Chapter 9
The poem “Night Rain Sent North” — anyone who went to middle school would know it, maybe even recite it.
But this was the 1960s, when education wasn’t widespread. Some people around Xia Shao’s age couldn’t even read, let alone know ancient poetry.
Chen Jibei turned his head slightly, surprised. “You know it?”
“A little,” Xia Shao replied.
That reaction confirmed she wasn’t wrong — and somehow made everything feel even more unreal.
There were plenty of Chinese characters pronounced “jibei,” but in the original novel, there was only one man called Chen Jibei.
He was a legendary figure in the story — the biggest benefactor in the male lead Lu Zetao’s life.
When the protagonist met him, he was just a small-time self-employed businessman, while Chen Jibei had already built an empire from scratch — tens of thousands of employees, multiple factories, and several foreign trade channels — the wealthiest, most admired man in the region.
He had first noticed the protagonist only because the latter’s name was similar to his cousin’s.
At that time, he was already past forty, yet still carried himself with extraordinary grace and presence. Only when his cousin was mentioned did his expression grow subtly complicated.
Later, as the two grew close, the protagonist once asked him about that cousin. After a pause, Chen Jibei had simply said he hadn’t seen him in many years.
Lu Zetao… Lu Zetong…
At first, Xia Shao hadn’t connected the two. It seemed too coincidental. Besides, rumor had it that this business tycoon was a workaholic who had never married.
Some said he had married young but later divorced and cut all ties. Others claimed he’d been heartbroken — that the woman he loved had married another man. Otherwise, how could someone so capable, wealthy, and good-looking have remained single all his life?
People loved to gossip about powerful men, but in the book, he had always been solitary — nurturing the protagonist purely out of admiration and treating him like a nephew.
So how could such a man end up arranged to marry her? And actually go through with it?
And in the book, the man was always described as refined, calm, and charming. Was he really this sharp and cold when he was young?
Sitting on the bench in the waiting area, Xia Shao still couldn’t believe it. “Um… you really plan to marry me?”
“We’re already at the registry. You want to back out now?”
Up close, his side profile was even more defined — sharp brows, deep eyes, and a small mole hidden in the arch of his eyebrow.
That mole had been mentioned in the book too — something about “a pearl hidden in the brow, symbol of great fortune.”
She quickly looked away. “No, no. It’s just… it’s my first time getting married. I’m nervous. Maybe I’ll be calmer after a couple more.”
“A couple more?”
“I mean— I’m just nervous, okay? Don’t talk. Let me breathe.” Xia Shao almost bit her tongue. The man’s gaze on her felt as though he was reassessing everything about her.
Truthfully, she was terrified he’d change his mind.
Who knew — maybe the “world’s will” would intervene and force him back into being single, like some sort of destiny correction.
But nothing happened. They showed their introduction letters, filled out the paperwork, and signed. No objections, no last-minute interruptions.
The clerk did, however, notice Xia Shao’s distracted expression and hesitated. “Comrade, are you doing this of your own free will?”
“Yes, voluntary! Completely voluntary on both sides!” Xia Shao blurted, ducking her head to sign.
The clerk stamped the papers — thunk, thunk — and just like that, a marriage certificate was born.
In those days, marriage certificates weren’t little red booklets but a single colored sheet with decorative patterns, like an award certificate. Seeing their two names side by side under a bright red seal, Xia Shao finally felt the reality sink in.
Who cared why he stayed single in the novel? Now that the certificate was in hand, they were legally husband and wife — living under one roof, sharing daily life.
And if he was destined to become a workaholic tycoon someday? So what. She’d been a corporate drone long enough to respect anyone who worked themselves to death for love of the job.
A rich husband who never came home? Honestly, where else could you find such a deal?
By the time they left, the quarreling couple from before had gone. With the certificate tucked safely away, they got back in the car and went house-hunting.
