Chapter 190: Wei Aiwen's New Year Party

"Absolutely, no question about it." Wei Aiwen recounted with considerable self-satisfaction how he had organized the "Speak Bitterness" rally, lavishing praise on Wang Tao's abilities in the process.

Wu De nodded, a knowing smile crossing his face. "Little Wei, I may be Navy now, but I spent over a decade in the PLA. Let me pull rank just this once to offer you some advice: your approach to political work is heading down the wrong path."

"Speak Bitterness is the wrong path?!" Wei Aiwen's face flushed crimson, indignation written across every feature.

"Speak Bitterness itself isn't the problem—but your version is all technique, no heart." Wu De's voice remained measured and calm. "From a technical standpoint, you and Wang Tao coordinated beautifully and got results. But political work should be done with heart."

"Are we not doing it with heart?"

"Working with heart means genuinely caring about the soldiers and the common people in your daily life—caring about their struggles and hardships." Wu De's expression grew stern. "You need to think more deeply about these soldiers. Many are orphans whose families were destroyed, who have no relatives left in this world. Don't you think the holidays might be difficult for them? Some fled here from the mainland—their relatives are still back home, and they have no idea whether those people are alive or dead. Haven't you seen soldiers weeping quietly in the night? You should understand what new recruits feel when they miss their homes. The holidays demand special consideration. Do you honestly believe that giving them one good meal and distributing some rice and salt tickets constitutes genuine care?"

Wei Aiwen nodded slowly, the words sinking in. "I understand. So essentially, it's about emotional investment."

"'Investment' isn't the word I'd choose, but you've got the general idea." Wu De pressed on. "When soldiers truly see you as a good commander—in battle, if you order them to charge through a minefield, they won't hesitate. They'll take bullets for you without so much as a frown. But if you usually act high and mighty, in battle they'll just go through the motions. And if you mistreat them? Expect friendly fire."

Wei Aiwen said, "When I first arrived at my unit from boot camp, my squad leader even washed my feet. I felt so awkward about it. And that squad leader was a real sleazeball too!"

"That squad leader made exactly the same mistake you're making now." Wu De drove his point home. "Squad leaders washing soldiers' feet is one way of caring for new recruits—but the act of washing feet isn't the same thing as actually caring. If your squad leader usually treated his soldiers poorly, what good was washing their feet once? You can't casually wash someone's feet one time and expect them to trust and obey you. That's pure formalism."

Wei Aiwen felt as though a veil had been lifted from his eyes. He spoke with genuine sincerity. "A'De, with all your experience, you really should guide us more often."

"What can I teach? The military's first priority is unity." Wu De rose to his feet. "Go take care of your business."

"Alright, I'll head down to the troops. I'm just a bachelor anyway—New Year's Eve has nothing better in store for me." He paused at the door. "About the labor assignment on the third—"

"I won't forget. Don't worry."

After Wei Aiwen departed, Wu De removed his coat, stretched out on the bed, and turned his mind to post-holiday employment reform. The matter also touched on civil administration. Xiao Zishan's Internal Affairs Commission currently had no role in managing locals, and the administrative system had grown somewhat confused—it needed unification. Establishing a proper school was equally urgent. Many commune children had no schooling at all. The purchased orphans needed education, but the commune children needed it even more—they were the future. His thoughts circled and spiraled until, gradually, he drifted off to sleep.

On the road, Wei Aiwen called Dongmen Chuiyu and asked him to organize a battalion party.

"Great idea—let's do it now. These soldiers are so bored waiting for New Year that they've started doing handstands and somersaults just to pass the time. Oh, and Wu Nanhai just sent four or five baskets of Fujian tangerines to the battalion as thanks for our work. I saved three jin for you—"

"Don't save any for me. Dongmen, that's not right. It's special treatment." Wei Aiwen was still riding high on the lessons from Wu De's lecture. "Officers and soldiers should all be equal. Distribute everything evenly per head—soldiers first, officers after."

"Damn, you're serious? Fine, you'll get the last share then." Dongmen's laughter crackled through the phone.

"That's perfectly fine. And you'd better not be taking Army tangerines to butter up Ma Big Shot."

"Relax. Don't want any tangerines? Then hurry over."

The New Army's party was held on the parade ground—one advantage of Hainan's perpetually warm weather. A bonfire blazed at the center, casting dancing shadows across the assembled faces. Red Spring Festival couplets and New Year pictures adorned the barracks walls, and everyone who wasn't asleep had gathered around the fire. The only officers present were Dongmen Chuiyu and Old Tiger You. Wei Aiwen was surprised to spot Luo Duo among them, wearing a security duty officer's armband and carrying a rifle. The soldiers cracked sunflower seeds between their teeth, gnawed on dried sweet potato strips, peeled tangerines, and listened happily as Wang Tao performed his storytelling.

