The children stopped playing and looked over. Gu Shunhua smiled and said, “Go on, keep playing. Papa and Mama just need to talk with Uncle for a bit.” Manman’s eyes immediately went to the paper in Feng Fugui’s hands. Gu Shunhua sighed inwardly—what a clever little one. Just as she was thinking of how to brush it off, Ren Jingnian pulled out a paper packet filled with roasted soybeans and handed them to the children. The two kids let out a cheer when they saw the golden, crispy beans, and sat carefully at the edge of the bed to eat, cradling the snack as if it were treasure. Only then did Gu Shunhua feel relieved.
She and Ren Jingnian sat down with Feng Fugui and began filling out the form. They had the old one as a reference, but this time the children would be assigned to Gu Shunhua. Two copies—signed and sealed with their thumbprints. At this time, there were no formal divorce certificates; completing this form served as official divorce registration.
Feng Fugui sighed. “Bringing kids back with you? That’s not going to work. I’ve processed so many divorces lately. You take the kids, the capital won’t accept you. There’s no policy for this.” If it were a proper, finalized divorce, that might be one thing—but a woman divorcing and dragging two kids along? The capital wouldn’t take her in.
Gu Shunhua merely smiled. “That’s alright. I’m still bringing them. I’m divorced, and that qualifies me. If they accept me, they can’t reasonably refuse my children. They’re mine now. What are they going to do—let the kids end up wandering the streets?” Feng could only shrug. “Fine. Try, then.”
Once Feng left, the kids were still munching roasted beans, though Manman glanced over now and then. He was not even three, but already full of thoughts.
Ren Jingnian went to ask the attendant for hot water. Gu Shunhua cooled it before giving it to the children, sat with them, told them stories, and only late into the night did they lie down to sleep. Once the children were asleep, the room finally quieted. The wind here at the Corps HQ wasn’t too strong, and the moonlight shining through the window gave the night a peaceful air.
Ren Jingnian broke the silence. “You were going to ask me something earlier?” Gu Shunhua remembered and said, “It’s nothing really. I just thought of the last time my cousin Chen Lu came to visit.” “Hm?” he said. “What do you think of her?” He answered, “We only met once. Didn’t talk much. I don’t really know her.”
Gu Shunhua latched onto that. “Really? You didn’t speak to her?” He frowned. “Did I? I don’t remember.” “You don’t remember? Funny, I recall you peeling an apple for her.” It was such a small thing—petty, even, to bring it up. But in the book, that sweet apple had been remembered for a lifetime. No, he remembered it too. The book said he’d later recall the look on her shy, smiling face when he handed her the apple.
Ren Jingnian turned to face her. “When you went to the capital… did your cousin say something?” “No,” she replied. “I didn’t even see her. I just suddenly thought of her. After all, if we manage to pull this off, it’s thanks to her. I feel… grateful.” The words tasted false even to her.
Ren Jingnian paused. “Now that you mention it… maybe I did peel an apple. I can’t remember clearly. I don’t know why I did.” “You really don’t remember?” “I just… saw the apple, and peeled it.”
Even as he said it, he frowned. Something didn’t feel right. Why would I peel an apple for my wife’s cousin? It seemed inappropriate. But at the time, he hadn’t felt anything strange about it at all. Until she mentioned it, he’d completely forgotten it happened. Only when he tried to recall it, did he realize—yes, there had been an apple.
Gu Shunhua was both surprised and a little relieved. Judging by his reaction, he and Chen Lu had nothing going on—at least not yet. Perhaps things might unfold differently in the future, but for now, there was no trace of ill intent. His urging her to divorce hadn’t come from selfish motives.
Maybe his behavior had simply been influenced, inexplicably, by the book’s plot. If so—though she still had no clear path for their future—it eased her heart somewhat.
Gu Shunhua began packing, preparing to return to the capital with both children. Because she had them with her, the luggage was heavier this time. Last time, she brought back many Inner Mongolia specialties. Not now. Most of the bags were filled with children’s clothes and necessities, and food for the journey.
