In the end, it was Chen Lu who chose to leave. Mainly because no one in the family made any effort to host her—Gu Yuehua even stopped holding back and argued with her outright. Perhaps she also realized she had lost face, so she simply left on her own.
Gu Shunhua saw her off and noticed that her expression was somewhat dazed. She looked lost and unsteady on her feet.
That, in itself, was rather amusing. Was it really that serious? Just because of Ren Jingnian?
She and Ren Jingnian had only met once. Was there really any need to take it so personally?
As that thought passed through her mind, a sudden flash of insight struck Gu Shunhua.
A girl traveling such a long distance just to visit her? If she were to believe that Chen Lu was acting out of kindness, it would be hard to swallow. After all, no night owl comes knocking without a reason. So who had she really come for back then?
Gu Shunhua recalled the peeled apple from that day. Clearly, she had come for Ren Jingnian!
For Ren Jingnian!
Now that she looked back, Gu Shunhua even vaguely remembered that when Chen Lu had seen Ren Jingnian, her demeanor had turned bashful. But at the time, they hadn’t seen each other for many years, and seeing Chen Lu make the effort to visit had moved her deeply. She hadn’t thought much of it—just assumed she was tired or feeling a bit shy in an unfamiliar place.
But now that she revisited the memory, something didn’t sit right.
Connecting the dots, Gu Shunhua could say with certainty: Chen Lu hadn’t come to Wuyuan for her sake—she’d come for Ren Jingnian.
Then how did she even know Ren Jingnian? And why was she so eager for her to get divorced?
Logically, there was no way Chen Lu could have met Ren Jingnian before that.
As these thoughts circled in her mind, a chill ran through Gu Shunhua’s limbs.
Yes. There could only be one explanation.
It wasn’t that she had never suspected it before—she had, but only faintly. After all, she had the advantage of foresight, something rare and seemingly impossible to replicate. She never imagined her own cousin would be in the same position.
But now it was clear: her cousin also knew the trajectory of this world’s storyline. And because of that knowledge, she had long since set her sights on Ren Jingnian.
The only thing she couldn’t quite grasp was—even so, was there any need for all that girlish bashfulness? As if she truly liked him so much?
Take herself, for instance—she too had knowledge of the storyline. She knew she was supposed to marry Yan Chongli in the original arc. Yet, she felt no particular emotion toward him. Her understanding of him was purely objective and detached.
So perhaps Chen Lu knew even more than she did. Or maybe her journey through this world had unfolded differently.
Exactly how it differed, though, Gu Shunhua couldn’t say. Some things couldn’t be figured out through mere speculation.
After noon, Lei Yongquan came by with a few friends to visit her parents and bring New Year’s gifts. They were surprised to see Ren Jingnian there, and ended up chatting together for a while.
After they left, Gu Shunhua made another round of visits—first to Wang Xinrui’s home, then to her classmate Sun Jiayang’s. Of course, she also paid her respects to Director Sun.
Her elder brother would be returning during the Spring Festival. When it came time to look for a job, they would need help from these connections. Waiting until the last moment to maintain such ties would be too late. Better to take advantage of the holiday and make the rounds now.
It wasn’t until evening that things finally settled down. Gu Shunhua tidied up the bedding in the outer room and sorted through the children’s clothes.
The children were playing joyfully in the courtyard. She had bought some sugar-roasted chestnuts in the morning and told them to share with the others. The sweet aroma of chestnuts wafted through the small courtyard.
Ren Jingnian was outside, consulting Grandpa Pan about how to build a house—how large it should be, how much yellow soil and lime would be needed, where to find those materials, which bricklayer had a good reputation, who to hire, and how to go about the construction.
Grandpa Pan was a straightforward man. He had taken a liking to Ren Jingnian from the first meeting, and the two were chatting enthusiastically.
At that moment, the winter sunset filtered through the bare branches, casting a warm glow on the tiny house. Gu Shunhua lifted her head, watching the children play in the courtyard, then looked over at Ren Jingnian discussing plans with Grandpa Pan.
