The afternoon sun hung heavy over the city as Lin Ying stepped out to meet Shao Mingyuan.
This time, Shao Mingyuan had bypassed the sterile, white-tiled atmosphere of the hospital cafeteria. Instead, he chose a well-known public square—a sprawling, open space where the air hummed with the sounds of the neighborhood. It was a place where the elderly sat on stone benches watching their grandchildren dash toward amusement rides, and where, on special nights, the white flicker of an open-air movie projector brought the community together.
Lin Ying felt a soft flutter of nerves as she walked. She was wearing a new dress—or rather, a dress made new. Since after lunch, her mother, Su Yulan, had been fussing over her. The recent arrival of Lin He (Lin Ying’s brother) had been a sharp reminder to Su Yulan that while they weren’t people of great means, pride and propriety still mattered. A young woman shouldn’t go to every meeting in the same tired clothes. It wasn’t about vanity; it was about showing the world—and the man she liked—that she was cherished.
The matchmaker, Sister Han, had dropped hints that Dr. Shao was quite taken with Lin Ying, and the feeling was clearly mutual. To Su Yulan, this felt like the start of something beautiful, a “joyous occasion” waiting to bloom.So she had dug through the cedar chest at the foot of her bed, pulling out a relic from her own youth.
“Don’t let the years fool you,” Su Yulan had said, smoothing the fabric with a nostalgic smile. “This material is fine quality. Back then, I was too afraid to wear it, thinking it was only for a ‘special day’ that never seemed to come. Then life happened, you children arrived, and it just stayed at the bottom of the trunk.”
The fabric was a dream against Lin Ying’s skin—light, breathable, and perfect for the stifling summer heat. Time had softened its color; what was once a deep, true blue had faded into a delicate, watery sky-blue.
“Your mother’s waist was only 1.8 feet (approximately 24 inches/60 cm) when I was a girl,” Su Yulan noted, measuring her daughter with a practiced eye. “Yours is the same, maybe even a bit more slender. I’ll take it in for you.”
Without a sewing machine, Su Yulan worked by hand, her needle flying with the help of the grandmother, Wang Guihua. When Lin Ying finally stepped into the finished piece and let her hair fall loose over her shoulders, the transformation was breathtaking.
“No wonder she’s my daughter,” Su Yulan beamed, tilting her head. “She has my exact style from the old days.”
Wang Guihua couldn’t help but huff a laugh. “I think Yingzi is much prettier than you ever were. Don’t go flattering yourself too much, girl!”
“Mom!” Su Yulan protested, flushing pink.
Lin Ying laughed, catching her reflection. “Grandma, let’s just say we’re equally beautiful,” she said with a wink before heading out the door.
At Zhengde Square, Shao Mingyuan moved through the thick crowd, a restless energy simmering beneath his skin. He had worked a grueling shift the day before and spent his day off sleeping in a sweat-dampened bed. He had considered staying in, but the thought of his date with Lin Ying pulled him out of the house.
He had showered in cold water, but the summer humidity was a persistent weight. Even the breeze felt like a hot breath against his neck. The sudden transition from his quiet home to the chaotic symphony of the square made him irritable.
“Did you see the doctor?” one woman whispered to her friend, fanning herself with a woven palm leaf. “He looks like he’s carrying the whole hospital’s stress on his shoulders today. Such a handsome face, but so grim!” Her companion nodded, eyeing his crisp, clean clothes. “Maybe he’s waiting for a sweetheart. You know those intellectuals—they’re always a bit stiff until the right girl shows up.”
To soothe his parched throat, Shao Mingyuan bought a popsicle—a simple treat of frozen syrup and water. It was cool for a fleeting second, but the sugary aftertaste only made him thirstier.
Then, he saw her.
Lin Ying was walking toward him through the haze of the afternoon. In her sky-blue dress, she looked like a cool wave rolling onto a sun-baked shore. The way the hem of her skirt swayed with her stride seemed to catch the light, and suddenly, the irritation in his chest evaporated. She wasn’t just a girl he was meeting; she was a cool breeze personified, blowing away the dust of his long day.
He stood frozen for a moment, simply watching her.
“Have you been waiting long?” she asked, her voice snapping him out of his trance.
He shook his head quickly. “No, I just arrived.”
“I think they’re setting up for a movie in the center of the square,” Lin Ying said, her eyes bright with curiosity. She had seen modern cinema, but the charm of an old-fashioned open-air screening was something she didn’t want to miss. “Should we go see?”
“Sure, let’s go.”
As they reached the screening area, they realized they were woefully unprepared. Experienced locals had already claimed the best spots with small wooden stools (mázhǎ—portable folding stools common in Chinese street culture).
