion that journalism as a profession was garbage, he cared even less. The only reason he agreed at all was because the other party spoke the local dialect and came from the modest Sunshine Daily, which didn’t sound so self-important.

In forty years, many people would have forgotten what the Sunshine Daily once meant. Weidong truly had no idea it was a top-tier central newspaper; even though the tax bureau subscribed to a stack of them, who actually read them? Each central newspaper had its own affiliations, and their status shifted from time to time. This particular paper had only last year been confirmed as being directly overseen and run by the Party, making it the Party’s mouthpiece for the time being.

Such major newspapers had bureaus all over the country, and aside from routine reporting, they played a crucial role in journalistic oversight. Later media would abandon this responsibility, but in the 1980s, they still took it very seriously. Much of the real information from the grassroots level came from these news units reporting upwards. So, in recruiting and selecting reporters, the principle was often to deliberately choose locals who could genuinely connect with the area.

Yu Songhai, for example, was originally from a nearby county in Shangzhou, joined the army as an arts soldier, then became a cadre in the Snow Region before returning to the provincial capital’s bureau as a reporter. Naturally, he was in charge of news from this area. His background might have lacked pedigree, but there was great potential for advancement. Without connections, he needed hard achievements to prove himself.

He came to Wan Shang Trading Company because a local informant mentioned it was a site of reform and collision—a good story, he thought. He hadn’t expected to encounter such a young man. Eagerly, he said, “Can I take a photo of you?”

Weidong firmly refused, even checking whether the man had a recorder: “Just talking to you like this is risky enough for me. Why would I wade into these muddy waters when I could just keep my head down and sell cameras or something else? In backward areas like this, they’re just waiting for some advanced role model to come and lecture them. Why make things hard for myself?”

His reasoning made Yu Songhai give him another long look, trying to memorize every detail of his face not covered by the mask: “You have a chivalrous spirit, but also a calm and pragmatic sense of safety. Truly impressive. Here’s my card—whatever happens, at any time, you can contact me. I believe we’ll have plenty of contact in the future. Also, once the camera situation is settled after the New Year, do let me know. Sunshine Daily can help promote and introduce new products, support reform models, you know.”

Weidong was struck—wait, isn’t that basically advertising? That could work: “Alright, it’s agreed then. Once the product is ready, I’ll definitely get in touch. But please, don’t put what I’ve said in the spotlight; we’d rather just quietly get things done.”

Yu Songhai smiled, thinking to himself that this was no longer up to Weidong, but habitually agreed out loud before saying goodbye and leaving. Weidong, ever cautious, insisted on escorting him all the way to the dock, worried the man might double back and report him.

Turning back from the dock, he saw from a distance Dong Xueying standing on the stone steps with her child in her arms, looking for all the world like a faithful wife awaiting her husband’s return. He avoided the riverside steps, instead heading to the freight yard to find a master for advice on his first long-distance drive. The master didn’t ask whose truck he’d hitched a ride with, but kindly gave him pointers over dinner and drinks. The man hadn’t driven many trips of several hundred kilometers himself, but had plenty of experience on mountain roads, and was a real expert when it came to breakdowns.

Weidong spent the evening practicing driving, had a steaming hot stew with the group by the river at dusk, then caught a ride back to the transport company. He enjoyed tea and sunflower seeds with everyone until eight or nine before finally heading home, feeling that life wasn’t so bad after all.

Returning home in glory was, of course, satisfying, but with Erfeng still lurking at the family house, nothing good would come of going back now. Old You was still not released, so for the time being, it was better to stay in the city, get familiar with the job and the trucks, and enjoy this carefree life—a treasure beyond price. He’d take it easy for ten days or so, then fetch his parents home for the New Year. After the holiday, he’d think about getting busy again.

He was, after all, someone who took life as it came.

But when he got home, he was surprised to see Dong Xueying sitting at the door with her child in her arms, on such a cold night! When she stood up and swayed, clearly half-frozen, he hurried over to take the child from her, allowing the young woman to almost stumble into the wall with a yelp, rubbing her elbow in pain: “You, you, you’re finally back.”

Weidong, holding what felt like an ice block, couldn’t help but get angry: “Did you think about the child at all, doing something like this?!”

Dong Xueying fell silent for a moment before speaking softly: “They said that as long as I have the child with me, I won’t be arrested. That’s how I got a chance to submit the paperwork in Pingjing.”

Weidong almost raised his hand to slap her, but held back with difficulty. Since killing that butcher, he’d noticed a growing violence in himself; even talking to those two little thieves, he’d slapped them in a fit of anger. That had never happened in the past forty years.

