The next evening, the loud clang of a wok lid against metal echoed through Linhe Village. It was the captain's wife's way of announcing a production team meeting — mandatory for every able-bodied adult.
Ruan Yue wasn't thrilled. Meetings were just an excuse for people to complain, for the captain to scold, and for Auntie Zhang to "accidentally" bring up everyone's private business.
Still, skipping it meant losing work points. In 1983, that meant losing food.
She pulled on her patched cotton jacket, tucked her hair into a braid, and walked to the open yard in front of the team office. A single kerosene lamp hung on the wall, casting long shadows over the group already gathered.
She found a spot near the back. The cold ground bit through the soles of her cloth shoes, but she kept her face expressionless.
The captain, a stocky man with a wind-burned face, cleared his throat. "Comrades, tonight we're discussing work allocation for the next quarter. Everyone's hours will be recorded more strictly. And—" His eyes flicked toward a small group on the side. "We'll also address… recent disturbances."
Ruan Yue didn't need to guess. Auntie Zhang's sharp little smirk gave it away.
Sure enough, the older woman stood up. "Captain, I just think, if some people spent less time at the well arguing and more time in the fields, we'd all be better off."
Murmurs rippled through the crowd.
Someone whispered, "She means Widow Ruan."
Another replied, "I heard she's been smiling at Zhao Xiuxiu lately."
A third snickered. "Maybe she wants to be her friend now… or maybe something else."
Ruan Yue's jaw tightened, but she said nothing.
Then Auntie Zhang twisted the knife. "And this morning, I saw a certain someone getting deliveries at her door. Not grain from the team, oh no — from young girls with no family in the village. People will talk, Captain. People will wonder."
Xiuxiu's face went pale in the front row. Ruan Yue could feel Shen Wenxiu's gaze from the opposite side of the yard — sharp, waiting for her to slip.
The captain frowned. "Ruan Yue, what's this about?"
She stood slowly, letting her eyes sweep the crowd. "What's this about? That's what I'd like to know. Seems in our village, a woman can't help another without half the people here deciding it's a crime."
Her voice cut through the murmurs. "If Zhao Xiuxiu thanks me with a bowl of porridge, is that shameful? If I stop a man from harassing her at the well, is that troublemaking? Or is the real problem that some people here can't stand to see others minding their own business?"
Auntie Zhang's mouth opened and closed like a fish.
"And as for deliveries," Ruan Yue went on, "my door is open to anyone who knocks — but I didn't realize we'd started keeping a list of who's allowed to visit whom. Should I get the captain's approval before I accept a neighbor's kindness?"
There were a few chuckles from the back. The captain scratched his head, clearly uncomfortable.
Shen Wenxiu didn't smile — but something in his gaze shifted. Just a little.
The captain cleared his throat. "Alright, enough of this. We're here to talk work, not gossip. Widow Ruan, watch your words. Auntie Zhang, you too."
The meeting dragged on for another hour, the rest of it dull allocations and lists. But when it ended and people started heading home, Ruan Yue felt the weight of someone's steps falling in behind hers.
She didn't turn until she reached the bend in the road.
Shen Wenxiu was there, hands in his pockets.
"You handle yourself well," he said quietly.
Ruan Yue narrowed her eyes. "Is that supposed to be praise?"
"No," he said, gaze unreadable. "It's a warning. The more you talk back, the more they'll watch you. And the more I'll be watching too."
He walked away without waiting for her reply.
The system chimed in her head:
> Male lead hostility level — 80%.
She exhaled. Two more points down.
But that night, lying on her kang bed with the quilt pulled up to her chin, she realized something.
Every time she crossed paths with Shen Wenxiu, the plot shifted just a little more.
And that meant the ending she was supposed to avoid… was getting less predictable by the day.