Chapter 37: Shouldering the Storm Alone

The citrus business was booming. Country oranges priced at three cents a pound were purchased directly by Weidong, who “stood in” for the cannery to pay upfront. The Dongfeng trucks, each with a five-ton capacity, could carry ten thousand pounds—just three hundred yuan for a full load! The farmers from the commune brigades didn’t cut corners; instead, they carefully selected the best fruit and loaded it themselves. The porters brought along became overseers, responsible for weighing, loading, and quality inspection. Seven trucks lined up in grand procession, half parked beside roadside orchards, where elders, children, and young wives all pitched in to pick and deliver the oranges straight onto the trucks.

That made seventy thousand pounds. Even those who could imagine such a business would struggle to produce over two thousand yuan in advance payment. Yu Qili and his peers operated by securing bank loans; otherwise, both sides would have to meet in person, or worse, bully the farmers into waiting for payment after delivery.

Weidong, meanwhile, thought to himself: a single titanium ingot run nets him twenty times this amount, so even if there’s any mishap, he could easily bear it—at worst, he’d haul the goods to Jiangzhou and sell them there! With “strong” capital, he could absorb any business risk, making his approach direct and bold. Thus, every truck was paid in cash as soon as it was loaded, and everywhere was filled with cheerful voices. Young wives even came by to serve tea and water.

Weidong handed out mountain city cigarettes to every driver, and the commune brigade leaders gave him packs in return. Everyone rumbled off back to the suburban cannery. Dong Xueying waited at the factory gate, cradling her child, urging them to hurry and prepare for overnight delivery and payment.

The contract stipulated seven cents a pound. The finance office had already prepared 4,900 yuan in cash, and Dong Xueying issued receipts from her trading firm—yet all the money was entrusted to Weidong. He, in turn, promptly gave each driver thirty yuan and each porter ten yuan, delighting them all! That was ten days’ wages for them! Not to mention the dock work was much harder.

There were still 180 yuan to be handed over to the transport company, which would count towards their work credits. They’d work again tomorrow, aiming to run two routes to two townships!

Enthusiasm for work had never been so high! Dong Xueying sat with her child on the double seat covered with bedding, unable to contain her joy, stomping her feet: “Amazing! Everyone listens to your direction—before, it was so hard to find transport.”

Weidong, having earned a tearful profit of over 2,300 yuan, wondered aloud: “Why doesn’t the cannery collect directly?”

Dong Xueying had to ponder: “Where would they collect? The buyers are always traveling, which costs money. The factory only has one truck, and the transport company can’t dispatch more. Orders go through the commerce bureau, then queued at the transport company. Old Yu says their own collection costs are high, and quality is poor.”

Weidong wasn’t stingy: “The money’s in your toolbox up front. Take a thousand—let’s treat this as our partnership.”

It was further proof how profitable it was to ride on the coattails of the “big shots”! Dong Xueying was startled, quickly waving her hands: “I get a salary—eighty yuan from the trading firm, that’s already high!”

Weidong didn’t insist: “Whether the thousand goes to you or the company, it’s your call. You’ve borne the risks these months, endured hardship—it should count as money. Don’t let yourself be tricked into working like a bull for the capitalists.”

The saleswoman was even more startled, staring at him: “Who? Old Yu? He’s not a capitalist. This is agricultural-industrial cooperation to solve the people’s problems!”

Clearly, she’d memorized the textbook well, but the old security guard who’d worked at the tax bureau wasn’t fooled: “Hahaha, no matter how he disguises it, the fact remains that the legal representative is a capitalist. Have you eaten? I’m hungry.”

Mainly, he’d spotted an open restaurant by the roadside.

Dong Xueying was frugal: “I’ve cooked, it's warming on the stove—there’s cured meat, given to me by Auntie last time.”

Fine, they drove to park at the far end of the old street, close to the dock to avoid Madam Shi.

Weidong explained this to himself.

Entering the dimly lit old house that evening, he saw the little wife busy at the stove. Taking the child from her, Weidong suddenly realized this was the scene he’d dreamed of countless times. Second only to visions of playing basketball at the village entrance—it was simply having a home.

A wife, a child, and a warm stove.

He was probably among the first generation of “left-behind children”—his parents went out to work, leaving him to be raised by elders, and after an accident, he hid in the tax bureau compound, unable to face the hardships his parents endured.

He’d been lonely for sixty years.

Only now did he realize how much he longed for such warmth.

He looked down at the wide-eyed, black-eyed child and finally asked, “Is it hard for you, raising the child like this?”

Dong Xueying, already bringing the food over, gave a bitter smile: “Of course it’s hard, but as long as I see Xiaodie, any hardship is worth it.”

Only then did Weidong notice: “A daughter?”

Dong Xueying served him cured meat: “Mm, eight months old. I hope she studies well, gets into university, becomes a learned person with prospects, like Teacher Shi.”

Weidong snorted: “She has no prospects—her family background is all that counts. Even if she’s useless at school, she’ll come back to teach, doesn’t know any housework, just a layabout!”