And her heart felt full to the brim.
Sometimes, there’s no point overthinking. The most important thing is to cherish the moment. At least right now, watching the children’s cheerful faces and seeing him seriously discussing how to build their house, she felt content.
She was still lost in thought when Ren Jingnian walked in.
He was such a tall man that he had to stoop to avoid hitting his head on the doorframe. Once he stood inside, he blocked what remained of the evening light.
She casually asked, “So, how did the discussion go?”
Ren Jingnian replied, “According to Grandpa Pan, the ground will thaw early this year. We’ve still got a few days, so if we get everything ready—materials and workers—we can start building as soon as the thaw comes.”
Gu Shunhua smiled. “That’s great.”
After all, the longer things dragged on, the more room there was for trouble. The Su family was watching them closely—she knew just how envious they were. Naturally, she hoped they could start building as soon as possible and get moved in. Once it was built, the matter would be settled.
In these old Beijing hutongs, reason wasn’t always the deciding factor. If you claimed a spot and built on it, that became the reason. She’d seen it happen time and again growing up.
Ren Jingnian went on about the plan. They needed a proper bricklayer—someone unskilled could cause serious delays. The rest he could figure out himself; it was mostly a matter of labor.
As he spoke of the logistics, Gu Shunhua suddenly remembered what had happened earlier that day. She asked, “If I had sugar crumbs on my face, you could’ve just told me. Why did you have to wipe it off yourself? Everyone was watching. It was embarrassing!”
When Ren Jingnian heard her words, he paused to recall the scene. “To be honest, I’m not really sure either. It felt… strange.”
Gu Shunhua stopped what she was doing and looked at him, puzzled. “You’re not sure?”
Ren Jingnian frowned. “Yeah. It was an odd feeling. I didn’t think much about it at the time—it just felt like something I had to do. I realized afterward it was inappropriate. Luckily, no one seemed to make a fuss over it.”
Gu Shunhua said nothing. Her mind drifted back to the incident with the peeled apple. Ren Jingnian hadn’t been able to explain that either.
She racked her memory, trying to recall the contents of the book. There was a scene that matched.
Then it hit her—Ren Jingnian’s strange behavior must have started after Chen Lu showed up. Maybe he’d been affected by some irresistible force. But Ren Jingnian had a strong will; he wouldn’t be easily swayed. So even if the storyline unfolded similarly, it had been redirected toward her instead.
Those so-called “preset plotlines” went against Ren Jingnian’s will. And he wasn’t someone who could be manipulated so easily. So perhaps the conflict between the predetermined script and his own agency had led to some strange compromise.
That thought made her feel somewhat relieved. Looking at Ren Jingnian again, everything about him now seemed endearing. She thought back to when she first fell for him.
He was capable. Back when they were digging the mine shaft, there hadn’t been any decent machinery—just manpower. Every day, they hauled dirt with baskets, iron spades, and wheelbarrows. Up before dawn, they worked themselves to exhaustion. But even when everyone else was ready to collapse, Ren Jingnian was still brimming with energy, trying to figure out better digging methods.
The room was far too cramped. Once he came in, he had to take off his shoes and climb onto the bed to sit and help fold clothes with her.
Noticing her gaze, he looked up. “What is it?”
Gu Shunhua pressed her lips together in a smile. “I suddenly remembered something very important.”
His thick brows rose. “Oh?”
His wary expression only made her smile more. She leaned in, took his hand, and said, “You must remember this: my cousin—she’s not normal. She can cast spells. If you get too close, she’ll steal your soul and make you do things you can’t even explain. So you have to stay far away from her.”
Ren Jingnian’s expression shifted subtly. He thought back to the strange events recently.
Some of the changes between him and Shunhua had started right after Chen Lu came into their home. He was a materialist, a Party member—of course he didn’t believe in superstitions.