“Wait here,” Shao Mingyuan said, his protective instincts kicking in. “I’ll go think of something.”
Lin Ying watched him disappear into the crowd. A few minutes later, he returned, looking triumphant. In one hand, he carried a borrowed stool, and in the other, a small paper bag. He pressed the bag into her hands. It was filled with toasted sunflower seeds.
“Why did you buy these?” she asked, amused.
“The movie is ninety minutes long,” he explained with a shy smile. “If the plot is boring, at least we’ll have something to crunch on. Stay here, I’ll be right back.”
He dashed off again, returning with two bowls of suānméitāng (traditional smoked plum juice—a chilled, sweet, and tart herbal drink used to relieve summer heat). Sitting together on the small stool, Lin Ying took a sip. It was ice-cold and tangy, the perfect antidote to the humid air.
The movie was a standard martial arts flick of the era—full of exaggerated heroism and dusty battles. To Lin Ying, who had grown up with high-definition blockbusters, the film was mediocre at best. But as she sat there, the salt of the sunflower seeds on her lips and the cold plum juice in her hand, she found she didn’t mind. The man beside her was attentive, his presence steady and grounding.
When the credits rolled, Shao Mingyuan returned the stool to the vendor and they began the slow walk home. Away from the noise of the projector, the atmosphere shifted. The crowd thinned, and the evening air felt more intimate.
“How was the movie?” Shao Mingyuan asked, his voice a bit hesitant. He immediately winced, thinking it was a dull question. He wasn’t practiced in the art of “sweet talk” and feared he was being boring.
“It was alright,” Lin Ying replied honestly. “I’m not much for the fighting scenes, but the sentiment was nice.”Shao Mingyuan felt a pang of worry. I should have picked something else, he thought. I’m so clumsy with words.
But Lin Ying smiled, reaching out to lightly brush his sleeve. “But the sunflower seeds were delicious, and the plum juice was wonderful. Thank you for looking after me so well.”
His shoulders dropped in relief. Encouraged by her warmth, he decided to speak his mind. “I think… we should explain our intentions to our families properly.”
Lin Ying paused, looking up at him.
“I mean,” he continued, his voice dropping to a gentle, serious register, “even though we’ve agreed to this path together, we should follow the proper traditions (tiépái—the formal process of visiting the family to show respect and serious intent). You’re graduating in a few weeks. How about I visit your family next week to pay my respects, and then you can come to meet mine the week after?”
Lin Ying felt a warm glow in her chest. This was his way of saying he was serious—that he wanted to walk through the front door of her life, not just meet her in squares and cafeterias.
“Oh… okay,” she whispered, her heart skipping a beat. “Next Sunday at noon. I’ll tell my mother to prepare.”
Shao Mingyuan smiled—a real, wide smile that reached his eyes. “Okay. It’s a date.
“After finalizing the weekend plans with Shao Mingyuan, Lin Ying began her new week with a sense of purpose. She poured her heart into her writing, finishing her novel in a mere three days. With a mixture of nervousness and high anticipation, she made her way to the post office and sent the manuscript to three different magazines.
[!NOTE]
In later years, “simultaneous submission” (sending the same work to multiple publishers) would be strictly forbidden. However, in this era, there were no such regulations. Given how slowly the mail traveled—often taking weeks for a single letter to arrive—sending it to multiple places was the only way to avoid a grueling, months-long wait.
On her walk back, Lin Ying caught a glimpse of a familiar figure in the distance. It looked like Su Beibei. They were classmates and saw each other frequently at school, but this was the first time Lin Ying had spotted her out in the world since their chance encounter at the black market.
Su Beibei looked strikingly different today. Back at the black market, she had been dressed with painful simplicity—or rather, she looked downright shabby. The cuffs and sleeves of her clothes were frayed from years of wear, and they bore stubborn stains that no amount of scrubbing could lift. One would expect better from her family.
The neighborhood gossips often whispered about the Su family’s finances. “Both parents work,” they’d say, “and they don’t even have elderly parents to look after like the Lin family does. Su Zhiqiang is a Team Leader (a respected factory position with a higher salary) and Chen Xiuqin works in the canteen, where she can always sneak a little extra meat home.” But the meat never seemed to find its way to Beibei’s plate; it was all saved for the only son, the “golden child” Su Guangyao.
Judging by Su Beibei’s thin, frail frame and her ragged clothes, it was clear she was neglected at home.