Unfortunately, none of the places impressed them — too old, too far, or both. One was so dilapidated it still had paper windows instead of glass, and no running water — tenants had to fetch it from the neighborhood well. Yet the landlord wanted more than four yuan a month!
“I’ll ask at my work unit tomorrow,” said Chen Jibei, dropping Xia Shao off at the guesthouse. “Maybe there’s a vacant state apartment.”
“That works,” she said. “I was planning to get some clothes made tomorrow anyway. We’ll talk after you get off work.”
He didn’t reply, only waited until she entered the guesthouse before turning the car around.
The round-faced receptionist at the front desk, watching through the glass, asked curiously, “That the man you came to marry?”
Xia Shao and her younger brother had been staying there for days, long enough to be familiar with the staff.
She didn’t confirm or deny, just smiled.
The receptionist’s expression turned a bit odd, like she wanted to say something but wasn’t sure she should.
“What is it?” Xia Shao paused.
“Nothing,” the woman hedged. “It’s just… my brother-in-law lives near his cousin’s house. He’s seen that man a few times.”
Her tone, however, didn’t sound like it was just a few times. But since she clearly didn’t want to elaborate, Xia Shao let it go.
Instead, she nodded toward the clothes the woman was mending. “That’s a nice piece.”
“Oh, this? Made it for New Year’s. Button came loose.” The woman snipped off the thread ends, held the garment up to admire it, then folded it neatly — clearly fond of it.
“Where’d you have it made?” Xia Shao asked casually. “I’m getting married soon, want a proper outfit.”
“You definitely should,” the woman said, smiling. “I had this done by Xiao Sun — she’s behind the grain store. You’ve seen her husband, too — tall, dark-skinned policeman, often comes by to check rooms.”
Afraid Xia Shao might think they were too young, she added, “Xiao Sun’s father used to be a famous tailor here in Jiangcheng. His eyesight’s bad now, so she took over. I wasn’t sure at first, but her father vouched for her. Turns out, she’s got real skill — and modern taste.”
Hearing it was a family craft, Xia Shao felt reassured. “I’ll go there tomorrow then.”
She thanked the woman and pulled two eggs from her yellow canvas bag. “I just bought these this afternoon. My brother and I can’t eat them all — take them home for your kid.”
She’d picked up ten eggs earlier at a farmers’ stall while house-hunting — rare treats she planned to mix into breakfast.
The Li family, meanwhile, wasn’t nearly so generous. Judging by how they’d handled their son’s previous marriage talks, they weren’t the type to let anyone get the better of them.
Xia Shao had managed to corner them into agreeing to the match, but once the marriage was settled — and after she’d played them a bit — their attitude flipped. They hadn’t even brought lunch that day, probably fuming in silence.
Good thing Lu Zetong had sent over plenty of biscuits — three full jin of the finest walnut cookies.
Buttery and rich, soft enough to melt on the tongue — filling enough to eat dry or soaked in water. Between those and the eggs, they’d get by fine until she rented a place and could cook.
At ten cents apiece, eggs cost more than a pound of cornmeal. Not everyone could afford them.
The round-faced receptionist tried to refuse, but Xia Shao had already left them behind and headed upstairs. The woman hurried after her. “Tell you what — I’ll take you there tomorrow. You just got here, you’ll never find it on your own.”
The front desk worked in shifts, so the next morning, when the other clerk arrived, the round-faced woman — who introduced herself as Sister Guan — clocked out and took Xia Shao shopping.
“Bought your fabric yet?” she asked.
“Not yet.”
So Sister Guan brought her to the department store.
Jiangcheng had six in total, the largest spanning three floors — selling everything from towels and soap to bicycles, sewing machines, and radios. Stock was impressive for the era, though most goods required ration coupons.
They went to the nearest Fourth Department Store. It was still early, so few customers were around. The fabric counter clerk was lazily trimming her nails, barely glancing up. “Plain weave, forty-seven cents a foot. Twill, fifty-six. Corduroy, one yuan three.”