But still, thinking about the peeled apple and what happened today… something did feel off.
Gu Shunhua added, “That Chen Lu definitely has bad intentions. She wants to seduce you, to use sorcery and take control of you—get you to divorce me, turn our family against each other, break our bond as husband and wife, tear our family apart. If you get close to her or even talk to her, you’ll abandon your wife and child and side with outsiders against us!”
Ren Jingnian’s expression turned strange. “Where are you getting all this?”
Since she’d already opened up, Gu Shunhua simply said, “It came to me suddenly. There’s a center to this world, and that center is Chen Lu. Everything revolves around her. And her goal is to marry you. To achieve that, she’s willing to destroy us.”
Ren Jingnian blinked. “Why would she want to marry me? Have I even met her before?”
Gu Shunhua didn’t know the answer to that either, so she just kept going. “She believes you’re her destined husband. She’s convinced she has to marry you, so she keeps casting spells on you. If she gets her way, she thinks you two will live a happy life.”
Ren Jingnian’s thick brows knit together. “Me and her? Happy?”
Gu Shunhua coughed lightly. “That’s her belief, not mine. She’s got terrible character. If you married her, you’d never be happy. That’s all a fantasy.”
Ren Jingnian: “Go on. What else?”
So she continued, “You’d lose your current self. Abandon your wife and child. You’d become cold and heartless.”
Ren Jingnian’s brows drew together as he lowered his gaze, staring silently at the olive-green bedding.
Gu Shunhua sighed inwardly. She had hesitated before speaking—worried that saying these things aloud might stir unintended consequences. But deep down, she still chose to share it.
After everything they’d been through, she believed in him. Believed in the man who had weathered eight hard years by her side. Believed in the father of her child.
At the very least, in this moment, they were on the same side. They had to face this script that governed their fates together—and resist it.
The thought made her chest warm.
Could they really do it?
She believed they could.
Back in Inner Mongolia, the Corps had arrived to find nothing but wasteland. Not even a proper shelter to sleep in. But with their bare hands, they had carved out a way to survive. Hadn’t they even built a mine?
What couldn’t be achieved through sheer will?
With that thought, Gu Shunhua looked up at Ren Jingnian. He was still deep in thought, his expression serious and heavy.
Maybe she had done the right thing—telling him. Facing it together was better than brooding alone.
Just then, Ren Jingnian spoke. “Shunhua.”
“Yes?”
He sighed, then reached out and placed his palm on her forehead.
She was puzzled.
He looked resigned. “No fever.”
“What?”
His eyes filled with tenderness. “Shunhua, you’ve been under too much stress lately. But it’s alright—I’m here now. You need to rest more. If you can, cut back on work. Don’t push yourself too hard.”
She tilted her head and narrowed her eyes at him. “You think I’m talking nonsense?”
He soothed her gently, “Shunhua, it’s my fault. You’ve been working too hard. And your cousin really is strange—I didn’t realize it before.”
Gu Shunhua said firmly, “Jingnian, I’m not making this up. When I went to Dashilan that day, I had a revelation. Suddenly, everything became clear. The whole storyline flooded into my mind—I saw it written out like a book. I saw it all. Chen Lu desires you. She went to Wuyuan not for me, but for you. Her real goal is to make me leave you and take my place.”
Ren Jingnian pulled her into a hug. His shoulders were taut, and his fingers trembled slightly, but his voice was gentle and steady. “Shunhua, you’re right. Chen Lu is a pile of dog shit—I’ll never look at her twice. Everything you’re afraid of… it’s never going to happen.”
Gu Shunhua let out a long sigh. “You don’t believe me. Then what do you think? Don’t you find all of this suspicious?”
He hugged her tighter, gently patting her back, then took her hand in his. “Shunhua, listen. I’ve been thinking—maybe Chen Lu really is up to something. Maybe she has some means of temporarily influencing people’s minds, making them act out of character. We should investigate—maybe she’s using some kind of drug, or maybe even some tool that manipulates magnetic fields to affect brainwaves.”