But today… Su Beibei had undergone a metamorphosis. She was wearing a brand-new, pristine white dress. The color made her look exceptionally innocent and gentle. She even seemed to have gained a few pounds; her face was noticeably fuller and her skin looked much fairer than before.
It appeared Su Beibei was finally willing to invest in herself. Lin Ying wondered what she was up to—dressed so elaborately, she must be on a blind date.
As soon as the thought crossed Lin Ying’s mind, her “Gossip System” chimed in, sensing a juicy story:
“Gossip Mission: Observe Su Beibei’s blind date. Reward: Three card draw opportunities.”
For the sake of those rewards, Lin Ying decided she had to be a front-row spectator. She waited nearby, and sure enough, a man soon approached. He wore a blue striped shirt and polished black leather shoes.
Based on his appearance and the way he carried himself, Lin Ying deduced this was the original male lead of the story—Zhong Xu.
Zhong Xu had a very upright, handsome look. He had a square face, though it wasn’t overly rugged, and he was tall and strong. The perfect embodiment of the “ideal man” of that era.
If it weren’t for the heavy burdens of his family, the gossips agreed, a man like Zhong Xu could have his pick of any girl in the city. He was a “Worker” (a high-status social class during this time), handsome, and had a stable urban job. But without his family troubles, he wouldn’t be a male lead.
Zhong Xu’s father had passed away heroically, stabbed by a thief while protecting vital factory machinery. Because he died in the line of duty, the factory treated it as a “work-related injury,” which allowed Zhong Xu to step into a good job immediately after graduation. However, he was now the sole provider for a disabled mother and three younger siblings.
In reality, his mother wasn’t completely helpless; she simply needed crutches and could handle housework just fine. His brother, Zhong Hao, was a troublemaker, and his little sisters, Zhong Xin and Zhong Xiao, were quite young. In the original book, Su Beibei would use her “sweet talk” to win over the sisters and eventually guide the brother until the whole family adored her.
Lin Ying realized this must be their very first meeting. She remembered a scene in the book where Zhong Xu recalled seeing Su Beibei for the first time in a white dress—it had to be this one.
Truthfully, the date was a bit mundane to watch. Blind dates in this era followed a predictable rhythm: meeting, eating, and walking. Since there weren’t many shops where they could actually buy things, the “shopping” part was mostly just window-shopping.
When it came time to eat, they headed toward a State-Run Restaurant (a formal eatery managed by the government where one needed both money and food coupons to dine). Lin Ying had never actually been inside one during her own four previous blind dates. Seizing the chance, she slipped in and ordered two dishes for herself.
The Sweet and Sour Pork was a delight—freshly fried, crispy on the outside and tender on the inside, dripping in a rich sauce. The Braised Chicken with Potatoes was equally good; the potatoes were soft and “powdery,” having absorbed all the savory juices from the meat.
Lin Ying was so engrossed in her meal that she ate two large bowls of rice before she realized she had almost lost track of the couple. By the time they finished and prepared to part ways, she saw that both Su Beibei and Zhong Xu were wearing wide, satisfied smiles. The match was clearly a success.
To avoid being spotted, Lin Ying hurried home. Despite her speed, she arrived after dark and was immediately intercepted by her mother, Su Yulan.
“Why are you so late? Do you have any idea what time it is? What if there are bad people out there? And have you even eaten?”
To deflect the barrage of questions, Lin Ying quickly brought up the one person who could distract her mother. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry! I’ll let you know in advance next time. I’ve already eaten. Actually… Shao Mingyuan said he’s coming to visit the family this weekend. Mom, do we need to prepare anything special?”
The tactic worked perfectly. Su Yulan immediately assumed Lin Ying had been out with the doctor. Her anger evaporated. “Just come back earlier next time. It’s dark out, and you’re a grown woman—you should know better than to worry us. I didn’t even know if I should save you dinner!”
Su Yulan then scurried off to find the father, Lin Siqing, to start planning the menu for the weekend visit.
Despite the reprieve, Lin Ying still had to do the dishes. As she carried them to the communal washroom, she ran into Su Beibei, who had just slipped back into the building. Su Beibei had already changed back into her old, drab clothes; the white dress was nowhere to be seen, likely hidden away again.
They exchanged a brief, polite greeting in the hallway before Lin Ying went to the sink and Su Beibei went home.
The factory staff quarters had notoriously thin walls. From the washroom, Lin Ying could hear everything in the Su household next door. She heard the younger sister, Su Lingling, ask, “Sister, why are you so late?” but there was no sound of a greeting or a scolding from the parents. It was a cold silence. It was no wonder Su Beibei was so anxious to marry out; her parents didn’t even care enough to ask where she had been in the middle of the night.
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