Chapter 32: Come to my house

Fragile and helpless, Zhang Hai Xia let down her guard, clinging to Chen Qiao as her sole confidant, pouring out years of grievances.
When her mother was alive, they’d clung to each other, barely scraping by.
But after her mother’s death, life spiraled downward.

Their long-time home was sold by her father.
With the new house unfinished, Hai Xia was briefly homeless, facing relatives’ cold shoulders while crashing with them.
Eventually, school teachers arranged for her to stay in the dorms for half a semester, waiving fees.
Roommates were kind, sharing food when she ate plain rice with pickled veggies.

She studied hard to repay her teachers, tutoring roommates, and exceeded the second-tier university cutoff by over 30 points.
In the county’s worst high school, that’d be common, but in their rural school, it was exceptional.

Recounting her dorm days, she laughed through tears—the happiest time of her life, free from family.

Then came work, abandoning college.
Leaving the countryside for the city felt like breaking free, but city water—heavy with chlorine—sickened her.
Boiled or not, it upset her stomach.
Broke, eating poorly, she cooked porridge in a rented room, pre-food delivery era, and returned home defeated, wings clipped, resigned to a rural life.

Chen Qiao knew her “job connection” was Zhang Da Fu’s gambling buddy getting her into the cement plant.
She’d have gotten in through normal hiring anyway, just as a low-level clerk, no special treatment.

The lab wasn’t the clean, white-coat job imagined—it was grimy, tough.

Yet Zhang Da Fu demanded part of her wages, claiming credit for her job.
Before dinner, he’d scoffed at her 50 yuan as “beggar’s change,” demanding all her pay, knowing her monthly earnings, accusing her of hoarding.

If she didn’t comply, he’d force her to marry a middle-aged shop-and-casino owner, divorced, with a kid—one of his creditors.
Chen Qiao knew the man later married another younger woman when Hai Xia refused.

Chen Qiao listened quietly, a powerless elementary kid with only his sister’s ten yuan and an uneaten lollipop meant for Xin Yu, who’d refused it.
He hadn’t seen Lin Na’s sister either—balancing both sisters was key.

Manuscript fees, at least two months away, couldn’t help now.
He could only stay by Hai Xia’s side, keeping her from despair.

Money, money, money—with it, problems dissolved.
Even escaping the mountains, poverty crushed like a mountain in the city.

“Last December, after two months at the plant, Principal Wu found me, asked if I wanted to take the college entrance exam, offered to cover registration.
I agreed,” she said.

The breakthrough!
Principal Wu, eager for a second-tier student on his watch, had good intentions.

“Sister-in-law, take the exam!
It’s less than a month, but you haven’t fallen behind much, right?” Chen Qiao grabbed her shoulders, shaking her—or rather, himself, as he couldn’t budge her—eyes on her worn textbooks.

“I study when bored.
It helps me forget unhappiness.”

A natural scholar, joking—she just had no other entertainment.

“Why didn’t you go to college after passing?”

“No tuition.”

Public universities cost 4,000-5,000 yuan, some majors 3,500-3,600, but dorms and living expenses added up.

“Didn’t the school give a bonus?”

“Five hundred or a thousand—Dad took it.”

“What about student loans?”

She shook her head.
“I don’t want debt…”

Her family’s loans made her fear becoming like her father.

“You’ve saved some money working, right?”

“A bit, but I want to repay debts first.”

Like his uncle and aunt’s dowry, taken by Zhang Da Fu for gambling, but she felt responsible.

“Do you know my parents’ love story?”

“No.”

He told her how Mom used dowry money to attend high school, backed by Dad’s support, letting her focus.

“So cool,” Hai Xia said, eyes wide, tears forgotten, rims red.

“You should take the exam, go to college—even a vocational one, with pathways to a bachelor’s.
Knowledge changes fate, the exam changes fate!” he declared.

Last summer, she drank pesticide, likely cornered.
Whether she took or failed the exam was unclear, but she missed the chance, giving up.
He’d unlock her cage, give her wings to soar.
With a degree, she’d be a credible proxy for him, convincing others.
She could start business in college, earning living expenses, working for him instead of elsewhere.