True to his scientific temperament, it was only natural for him to seek a scientific explanation.
Gu Shunhua was momentarily speechless.
Ren Jingnian added, “As for her, we’ll keep our distance and watch her closely. As for you—back then, with the hukou situation, your nerves were stretched thin. Add to that your cousin’s behavior, and it’s only natural your mind started to race. Maybe you even had a nightmare.”
He gently held her shoulders. “Shunhua, you can relax a little now. It’s all over. You got the household registration transferred. You secured our child’s hukou and even found us a piece of land to build on in the courtyard. You’ve done more than enough. Let me take it from here—I’ll build the house, I’ll make sure our life gets better, and I’ll figure out a way to reunite us in the capital. Just rest easy and stop overthinking. As for Chen Lu—she’s nothing. We’ll stay away from her, or better yet, expose her. We’ve known each other for years—you should trust me. I won’t fall for any of her tricks.”
Gu Shunhua blinked, feeling a tinge of grievance. She had worked up so much courage to tell him all this, and this was the result?
“You really don’t believe me? Then why do you think I rushed back to Wuyuan from Beijing? Do you think I enjoy all that hassle? I came back because I was afraid you’d marry someone else and forget your child…”
Ren Jingnian looked at her silently, his gaze filled with patience and pity.
He really thinks I’m crazy, she thought, exasperated.
“Forget it,” she huffed. “Don’t believe me, then!”
She regretted telling him. She’d only shared this because she trusted him—and now this?
But then Ren Jingnian hugged her from behind. “Shunhua, I do believe you. Of course I believe you. Haven’t I been avoiding Chen Lu completely? Trust me—I’ll get to the bottom of her secret. Once I do, you won’t have to worry anymore. Until then, I swear I won’t talk to her alone. I’ll run if I see her, okay?”
Gu Shunhua was quiet for a long while before sighing. “Alright. Let’s leave it at that.”
It really was too much to expect someone so rooted in materialism—who spent his free time reading physics and chemistry books—to believe in things like fate and supernatural forces. He’d never feel what she did—the profound, visceral sense of the world’s hidden threads. Words alone would never be enough to convince him.
So, whatever irritation Gu Shunhua had felt earlier quickly faded. After all, as long as he listened and stayed away from Chen Lu, that was good enough.
Ren Jingnian, however, was still worried about her. He took the children’s clothes from her hands. “You should rest. I’ll finish tidying up. You have work tomorrow, remember? Try to get some sleep.”
“When do you leave for Langfang?” she asked.
“Probably the ninth or tenth,” he replied. “I’ll time it just right to report in—no rush.”
“You should still go sooner if you can,” she said. “At least get to know the environment and see if your superiors are easy to get along with. This is a good work unit. Make a good impression and do your best—the benefits will only get better over time.”
She debated whether to tell him—China National Petroleum was no ordinary unit. But then she thought, What’s the point? It’s not like he doesn’t know. And besides, if everything followed the storyline from the book, he’d make a fortune eventually.
But if the story no longer followed that trajectory, then what she “knew” might not be true anymore. Better to keep quiet and not burden him with unnecessary speculation.
“I was thinking I’d spend more time with the kids,” Ren Jingnian added. “They really missed me.”
She thought of how the children had clung to him earlier, boasting proudly to everyone in the courtyard, and said nothing more.
Children need their fathers. It really is different, having one around.
“And,” he continued, “I want to take these few days to catch up on my studies. If I can, I want to try for a university in Beijing next year—pass the exam in one go. That way, we won’t have to worry about the transfer process.”
She nodded in agreement. “If you’re going to study, use my brother’s room. My brother and sister-in-law aren’t back yet. You two can study together. He’s been working hard lately, but he’s forgotten some things. You could help him.”
“If he has questions, I’ll help where I can,” Ren Jingnian said. “But I’ll probably study here in our room. Didn’t you get that kerosene lamp? It’s bright enough.”
