Chapter 9
Edward Quan ·
Home for New Year, I met Song Yao and Liu Jin at the village entrance.
Her belly was large with pregnancy. He supported her as she walked.
“Xu Heng!”
He greeted me with a smile.
“Brother-in-law.”
Liu Jin giggled.
“Still calling him that, even now we’re married.”
“As I should. How far along?”
“Over seven months.”
She rubbed her belly.
“A girl.”
“Congratulations.”
“And you? I hear you’ve found someone. From the provincial capital?”
“Yes.”
“Impressive! A city man!”
She gave me a thumbs-up.
I smiled without saying much.
As we parted, Song Yao called me back.
“Xu Heng.”
“Yes?”
He hesitated.
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“I don’t know how to explain. I just feel I should thank you.”
I looked at his face.
I’d watched it for fifty years. Young to old, smiling to unsmiling.
Now he stood before me, twenty-six, about to become a father. His face held something I’d never seen before.
Peace.
He’d never known peace with me.
Not one day in those twenty-odd years.
His heart had belonged elsewhere.
Now the woman beside him wasn’t me.
He was at peace.
Good.
I nodded.
“You’re welcome. I wish you and Liu Jin well.”
I turned away.
A few steps later, I looked back once.
His hand supported her waist as they slowly walked home.
The evening sun stretched their shadows.
I faced forward and strode on.
I didn’t look back again.
**Part 9**
1984 to 1988.
The four years I worked hardest.
The four that rewarded me most.
With my help, Fang Zhiguo’s factory completed its transformation: farm tools to bicycle components, then motorcycle parts.
Every step caught the right wave.
By 1986, annual output value exceeded one million yuan.
Watching loaded trucks leave the gates, she sighed.
“Asking you to be my deputy was the best decision of my life, Xu Heng.”
“You’re too kind, Director Fang.”
“Enough with Director. Call me Fang.”
I smiled.
“All right, Fang.”
In 1987, I decided to leave and open my own factory.
She didn’t stop me.
“I knew you wouldn’t stay in a little pond. Go. Tell me what you need.”
I asked for neither money nor connections.
Only trust.
“From now on, we’re partners. Let me take on some of your components work.”
“Done.”
With my savings, I leased land east of the county town and built a small workshop.
The machinery was secondhand. The workers came from the villages.
Lin Shu helped with the paperwork. His mother found technical advisers.
On opening day, I stood at the gate looking at the unfinished sign.
*Hengda Mechanical Components Works.*
Heng, from my name.
Da, for reaching through without obstruction.
My first life had been confined to a wheelchair. I couldn’t go anywhere.
In this one, I wanted to reach in every direction.
The first year brought a hundred and twenty thousand yuan.
The second, three hundred and sixty thousand.
By 1988, annual profit exceeded eight hundred thousand.
I became the county’s youngest millionaire.
No. A hundred-thousand-yuan entrepreneur.
No. Almost a millionaire.
Word spread.
The whole county talked.
“Xu Heng? The girl who repaired bicycles?”
“Who else? She owns a factory now. Hundreds of thousands a year.”
“Tsk, tsk…”
People followed the news.
Borrowers. Potential partners. Matchmakers, though I already had someone.
And others whose intentions were less friendly.
In the winter of 1988, Liu Jin called.
“Could you lend me some money?”
I paused.
“How much?”
“Five thousand.”
Her voice was small.
“Yaoyao’s father is ill. Hospital bills.”
Five thousand was no small sum in 1988.
To me, it barely mattered.
“All right. Come to town tomorrow.”
“Thank you! Thank you, Xu Heng!”
When she came, her hands shook as she took the money.
“I’ll repay you. I promise.”
“No hurry.”
Before leaving, she looked back.
Her expression was complicated.
Gratitude, and something else.
I didn’t think deeply about it.
Only later did I understand.
The unease of a gap grown too wide.
In my first life, we’d been equals.