As she packed, the children quieted down. Ren Jingnian didn’t say anything either, just busied himself in silence. That night, after putting the children to sleep, he took out a round metal tin. Inside was money and ration coupons. “I was saving this to care for the kids. But now, you’re taking them. I don’t need it. Take it. In case you need it on the road.”
Gu Shunhua looked at the tin. It was everything they had.
Back when she worked down in the valley, her monthly stipend was seven yuan. Meals cost 14.5, but that was handled by the Corps and didn’t go through her hands. Ren Jingnian, being an officer on active duty, earned three yuan more. Two years ago, they moved from the Corps headquarters to the mine. Each of them received a 0.4 yuan daily hardship allowance. The mine was remote—there wasn’t even a general store. Uniforms and bedding were issued. Each person got 45 jin of grain and 200 grams of oil monthly. Apart from raising the children, there was nothing to spend money on. Even if they wanted to, there was nowhere to do it. Over time, they had saved up a decent amount—probably over a thousand yuan.
Last time she went to the capital, Ren Jingnian gave her two hundred. Now, there were still around eight or nine hundred yuan in the tin—a considerable sum.
He wrapped the tin in a scarf and tucked it into the luggage. “Take it. Spend it if you need to. Now’s not the time to be frugal. Getting the children registered in the capital—that’s their future.”
Gu Shunhua looked at him.
She had never understood—so he loved Chen Lu. Fine. In the book, it was her who had abandoned their love first. But why… why had he treated the children so coldly?
Was the book’s plot so powerful it could rewrite someone’s nature—turn them into a different person?
Because right now, at least, his love for their children was real. They were his blood.
She looked at Ren Jingnian, and after a long moment, smiled faintly. “Ren Jingnian, I’ll take this money. I’ll bring our children to the capital. I’ll get their household registration transferred.1 I’ll make them citizens of the capital. I’ll make sure they drink fresh Sanyuan milk2 every day. I’ll make sure they always have enough to eat. I’ll take them to see the Great Wall, to watch the five-starred red flag rise, to visit the Great Hall of the People.”
And in her heart, she added: I’ll raise them to be good people. Kind, decent, full of love. Even if they’re poor, even if life is hard, they will never live in bitterness or jealousy.
Ren Jingnian also smiled. He lifted his calloused hand and gently brushed her hair. “Mm, go ahead. I’ll work hard, give it everything I’ve got, get into a university in the capital. Then we’ll reunite, all four of us.” The warmth of his rough hand against her cheek was something she had once relied on, something she had known well. She lowered her eyes and said softly, “It’s almost time. Let’s go.” Ren Jingnian hesitated, then nodded. “Alright. I’ll take you all to the train station.” He had already informed the mine that he would be escorting Gu Shunhua and the children. Though people were puzzled, no one questioned him. After all, educated youth were scrambling to return to the cities. Illnesses, both real and fabricated, were being used to qualify for early retirement. Everyone knew not to ask too much—loose lips sink ships.
Ren Jingnian drove a truck used to deliver sugar beets, already loaded. Gu Shunhua sat up front with the children nestled on either side of her. The two were thrilled to be in a vehicle, peeking around excitedly. The wild desert winds that had howled the night before had calmed. Without the wind, the sky was a deep and vivid blue, and the contours of the vast desert unfolded clearly before them. At the horizon, the rolling peaks of the Yin Mountains stood majestic—barren and rugged, yet vast and magnificent. This was the land where Gu Shunhua had struggled for eight years. When she first came, she was just fifteen, bright-eyed and idealistic. Now, she was a mother of two, heading home with her children and an uncertain future.
She smiled faintly. So what? These children were her everything.
At that moment, Duoduo pointed excitedly and shouted, “Yellow River! Yellow River!” Gu Shunhua looked and smiled—yes, that was the Yellow River, winding like a long character “几” through the landscape. Manman, always the little grown-up, lit up too. “Look! It’s the Yellow River!” Ren Jingnian glanced at the kids from the driver’s seat, his eyes warm. “When we get to the capital, there’ll be so much more to see. You’ll love it.”
