Going on a Mission
When they went on stage, someone realized they had left a team member behind. Another person sang off-key, while some even mixed up their song with another one.
In short, you couldn’t expect much professionalism from a group of women hastily assembled from a village, but considering the circumstances, their performance wasn’t bad at all.
At the very least, Su Su’s team, adorned with red flowers, received enthusiastic applause. Their formation was reasonably neat, and the poetry recitation went smoothly—everyone had memorized their lines, and those who hadn’t simply lowered their voices, creating an overall seamless delivery. Su Su’s writing was straightforward, avoiding any tongue-twisting phrases, making it easy for everyone to recite.
Next came the singing portion. When Su Su stepped forward, her appearance immediately caught the audience’s attention, and whispers spread among the women in the crowd. Many started inquiring whose daughter she was, eager to arrange a marriage for her.
When they found out she was a military wife, they sighed with regret, giving up the idea entirely.
Su Su’s part was just a simple revolutionary song, with the high notes handled by Widow Qiao. Her voice, so distinctive and powerful, could have made her a star in the modern era. As she hit the high notes, the audience erupted into cheers, utterly impressed.
The atmosphere in the hall turned lively, and it became evident to everyone that this year’s award would go to the small mountain village.
When the group came off the stage, the village head was so thrilled that he clapped his hands red and immediately grabbed Su Su’s hand, saying, “Thank you, Comrade Su!”
Su Su was startled by his enthusiasm but managed a shy smile. “It’s nothing,” she said modestly, unsure how to respond to such overwhelming gratitude. She hadn’t done anything extraordinary, after all.
For a small village, however, earning such recognition was a cause for celebration. Soon after, the competition concluded, and the awards ceremony began.
The prizes were practical items, such as food. For their village, each woman received two pounds of flour—enough for a meal of dumplings to celebrate the New Year. Everyone was ecstatic, having never expected such a generous reward.
The village also received a certificate of merit and additional resources, leaving everyone in high spirits.
During the event, Su Su learned that the commune had installed a telephone, though calls cost a hefty fifty cents each—far too expensive for most people. Su Su, however, wasn’t concerned about the cost. After confirming the location, she went straight there to try it out. She had memorized Lin Chuan’s office number and dialled it, though the rotary phone felt unfamiliar and awkward to use.
The commune worker assumed she didn’t know how to operate it and offered, “Give me the number, and I’ll call for you.”
“No need,” Su Su replied, feeling it was inappropriate to have someone else make a private call. She nervously dialled the number herself, her heart racing. It had been so long since she last heard his voice—she wondered what he was doing.
After a few moments, a stranger answered the phone. “Hello? Who’s this?”
Su Su introduced herself, “I’m Su Su, Lin Chuan’s wife… his partner. Is he there?”
“Oh, you’re the captain’s wife! He’s out on a mission right now. Would you like me to pass on a message?”
The voice on the other end sounded excited. Su Su hesitated, then said, “No need to bother him. I just wanted to check in. That’s all.” She promptly hung up.
On the other end, the soldier manning the phone raised his eyebrows at his fellow soldiers, who had gathered around to listen, and whispered, “Her voice is so sweet, sounds so young… Old Lin really married a beauty.”
The others, most of them single, were envious. One muttered, “No wonder he found someone so quickly. Being good-looking really pays off. He went home once and came back married, just like that.”
Su Su had no idea she had left such an impression on Lin Chuan’s comrades. Slightly disappointed, she returned to the village with the others. Back home, the mood remained cheerful, and with the success of the performance, Su Su had gained favour among the villagers. Visitors frequently dropped by her house, and even the literacy class was moved there, with five or six people attending regularly.
One day, Widow Qiao brought over a plate of steamed buns to thank her.
Su Su accepted them graciously, washed the plate, and returned it. Widow Qiao patted her shoulder with a smile and said, “Thank you so much, little sister. If you ever need someone to belt out a tune, just call on me. I’ll help for sure.”
“Of course,” Su Su replied, surprised by the sudden warmth. After all, Widow Qiao had been notoriously difficult to persuade before.
Later that evening, Su Su learned the reason for the widow’s newfound enthusiasm. Her mother-in-law, laughing mischievously, revealed that several men had recently shown interest in Widow Qiao and were even offering generous gifts. This change in her fortunes made her much more approachable and willing to help.
Su Su finally understood—it was the “celebrity effect.” By including Widow Qiao in the performance, Su Su had inadvertently enhanced her reputation. The thought amused her, but she was happy for the widow, who seemed genuinely pleased.
As the New Year approached, Su Su noticed that Lin Chuan hadn’t replied to any of her letters. She assumed he must still be on a mission and unable to contact her.
Life as a military wife was not easy. The constant worry about Lin Chuan’s safety gnawed at her, even though they hadn’t yet fully become husband and wife.
Mother Lin, accustomed to such worries, comforted her, advising her to focus on the New Year celebrations instead of dwelling on her fears.
One of the key preparations was writing couplets. In this era, buying pre-printed couplets was uncommon. Even those that were sold were handwritten by someone. Su Su, having practiced calligraphy out of curiosity in the past, was happy to help.
In previous years, Mother Lin had relied on Lin Donghe to write them. But now, knowing her daughter-in-law’s skills, she adamantly refused to go to him. “That boy’s no good. Always favoring outsiders. We don’t need him. Su Su, just write a few lines—anything will do.”
Amused, Su Su agreed. She cut the red paper and began writing, with Lin Shan assisting her. He enjoyed watching calligraphy and was fascinated by the process.
The Lin family even had an old brush and inkstone, which Father Lin claimed were heirlooms from an ancestor who had once passed the imperial exams.
“A real antique!” Su Su exclaimed, handling the brush with care, thinking it might be worth something someday. However, the inkstone looked a bit worn out, making her skeptical.
“Don’t listen to him,” Mother Lin said dismissively. “Who knows where those things came from? Just use them.” The three Lin brothers chuckled at Su Su’s gullibility, finding her reaction quite entertaining.
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