She raised a brow at him but didn’t object.
He still wants to be close to me. Wants to stay by my side. That thought brought a subtle warmth to her heart.
So what if he didn’t believe her? As long as he treated her well and listened to her, that was enough.
But no one could have predicted what followed.
Once the bedding was tidied, Gu Shunhua sat at the bedside, practicing knife skills on old newspaper. Ren Jingnian, meanwhile, took out a physics book and began to read—aloud.
“All things are composed of atoms—tiny particles in constant motion. When far apart, they attract one another; when compressed together, they repel.”
“This means that everything on Earth, and even the universe, is composed of these tiny particles…”
At first, she didn’t think much of it. But the more she listened, the more annoyed she felt.
Eventually, she couldn’t take it anymore. “I’m practicing knife work—read silently.”
Ren Jingnian looked up, serious. “Reading aloud helps with memory.”
“…Fine.”
And so he continued. The universe. The origins of matter. The laws that govern everything.
By the time she had nearly finished cutting through her stack of newspaper, he began again:
“Chairman Mao taught us: ‘To read a book too literally is worse than not reading it at all.’ We must analyze through the lens of materialism and dialectics—be objective and seek truth from facts.”
Gu Shunhua finally understood what was happening. She raised her eyebrow, knife in hand. “What exactly are you trying to say?”
Ren Jingnian looked up from his book, his gaze pausing on the knife in her hand before slowly traveling upward.
He lifted his copy of Quotations from Chairman Mao and held it out tentatively. “Want to read it too?”
Gu Shunhua stared at him for a long moment, then finally gritted her teeth. “Ren Jingnian, if I ever say one more word to you about this again, I’ll be your grandson!”
That night, as they lay in bed, Ren Jingnian lightly brushed her shoulder. His intent was obvious.
And honestly, she could understand. Ever since they’d started talking about divorce and her return to the city, they hadn’t been intimate. He was young and full of energy—it was only natural.
But still—there were the children to think about, and the neighbors too. More than that, she was still angry. He thought she was crazy and had tried to educate her with Chairman Mao quotes?
So she pretended to be asleep.
Poor Ren Jingnian, in the end, could only lie behind her, arms wrapped stiffly around her, enduring in silence for a long time before sleep finally took him.
The next morning, as she was getting ready for work, Ren Jingnian was helping the two kids wash up. Seeing the redness around his eyes, she felt a little guilty.
Maybe tonight… I should try to go along with it.
Honestly, she kind of wanted to, too.
Later, she accompanied her father to Yuhuatai. With the New Year came new beginnings—all seven apprentices were lined up neatly, offering their New Year’s greetings to Gu Quanfu, each one saying auspicious phrases. And with that, the kitchen officially reopened for business.
Though Gu Shunhua was still practicing, she’d become competent enough with simple dishes. Her knife skills had improved noticeably, and Gu Quanfu had even acknowledged her progress, saying that at this rate, she’d master the basics within a few months and could begin learning true culinary techniques.
That filled her with a quiet excitement.
She was truly giving it her all—she just wanted to finish her apprenticeship quickly and become a full-time employee. That way, her wages would improve, and her mind would be at ease.
Fueled by that goal, she worked with extra vigor that day. After a busy morning, they were finally granted a break around two in the afternoon—only for Niu Deshui to call everyone back.
He said there was going to be a short meeting.
The senior chefs and apprentices all gathered.
Niu Deshui began with the usual pleasantries, then cleared his throat to get to the point:
“In the next couple of days, we’ll be receiving a guest from Hong Kong. Word is, he’s a big-name celebrity, and he’s already booked a table to try our cuisine. He’ll be bringing journalists, too, so we need to treat this with the utmost seriousness—no room for sloppiness.”
