Chapter Sixteen: Suffering and Exclusive Interview

As dusk deepened, a dim yellow light glowed softly inside the room, revealing its simple furnishings with clarity.

A long table with drawers stood by, and a nearly spent coal briquette lay quietly in the stove, giving off its last faint warmth. The bedding on the kang platform was equally modest—a shrunken sheet barely covered the oversized cotton padding near the head of the bed, while the foot of the bed exposed the grayish cotton batting, tattered and gnawed by mice, with tufts spilling out. The quilt, however, was thick enough to provide adequate warmth for winter.

“Comrade Cheng... I truly don’t know how to thank you. You helped me so much on the train earlier, and now you’ve gone to such trouble—and expense—for me. Otherwise, I really don’t know how I would have survived this winter,” Shang Cui said, having washed her face and adjusted her hair. She looked up at Cheng Kaiyan, her dark eyes slightly reddened, filled with gratitude and worry.

“It’s nothing,” Cheng Kaiyan replied, shaking his head as he surveyed the woman before him, barely twenty-seven or twenty-eight. Though her skin was roughened and darkened from years of farm labor, her face was delicate and quite beautiful. No wonder a young man from the capital had taken a liking to her and fathered their little girl, now two or three years old.

“I was a soldier in the southern border for four or five years, so we’re practically from the same place. People from there are warm and hospitable; many of my comrades are from the south. Besides, it’s just some food and steamed buns—nothing worth mentioning. But...” Cheng Kaiyan glanced at the little girl who had eaten and fallen asleep again, then hesitated before speaking, “You came looking for your husband, didn’t you? How did that turn out?”

Shang Cui lowered her head toward her daughter and shook it gently.

As expected...

Cheng Kaiyan was not surprised by the answer.

Outside, night grew darker.

The wooden-framed window of the rented room rattled occasionally in the biting north wind, emitting a series of sharp thuds. The window was drafty; cold wisps slipped inside, chilling the body.

Shang Cui’s heart was heavy with anxiety. Rationally, she knew she should seize this chance to borrow money from the only person she knew in the capital to get through this hardship. Yet her education and pride fiercely resisted the idea.

She found herself trapped in an agonizing dilemma.

“Comrade Cheng, I...”

“Shang Cui, I...”

Unexpectedly, they spoke in unison, exchanging glances before falling silent.

Cheng Kaiyan shook his head. “Let me speak first. I’m currently working on a literary piece about sent-down youth. But as you know, I’m not one myself and am unfamiliar with rural life. I’m hoping to base my story on you...”

“Ah?” Shang Cui was stunned.

So Comrade Cheng was a writer? No wonder he seemed so refined and impressive.

He wanted to write about the sent-down youth life? And use me as a model? Was I really qualified?

“Of course it’s no problem. Comrade Cheng, you’ve helped me so much already; a formal interview is nothing,” she said nervously but nodded in agreement. Her words stumbled near the end until Cheng Kaiyan prompted her—this would be a written interview—and the conversation flowed smoothly again.

“That’s good,”

Cheng Kaiyan seemed to read her thoughts and pulled a small stack of bills from his pocket, offering it to her.

“No, no, no! I can’t take this!” Shang Cui said quickly, waving her hands in refusal.

But Cheng Kaiyan insisted, “Don’t refuse so quickly. I never let favors go unpaid.

I need you to tell me everything—your story with that scoundrel who abandoned his wife and child. No concealment.

There may be painful or shameful memories and thoughts along the way. This ten yuan is your compensation. I need the raw, unvarnished truth. Only then can the novel reach its greatest artistic depth.”

Hearing this, Shang Cui firmly believed he was a genuinely good man.

Yet as she looked at the stack of bills—once desperately coveted—her heart wavered.

The times with that man were her happiest days. But after he left her and their daughter, that sweetness had long turned into a bitterness more acrid than wormwood.

Though reluctant to revisit the past with her sent-down husband... she had a child to consider.

“Alright, I agree. But consider this a loan,” Shang Cui said, her eyes suddenly resolute. She looked deeply into the young man’s eyes and took the ten yuan with both hands, her expression almost reverent.

“I’ll be off now. Don’t let the child go hungry any longer.”

With his success concealed beneath quiet humility, Cheng Kaiyan turned to leave. Before closing the door, he left her with a final word:

“I’ll bring paper and pen tomorrow. Be prepared.”