Dong Xueying glanced at him, then looked away: “You’re already that familiar?”

Weidong laughed: “No need to be familiar. Look at her—hands never touch the spring water, and the way she dresses in the morning, you can tell she doesn’t do chores.”

Dong Xueying served another dish: “Is she… courting you?”

Weidong didn’t hide it: “She's got wild ideas. You should’ve seen her mother scolding me for ‘muddy feet’ trying to climb into their family—she’s cursed me twice, and I hold a grudge.”

The young wife was so shocked her chopsticks paused at her lips: “How could that be?”

Weidong understood: “I’m a village kid—they naturally look down on me. No proper job, so they look down even more. They see their family as noble—how could their noble blood be tainted by me? Just thinking about it makes me sick. So, at the root, it’s city folk looking down on us rural people.”

The city native immediately insisted: “No! I never have!”

He, blunt as ever: “You’re not a cadre, not powerful, not prestigious. If you were rich, and your daughter wanted to marry a rural boy, what would you think?”

Dong Xueying was instantly stumped.

But she only felt sympathy and tried to comfort him: “Don’t care about their opinions. You’re already amazing—can drive, know foreign languages. Hehe, I heard her urging you to study languages in the morning.”

Weidong felt both words sounded odd.

All in all, they ate together with great warmth. He tried to wash the dishes but was rebuffed, so he sat holding the child in the back, chatting, while Dong Xueying brewed tea for him and went back to her chores.

She mentioned she’d accompany him tomorrow to buy oranges: “It’s been ages since I went out for leisure—I'll take Xiaodie for fresh air. Once my sister returns the day after tomorrow, I can relax…”

She turned to see the baby already asleep on his chest, as Weidong gently wrapped her in swaddling cloth.

She was a bit spellbound.

When Weidong looked up and met her gaze, he instinctively hurried to leave, handing the child back and saying, “I need to move some things to Old He’s place. You should sleep early—we’re heading out early tomorrow.”

Dong Xueying nodded in a rush: “Don’t move those things yet, wait until New Year. Old Yu says there might be changes.”

Weidong agreed.

That night, sleep eluded him.

He tossed and turned for half the night before drifting off.

The next morning, he stepped out to find Dong Xueying, yawning, holding the baby, and a little embarrassed: “I was excited about the outing and couldn’t sleep.”

She gestured to her basket: “I’ve packed breakfast and snacks.”

Weidong glanced over, instinctively concerned: “The baby’s food…” but caught himself, realizing she’d have her own.

Dong Xueying blushed, climbed into the car, and changed the subject: “Why do you have a tape recorder in your car?”

Weidong was immediately proud: “You don’t know? All decent cars have audio. I need to buy some batteries.”

So off they went again, the cab filled with a touch of romance.

The saleswoman, adept at the tape recorder, excitedly pressed play: “Ah, ‘Homesickness’! I’ve heard this song—it’s about here… Yesterday is gone, partings are hard, how can I forget your deep affection…”

They all sang along, like little yellow warblers.

Weidong’s face remained impassive, but his fingers secretly tapped the steering wheel in time.

It was a joy he’d never experienced.

His heart tingled, and his whole body felt lazy, as if floating on clouds.

The baby opened her eyes, curious about everything.

Of course, she fussed when it was time for breakfast.

In eastern Sichuan, young wives feeding babies rarely bothered to cover up, making Weidong blush, treading the pedal gingerly.

Dong Xueying noticed and laughed, her laughter like blossoms swaying.

The atmosphere was delightful.

The other trucks sped into the countryside, stiff-backed and sore, eager to smoke, puzzled why Weidong didn’t get out.

His mentor winked: “The young wife is in his cab!”

The others quickly agreed, saying they’d go handle affairs.

Men, in this regard, were always united.

Weidong, somewhat bewildered, only realized they’d arrived after braking.

In the cab, the famous “Shepherd’s Song” from “Shaolin Temple” played:

“…In the woods, the brook babbles,
On the slopes, grass grows green,
Wild fruits are fragrant, mountain flowers bloom,
Dogs leap, sheep run…”

It seemed the entire nation yearned for such beauty.

He was entranced.

But turning to look at Dong Xueying, he didn’t know what to say.

All sorts of emotions tangled in his throat, something heavy weighed on his heart, pressing it so he couldn’t speak.

The young wife bit her lip and reminded him: “Everyone’s waiting for you.”

Weidong snapped out of it, leapt up, grabbed a pack of cigarettes, and jumped down.

The young, plump mother left behind quietly withdrew her gaze, held her child, and, with a helpless pout, sighed.

But looking at her innocent daughter’s eyes, she couldn’t help but smile.

She gently wiped away a glistening drop from the corner of her eye and softly sang along with the tape:

“…The yellow flower is still young,
Waist strong, spirit bold,
Often trains, works hard,
Plows fields, tends sheep, fights wolves,
Shoulders the wind and rain,
Shoulders it all…”