That wasn’t surprising. Yuhuatai had seen its share of big occasions. Once the site of the founding feast of the new nation, it might not have its former glory, but even in decline, a camel was bigger than a horse. They would not embarrass the mainland’s hospitality.
Niu Deshui continued, “This celebrity’s surname is Liang. His father’s family was originally Manchu. Apparently, Mr. Liang came to the mainland hoping to sample authentic imperial cuisine—to fulfill a dream of his late father.”
Imperial cuisine?
Everyone turned to look at Gu Quanfu.
Everyone knew that Master Gu’s father had once worked in the imperial kitchens. If anyone could handle imperial dishes, it was him.
Gu Quanfu asked, “If this is a wish passed down from his father, we must treat it seriously. Did he request any specific dishes?”
Niu Deshui replied, “He mentioned the Manchu–Han Imperial Feast. He’d like us to select a few of the most authentic dishes from it.”
Gu Quanfu pondered for a moment. “The Manchu–Han Imperial Feast is vast and inclusive. I once had the fortune to see a full menu when I was young—it was a handover document from a Qing court official to the Imperial Household Department. According to that, the feast is divided into upper, middle, and full tiers. The upper tier had 180 dishes, the middle 150, the full 130. That’s a massive range. We’ll need some direction, or we’ll drown in options.”
The moment he spoke, everyone could hear it—this was the voice of true mastery. Who else could list the tiers and item counts of a centuries-old banquet off the top of their head?
Niu Deshui’s tone turned respectful without even meaning to. “The guest mentioned a few specific dishes—minced quail, vegetarian qilin embryo, moonlight ganoderma, osmanthus ear and sparrow’s tongue, and sea cucumber on dragon boat.”
The other chefs and apprentices stared at each other, completely bewildered by the names.
These are dishes from the Manchu–Han Imperial Feast? If Master Gu prepares them, maybe we’ll get a glimpse of something truly rare.
But then Gu Quanfu asked, “Where did these dish names come from?”
Niu Deshui explained, “A few years ago, a Japanese TV station held a Manchu–Han banquet at the Ambassador Restaurant in Hong Kong while filming a culinary movie. They invited celebrities from Japan and Hong Kong, and it was covered by the media. They employed over thirty Hong Kong chefs and served seventy dishes. These names came from that menu.”
Gu Quanfu: “Did the guest specify what ingredients those dishes should use?”
That question brought a touch of disappointment to Niu Deshui’s face—and to the others’ as well. Wait… you don’t know either? Was that all just for show?
“I don’t think so,” Niu Deshui said, clearly losing confidence. “The guest just said they were all rare items—sparrow’s tongue, deer tail, shark fin, sea cucumber, monkey brain, bird’s nest, that sort of thing.”
Everyone gasped. “Can we even source those ingredients right now?”
But Gu Quanfu just chuckled. “Why bother? That’s just nonsense for laughs.”
Everyone looked stunned. Niu Deshui shook his head. “Well, theoretically, we could get those ingredients, but if we can’t prepare them properly, we can’t fake it. The guest had the real deal in Hong Kong—he’s coming here to compare and see how authentic ours is.”
Gu Quanfu’s voice held a trace of disdain. “Hong Kong’s version of the Manchu–Han Feast? That’s not the real thing. And he wants to bring that fake menu here and have us match it? It’s the copy daring to judge the original.”
Author’s Note:
Hong Kong did host a Manchu–Han Imperial Feast in 1977. Mr. Tang Lusun (a Manchu himself, from the Hešeri clan—related to Consorts Zhen and Jin) commented:
“If the so-called Manchu–Han Feast really was so indulgent and extravagant, wouldn’t that reduce the Chinese people to a nation of pleasure-seekers and squanderers, rather than a grand civilization that understood the art of cuisine?”
“Such appalling displays—could they ever belong in a solemn national banquet?”
The arguments Gu Quanfu will present about the Manchu–Han Imperial Feast in this and the next chapter are partly based on Mr. Tang Lusun’s comments regarding the Hong Kong banquet.