So, forcing himself to stay calm, his voice trembled with anger: “I told you not to get involved—and you bring the child! He’s completely innocent!”

But Dong Xueying, chin jutting stubbornly, retorted, “They said what we’re doing now is for the child to have a better life in the future!”

“Nonsense!” Weidong was rarely so furious, but couldn’t articulate his reasoning: “You, you—this is a battle, and battles are for men. You can’t bring a child onto the battlefield! That’s just brainwashing, and you believe it! You’re such a fool, a total fool!”

Actually, in eastern Sichuan, the term “fool” wasn’t even in use in the eighties, so Dong Xueying wasn’t insulted—just puzzled: “What’s brainwashing?”

“Never mind what it is. Just get your own life in order. If even the law is lenient toward mothers with children, at least there’s some basic rule of law and humanity left. But if you exploit that bottom line, you’ll find others won’t respect any rules at all!”

Weidong, nearly incoherent with anger, blurted out, “This child suffers just by being with you—he must have the worst luck in the world to end up with a mother like you!”

His raised voice startled the child awake, who immediately began to wail. Weidong hurriedly lowered his voice, gently rocking the child: “There, there, grandpa’s here…”

He was practiced at this; the security office often had grandparents with children, and to be honest, he’d helped take care of Shi Linyan’s son plenty of times. That old shrew truly treated him like a servant. As an old bachelor, he enjoyed watching the pure innocence of children, as though he could let his soul sink into those dark eyes—a world far more charming than the annoying schoolchildren outside.

Dong Xueying watched him hold the child, and all the strength she’d built up collapsed in an instant. Tears she hadn’t shed during months of hardship now fell uncontrollably, streaming down her face.

If Weidong had been a little more worldly, a simple gesture of reassurance would have pierced right to her heart—but he just looked up, still annoyed: “Crying, crying, what’s the use? With the way you raise this child, you’ll have plenty more to cry about in the future. You’ll end up counting the money for the people who sell you!”

Dong Xueying simply burst into sobs.

The child, who’d been crying as well, was suddenly outdone, staring wide-eyed at his young mother and falling silent.

Weidong was delighted: “See? Cry louder if you can. Look, isn’t this a little monster? Don’t try to compete with her cries… It’s cold—let’s go, I’ll walk you home. It’s too late to be out like this. Haven’t you learned from last time?”

He walked off with the child, not even waiting. Was this really an escort?

The young woman was left there, wailing for a while before she finally caught up, sniffling as people peered out their windows and doors. Dong Xueying quickened her pace, staying close.

Thus, the damp footsteps echoed along the pitch-black, dim old stone street, with not even a trace of sobbing left.

Suddenly, Weidong stopped in front of the Dong family’s door, and the young woman, head down, bumped into his back, yelping and clutching her head.

He frowned: “Listen to me—don’t get involved in this anymore. We’re just ordinary people. Old You is meant for great things, but for us, it’s enough just to work and collect our wages. Don’t go being his vanguard or his sacrificial pawn—you don’t even know what death means.”

Dong Xueying’s tone was no longer quite so self-sacrificing: “But I went to the Individual Economy Office at the State Administration for Industry and Commerce, to the Central Discipline Inspection Commission, to the Ministry of Police, to the State Council, to several major newspapers to submit materials—they all said they’d supervise and forward the case to the relevant authorities to ensure it’s handled and corrected.”

Holding the child, Weidong’s tone softened a little: “Those are just formalities. What right do they have to intervene here, with so many layers in between? They can sympathize with you, but they’re not going to risk their own careers or lives to reach down and take responsibility. In cases like this… it’s like watching ants fight—who’s right or wrong isn’t the point, the point is who needs to be right at this moment. The rest just get crushed. If the policy changes direction, those that were right before can be crushed too. Do you understand?”

Her tear-streaked face glistened in the dim light as she looked up at the young man, her eyes shining with tears and confusion. She bit her lip softly: “I… I don’t have money for food. I spent all my savings in Pingjing, and now my accounts are frozen—I can’t even get reimbursed.”

Weidong sighed and reached for his money: “This is what happens when you get mixed up with them. They’ve all got enough to eat and nothing to lose. Even if you don’t think of yourself, you should think of the child…”

But the way he fished for his money was hardly elegant, reaching deep behind his waistband, over his backside and down his thigh, finally pinching a few notes to hand over.

Dong Xueying, even with tears on her face, couldn’t help but peer at him curiously—just where exactly had he pulled that money from?