Chapter Thirty-Two: Suffering Is Not Worthy of Praise

"Aunt Yao, let me help you..."

"Oh my! Little Cheng, you are a guest... How could I let you do that?"

"Aunt Yao, what are you saying? I just can't bear to see you working all by yourself..."

"What a polite child..."

In the kitchen, Cheng Kaiyan tied on an apron and stepped in to help. While washing, chopping, and passing vegetables, he kept up a steady stream of conversation with Aunt Yao Cheng. Being handsome, well-educated, a gifted writer, and possessing a sweet, silver tongue, he had Aunt Yao beaming and smiling from ear to ear in no time.

"Kaiyan, you're only twenty, so young! Where do you work?"

"I'm a teaching assistant at Beijing Normal University."

"Oh my, working at a university? That's a wonderful job. With your qualifications, do you have a partner yet? How about I introduce you to a few people? Let me tell you, my younger sister has a daughter who is absolutely beautiful—a true lady from the south, currently studying in Nanjing..."

Aunt Yao was from Jiangsu, and because she felt such a rapport with Cheng Kaiyan, she would occasionally pepper her speech with the soft, melodic tones of the Wu dialect. Within half an hour, working in tandem, they had a meal of four dishes and one soup ready.

Because Cheng Kaiyan had done so much, Yao Cheng ushered him to the dining table and wouldn't hear of him serving the dishes or dishing out the rice.

Once the meal was ready, Ye Shengtao and Ye Zhicheng finally emerged from the study, carrying a thick stack of manuscript paper to the dining room. Cheng Kaiyan noticed immediately that Ye Zhicheng kept glancing at him; for a man in his fifties, he looked as resentful and aggrieved as a neglected young bride.

"Little Cheng, while your story is written beautifully, isn't the ending just too tragic? Such a wonderful girl—why did you have to kill off Xiaofang?" Ye Zhicheng said, wiping moisture from the corners of his eyes.

Yes, it wasn't just the old master who was weeping; Ye Zhicheng had been moved to tears as well. Every time he closed his eyes, he could see the scene of Xiaofang lying on her sickbed, saying her final goodbyes to her daughter, Xiaocao. This rural girl had touched the depths of his soul. She was warm and generous, brave enough to pursue love. She was kind and resilient, searching for herbs in the deep mountains of the southern border alongside Song Jingming despite her illness, and resolutely shouldering the burdens of life's hardships. Even in her final moments, she never spoke a word against Song Jingming. She only blamed herself for not being able to make him stay, because she didn't want her daughter to live a life filled with hatred—she only wanted little Xiaocao to live well. Xiaofang, who had never told a lie in her life, uttered one final, benevolent lie on her deathbed...

Such a girl—how could one not feel for her, how could one not love her, how could one not weep for her?

"It wasn't that I forced her to die; it was that she was always destined to leave... 'Fangcao' refers to fragrant herbs, but they are still grass. With winter approaching, how could she defy the laws of nature?" Cheng Kaiyan looked at the visibly distressed Ye Zhicheng with a sense of sentiment.

Indeed, presenting something beautiful only to destroy it mercilessly is the most moving way to touch a human heart.

"But you don't have to make it a total tragedy! Xiaofang is too pitiful! Her husband left, her father died, and the villagers she once helped treated her with cold indifference... And then she died on the very eve of arriving in the capital. Wasn't all that suffering in vain?" Ye Zhicheng exclaimed passionately.

"Zhicheng!" Yao Cheng, standing nearby, cast a sidelong glance, surprised. In decades of marriage, she had never seen her gentle, refined husband lose his composure like this.

"Hardship is not a prerequisite for happiness, nor is it worth glorifying. Enduring suffering does not lead to happiness," Cheng Kaiyan said calmly, taking a bite of food. In truth, he had projected a part of himself into the character of Xiaocao while writing.

The others froze, turning their gazes toward Cheng Kaiyan in unison. The dining room fell suddenly silent—so quiet that one could hear everyone’s breathing.

"Indeed. Hardship does not bring happiness, nor is it worth glorifying. That is a wonderful sentiment, and it speaks to my very heart. Kaiyan has such profound intellectual depth—a rarity among young people. It was the same with that piece, *Submarine at Night*," Ye Shengtao said, looking deeply at Cheng Kaiyan with a sigh. He felt more and more that this young man must have had extraordinary life experiences to write such works.

"You are too kind, Elder Ye," Cheng Kaiyan smiled.

The elder and Ye Zhicheng were moved to tears, but human joys and sorrows are not always shared; he, however, felt only gratification.

"Hmm... *Fangcao*, *fangcao*... it comes from the *Li Sao*: 'How the fragrant herbs of yesterday have now become this common mugwort.' It refers to the virtuous and the loyal, those who possess noble character..." Ye Zhicheng calmed down, analyzing the details piece by piece.

Xiaofang and Xiaocao were exactly such people. The deeper he thought about it, the more Ye Zhicheng felt his father was right: this work had the potential to be a classic.

After lunch, Ye Shengtao took Cheng Kaiyan to his study. They sat at the tea table again, and Ye Shengtao handed him a sheet of grid paper covered in handwriting.

"Kaiyan, I have no complaints about the narrative of your story. From the early stages, where Song Jingming—a young master from a scholarly Beijing family—starts off drifting through life, wallowing in degradation, and even approaching the village secretary's daughter just to secure better treatment... to his later development, burying himself in hard work for the construction of Big Fish Village, uniting everyone to investigate the epidemic, and growing into an outstanding educated youth, only to face a painful inner dilemma when the only opportunity to return to the city arises—the conflict between reality and ideals amplifies the tension of the character.

"It vividly displays the passionate youth of the educated youth sent to the countryside in that era. It presents a theme completely different from the critical works like *Scar*, *The Form Master*, or *The Window*. In terms of both literary quality and artistry, your story is far superior. However, your writing is still a bit green; some parts lack clarity. Do not settle for anything less than your best. For the customs of the southern border and the life of the educated youth, you should visit the library more often to ensure it is authentic and grounded."

Cheng Kaiyan nodded solemnly and took the paper to study it carefully. These were the flaws and areas for correction that Ye Shengtao had noted after his repeated reviews. There were over sixty points in total, ranging from how to flesh out character portrayals and structural gaps, to the most crucial aspect: ensuring the ideological themes remained within acceptable bounds. After all, Cheng Kaiyan was a modern man from forty years in the future; it was inevitable that some of his thoughts would differ from those of the current era.

"I am truly indebted to you for being so detailed. I will certainly live up to your efforts, Elder Ye."

"It is nothing." A smile touched Ye Shengtao's clouded eyes. This child was quite good; perhaps taking on a student wouldn't be such a bad idea...

Back home, Cheng Kaiyan continued to write, reflecting on how to make the plot fuller and the character tension sharper. Although Elder Ye had given suggestions, it didn't mean he had to follow them blindly; Cheng Kaiyan had his own ideas.

In the days that followed, Cheng Kaiyan went to work as usual, teaching classes and grading assignments. After his duties, he would stay in the office to write, occasionally heading to the library to look up references. With his pen seemingly guided by a divine hand, he not only quickly corrected the flaws but also finished the second volume and began the third.

During this time, Cheng Kaiyan received his first salary since his rebirth: ten yuan, along with a catty of pork, five catties of cornmeal, and various coupons for vinegar, soy sauce, and cloth.

One morning, the postman arrived.

"Is Comrade Cheng Kaiyan here? There’s a letter for you!"