“But…” She bit her lip, hesitant.

He knew she wanted to try—she’d agreed to register, kept studying.
She just needed a push.

“Quit the plant,” he said.

To many, that was suicidal.
The plant, no dream job, was stable in a town of manual labor, especially in the infrastructure boom.
It had benefits, a pension—near-iron rice bowl.
But post-boom, layoffs and pay cuts loomed.

“Night and mid-shifts wreck your health, mess up your exam performance.
Will they give three days off?”

He spoke as if she were already taking it.

Shift jobs meant swapping with colleagues for sick days or emergencies, paying them back later.
Asking a supervisor was a hassle, with attitude and docked pay.

“Quit early.
You’ll find better jobs post-college, do work-study, use savings.
You’ll make it.
What do you think?”

“I…”

“I don’t want you regretting forever.
If my cousin were here, he’d back you, like my parents.”

“I might not pass—I’ve forgotten a lot.”

“Fail this year, try next.
Some retake for years.”

“I’m embarrassed, crying in front of you,” she said, wiping her eyes, smiling through tears, pinching his cheeks.
Her tears had dried, but his childish voice, now mature, convinced her.

His parents’ story inspired her.

He knew she was resolved.
Now, remove distractions, let her focus, and get her to the exam.

“Your home’s no place to study.
Quitting means no plant dorms, right?”

“I sleep there after night shifts, stay till evening.
No motorcycle—buses are inconvenient, costly.
After mid-shift, I take the early bus home, sleep, then work day shift.”

A relentless cycle, like a machine.

“Go back to the high school for self-study.
Even if it’s weak, it’s a school—better environment.
Zhang Da Fu can’t barge in.”

“Can I?”

“Absolutely, they’ll welcome you.”

“Home’s unsafe, unfit for studying.
Your dad…”

Her bedroom door was nailed boards with a latch and hinges—barely a door.

“Rent a room outside—an old wooden house, cheap.”

Many left empty homes for rent when working away, especially for families with kids in school.

“School dorms are better—cheap, near class, focused study, affordable cafeteria.
Save for college, don’t waste,” she said, patting his head, noting his first less-than-perfect advice, reminding her he was a kid.

He knew dorms were ideal but recalled the looming landslide at the girls’ dorms, next week or the one after, post-rain.
It cleared by his finals.
He was saving her, not risking her.

“Quitting takes time, right?
Move to the dorms in two or three weeks.”

“I’ll work till the 10th, get paid, then resign.
They might hold wages otherwise.”

“Good.
Grab the pay and go.
Let’s pack now—don’t stay here tonight.”

“Huh?”

“Your dad will fight your studying.
He might do worse than burn books.
Don’t come back till after the exam.”

Her home might not survive Zhang Da Fu’s hands.
He’d worked hard to sway her; her resolve couldn’t waver.

“Stay at my place.
Mom will support you.
What’s your shift tomorrow?
Day or night?”

“Day.”

“Perfect.
Dad sometimes hauls cement or bricks that way.
Ride with him—saves two yuan on the bus.
Buses and taxis skip short trips when busy.”

“I haven’t showered.”

“Shower at my place.
We’ve got hot water.”

His bathroom was basic but better than here.

Reluctantly, he slid off her lap—plenty of chances later.

Her luggage was light—no bedding or mats; she’d use plant dorm ones at school, similar sizes.

She grabbed work clothes and underwear from the rooftop, stuffing them into her snakeskin bag.
Her heaviest load?
Textbooks and notebooks.

She lifted the bag, strong from work—sampling cement meant climbing tall stacks, a dirty, grueling task.

She worried the bag might tear—she planned to use it for college.

“Let me carry some,” he offered.

Seeing his small frame, she doubted he could handle books, handing him clothes instead: old middle school uniforms, worn underwear faded at the crotch, and a bra.
He stuffed his fist in a cup—plenty of room, confirming her size outdid his sister’s.

Buy her new underwear for exam luck—victory panties!