Chapter 8

“Xu Heng! You’re the best investment Fang Zhiguo ever made!”

I drank tea across from her.

My thoughts were elsewhere.

Lin Shu had written the month before.

His stationery business was going well. Would I have time to visit after New Year?

I’d looked at that letter for a long time.

At this point in my first life, I’d been paralyzed. Song Yao had sat beside my hospital bed, expressionless.

Now I stood in a machinery workshop, engines roaring, workers hurrying around me.

A letter from a man who liked me lay in my hand.

My legs were sound.

My back was sound.

It felt wonderful to be alive.

**Part 8**

Early in 1983, I visited Lin Shu in the provincial capital.

I brought two things.

A jar of Laba garlic, vivid green, pickled by Father.

And the factory’s letter proposing technical cooperation.

The garlic was for Lin Shu.

The letter was for his mother.

Professor Lin taught mechanical manufacturing at the provincial Institute of Technology and had extensive connections.

Fang Zhiguo needed technical support to expand the production lines. The university was the ideal partner.

But that wasn’t my real reason for going.

I wanted to see him.

He met me at the station in a dark blue padded coat, waving from far away.

“Xu Heng! Here!”

I approached with my bags.

He took the jar.

“What’s this?”

“Father’s Laba garlic.”

He unscrewed the lid, sniffed, and brightened.

“Smells wonderful!”

“Careful. Don’t spill it.”

“Yes, yes.”

Hugging the jar, he strode ahead so fast I could barely keep up.

Then he suddenly looked back.

“You’re smiling.”

“No.”

“You are. You hardly ever smile.”

I turned away.

Behind me, he chuckled.

Professor Lin had gray hair and thick glasses. She looked every inch an academic.

I presented the proposal and explained the factory’s situation: product direction, technical bottlenecks, market expectations. The figures were clear and precise.

She adjusted her glasses.

“Which university did you graduate from, Xu?”

“Junior middle school.”

She stared.

Beside us, Lin Shu laughed.

“She’s practical, Mom. Better than those people at your institute who only write papers.”

She glared at him, then returned to me.

“To accomplish this with a middle-school education is no small thing.”

She agreed to cooperate.

Only later did I learn that he’d spent a month singing my praises.

Xu Heng was reliable. Xu Heng was skilled. Xu Heng had ideas.

He’d talked until his mother grew tired of it.

“All right, all right. Bring her here and let me see.”

On the way back, he asked, “The agreement’s settled. Happy?”

“Yes.”

“Then buy me dinner.”

“What do you want?”

“Red-braised pork at the state-run restaurant.”

I took him.

He ate three bowls of rice, wiped his mouth, and leaned back in complete satisfaction.

“Xu Heng.”

“Yes?”

“Do you actually like me?”

I nearly dropped my chopsticks.

“You’ve been helping me since 1981. Nearly two years. Stock, repairs, even dealing with my mother. If you aren’t interested, I’m not wasting any more time.”

So direct.

Nothing like Song Yao.

Song Yao would never have asked whether I liked him.

He’d only stayed silent and made me guess. I could have guessed until I died and never known.

I set down my chopsticks.

“I do.”

His eyes lit up.

His mouth remained stubborn.

“Then why didn’t you say so?”

“I was waiting.”

“For what?”

“To be worthy of you.”

He froze.

Then his eyes reddened again.

“Xu Heng, you…”

He didn’t finish.

I didn’t ask.

Some things didn’t need finishing.

That summer, we officially became a couple.

Father was so delighted that he killed a chicken that very night and made soup, insisting I take it to the provincial capital for Lin Shu.

“Those city boys are too thin. Need feeding.”

Mother was as restrained as ever, but I noticed her secretly wiping her eyes.

Grandfather held my hand.

“This boy’s better than that Song one.”

“You haven’t met him. How do you know?”

“Don’t need to. Your eyes tell me. You look at him differently.”

I didn’t argue.

He was right.

Before, I’d looked up to Song Yao.

Now, I looked Lin Shu in the eye.

Only as equals could we walk the same road.

The man you look up to may never lower his gaze to see you.

At the end of that year, a small thing happened.