Liu Zhao Train Station was nothing more than a few red-painted, tile-roofed buildings surrounded by a rusty iron fence. After unloading the luggage, Ren Jingnian drove the beets to their drop-off and rushed back. When he returned, Gu Shunhua was just about to lead the children inside. Wiping sweat from his brow, he grabbed the suitcase. “Let’s get inside. The train’s about to leave.” Gu Shunhua took a child in each hand and entered the waiting hall. It was simple, but crowded—mostly returning educated youth like herself.
Ren Jingnian held the luggage and looked at her, as though he wanted to say something. But with the noise, and the children clinging to them, there was no time for personal words. Gu Shunhua felt a pang. She murmured, “Study hard. You must get into university.” He suddenly reached out and grasped her hand. “I know. I will get in. Once I do, once I’m in the capital, we’ll all be together again.”
His voice was low. The children, curious, were too busy looking around to notice.
Just then, the train whistle blew. It was a sealed freight train—normally for cargo, but repurposed due to the passenger surge. It had no windows. Ren Jingnian tried to offer reassurance. “Once you get to Baotou and transfer, it’ll be better.” But they both knew it was a weak comfort. Gu Shunhua understood—she’d probably have to fight for a corner to get the kids seated during the transfer.
Following the crowd, she climbed aboard with the children—pulling the suitcase herself, holding Duoduo’s hand, while Manman clung to her coat. Once inside, they quickly found a seat. But when Duoduo realized her father hadn’t boarded, panic set in. “Papa? Where’s Papa?” Manman, near tears, cried out too. “Why isn’t Papa getting on the train?!”
The train was only scheduled to stop for a minute. It was already preparing to leave. Manman shouted desperately, “Papa! Papa!”
Gu Shunhua quickly soothed them. “Papa will join us later. We’ll go first, wait for him in the capital, and pick him up at the station.” But despite her words, the children cried harder.
Others in the carriage turned to look. Many recognized the scene for what it was. Most of them were from the Inner Mongolia Corps as well—returning home after years of hardship. A young man handed the children some biscuits. A woman offered two pieces of chocolate. “Here, little ones, have some sweets,” she said, trying to distract them.
Gu Shunhua looked at them with gratitude. “Thank you… thank you, comrade.”
The woman smiled. “We’re all Corps folks. Out here, we look after one another.”
Others in the carriage nodded. Nearly half of them had served in the same Corps. No one pressed her for details. They just helped comfort the children.
Some began discussing the transfer in Baotou, and a few even volunteered to help carry Gu Shunhua’s suitcase when the time came.
She was deeply moved.
She had fought so hard to leave this desolate place. But she realized—no matter where life took her, she would always remember this land. This was where she’d poured out her youth, her love… and where the people she once fought beside still stood.
- Sanyuan Milk (三元牛奶): Sanyuan is one of the oldest and most well-known dairy brands in China, founded in Beijing in 1956. In the 1970s and 1980s, having fresh Sanyuan milk delivered to one’s home daily was a symbol of urban privilege and middle-class comfort. Mentioning it in the story underscores the contrast between rural hardship and urban prosperity. ↩︎
- Hukou (户口 – Household Registration System) (1970s Context): Under China’s hukou (household registration) system, every citizen was registered to a specific locality—either rural or urban. This registration determined where a person was legally allowed to live, work, attend school, and access social services. In the 1970s, the system was strictly enforced, especially in major cities like Beijing. Individuals without an urban hukou could not legally settle in the city. They were barred from accessing food ration coupons, public schooling for their children, healthcare, or even official housing. If someone attempted to reside in a city without the proper hukou, local authorities had the right to expel them and forcibly return them to their place of registration—a practice known as “repatriation” (遣返). Police inspections were routine, and illegal residents could be detained or fined. ↩︎