“Sister Xiufang, it’s me,” Guan called out.
The clerk finally looked up. “Ah, Sister Guan! Buying fabric for someone?”
“Yeah. My friend here, Xiao Xia — getting married, needs a couple outfits.”
“Then she’ll want something good.” Xiufang pulled a few bolts from the bottom shelf. “New stock, tough and durable.”
Saleswomen often judged by face and mood — the good stuff rarely sat out front.
Those two eggs yesterday were definitely well spent; even without touching, Xia Shao could tell this batch was superior.
“These’ll do nicely,” Sister Guan said confidently. “If Xiufang doesn’t have it, you won’t find better anywhere else.”
Xia Shao examined them. The ones recommended were floral prints — fine for dresses, but too bright for the season.
In the end, she chose a military-green twill — sturdier than plain weave but not as soft as corduroy.
“Making military uniforms?”
It wasn’t an odd question — many people liked wearing army-style clothes for weddings back then.
Xia Shao didn’t deny it and turned to her brother. “Which color do you like?”
Nearby, a glass jar full of colorful marbles caught a few boys’ hungry gazes. They had nothing but patched clothes and empty pockets.
Summer Wan-hui (her brother) was staring too and froze when she asked. “Me?”
“Yeah. I’ll make you a set, too.”
“No need.” He shook his head quickly. “Those are for your wedding. Why would I need new clothes?”
“You plan to attend in that?” she asked.
Her clothes, though worn, were tidy. His, patched over and over, looked miserable. Two mismatched siblings wouldn’t make a good impression.
She held the cloth up against him. “This looks good. Doesn’t show dirt.”
Decision made. “Eight feet of this, please.”
He was taller than her — seven wouldn’t be enough. Fortunately, Chen Jibei had given her fifteen feet of coupons — plenty for two sets.
As the clerk measured and snipped with her large shears, Wan-hui swallowed his protests.
The color suited him fine, but on her — especially for a wedding — it was far too drab.
And it was expensive — eight feet of cloth, when yearly ration supply was barely that much.
Then, as if remembering something, he dug into the hidden pocket of his jacket. “Oh! The dowry trunk — I forgot. Before I left, Mom gave me some tickets. Said she’d saved them for years, for when you got married.”
In their hometown, it was customary for a mother to prepare a dowry for her daughter, but with resources so scarce and the family struggling, Xia Shao had assumed nothing had been set aside.
Yet here were the tickets — cloth coupons, cotton coupons — saved over years.
She remembered the travel money her mother had given too — tiny bills bundled with a rubber band.
Her eldest brother, Xia Wanguang, had been furious when he saw. “You’ve got money and didn’t give it to me?” he’d shouted. Their mother only cried, refusing to explain or stop Xia Shao from leaving for the Northeast.
She’d always been a traditional woman — hardworking, frugal, obedient — but weak. When her husband was alive, she had a backbone. After he passed, reliant on her son for work points and food, she lost all courage. Even raising her voice became impossible.
Sending Xia Shao north was the only act of agency she’d had left as a mother.
Maybe it was guilt — knowing she couldn’t protect her daughter — that made her secretly pass the coupons to Wan-hui.
Xia Shao’s feelings toward her were complicated.
Part of her resented her weakness. Yet another part understood — in that era, a rural woman with no job, no income, no rights… what could she use to protect a daughter?
That’s why Xia Shao had never planned to stay in the countryside. She had to find work.
She pushed the coupons back to her brother. “Keep them. Give them to Mom. Don’t let big brother know.”
But then she hesitated, frowning. “No — I’ll just buy fabric now. Tell him the tickets were mine.”
With someone as selfish as Xia Wanguang, if he found out their mother had hidden coupons, she wouldn’t have a scrap left.
So Xia Shao used them all — on floral cloth for women’s clothes. Once it was cut, she thought grimly, let’s see if he dares wear that out in public.