Dongmen Chuiyu spotted Wei Aiwen approaching and tossed him a tangerine. "You're here too? Welcome! Welcome!"

Wei Aiwen grinned at Dongmen, then snapped to attention and gave the soldiers a crisp salute. The gesture flustered them into scrambling to their feet to return it.

"Sit down, everyone—continue having fun." He surveyed the crowd, and Wu De's words echoed in his mind. The old man had been absolutely right. If he'd simply told everyone to go back to sleep or left them to spend a cold, empty New Year's Eve alone, where would this lively atmosphere be?

Wang Tao had just finished a segment of "Court Battles"—Liu Baorui's classic storytelling piece. As an amateur enthusiast, he'd clearly put in considerable effort preparing his performance. Of course, at this point in history, not even Qianlong's grandfather had been born yet. So apart from changing some obviously Qing-dynasty elements to Ming equivalents, names like Qianlong, Heshen, and Liu Yong remained unchanged—the audience simply treated it as a tale from some imaginary dynasty. The soldiers listened in rapt attention, and between segments they clamored for more. Wang Tao demurred modestly: "Can't eat all the good food at once. Let's invite Company Commander Wei to give us a performance. Everyone, applause!"

Enthusiastic clapping broke out—though the styles varied wildly. Applause was still a novel concept to many of them.

Wei Aiwen didn't hesitate. He strode to the center and cleared his throat. He'd been a KTV regular back in the day and had served as his company's cultural backbone, so he knew plenty of songs. But pop songs felt too soft for the occasion—better to do a military number. He recalled a favorite: "Cavalry Song of the Grasslands." First he ran through the lyrics in his head, humming once to himself, cutting and replacing inappropriate parts, then launched into song:

Grasslands, oh grasslands, Vast grasslands stretching endlessly! Heroes ride across the grasslands, Ai hei, soldiers charge forward.

Ai hei, soldiers charge forward.

Girl, please watch, The road ahead lies smooth and wide,

See how far this road stretches,

Ai hei, songs never cease along the way.

On roads we've traveled, Fields stretch wide around us,

These are all our farms,

Ai hei, everywhere a new scene appears.

But we see, Smoke rising on the horizon,

Enemies hiding beyond the forest, Ai hei, like dark clouds covering blue sky.

Ai hei, like dark clouds covering blue sky.

Girl, rest assured, We're ready to meet the enemy,

See, cavalry galloping forth, Ai hei, infantry charging forward. Ai hei, infantry charging forward. Ai hei, the transmigrator regime leads us.

Ai hei, the transmigrator regime leads us.

The song was originally the choral finale of Soviet composer Knipper's Fourth Symphony, "Epic of the Komsomol Fighter." The lyricist had been the young poet Gusev. Their collaboration won a prize in the 1934 All-Union Komsomol Song Competition, and soon choirs and singers at home and abroad had taken it up.

The piece combined military grandeur with romantic color, plus a passionate defense of the new regime—it was perfectly fitting for the occasion. From the soldiers' thunderous applause, Wei Aiwen knew he'd sung well. This was a song worth promoting throughout the troops.

After his performance, Wei Aiwen rejoined the crowd. Old Tiger You clapped him on the shoulder, praising the rendition, then leaned in to ask quietly how things had gone with Wu De. Wei Aiwen naturally couldn't resist boasting about how his silver tongue had convinced the man.

Meanwhile, the soldiers took turns singing regional ditties, building human pyramids, and doing handstands—the celebration was in full swing. Eventually Old Tiger You said, "I need to go. My mother's waiting to stay up for New Year together."

"Filial son, haha."

"That's just being a proper person." He tucked the two tangerines he'd just been given into his clothes, then whispered, "Did you hear about the domestic secretaries?"

"Heard about it. You want one too?"

"Of course. I told my mother I'd get a princess to serve her. And now look at me—it's my mother serving me instead." Old Tiger You looked somewhat embarrassed. "I want to get a domestic secretary first so she can finally rest."

"A princess..." Wei Aiwen shook his head. "Honestly, I'm not that interested." Those small builds? Some of the women even still had bound feet—just looking at them made him uncomfortable.

The next morning, Wu De woke to find Chuyu attending to his washing, and he ate the sesame-filled tangyuan she had made herself. Watching her radiant face as she bustled about, a flower tucked into her hair, a thought struck him: Why be so conflicted? New Year, new beginnings—just take her already.

By the standards of that other spacetime, Chuyu was merely delicate, nothing special in figure—she couldn't really count as a beauty. But his requirements for women had never been particularly high anyway. The Executive Committee had discussed assigning "domestic secretaries"—perhaps that policy could be implemented soon. Let everyone enjoy a normal life instead of always eating in cafeterias...

Just as he was lost in thought, Chuyu approached with two tangerines and knelt before him. "Chuyu wishes Master boundless blessings for the new spring."

"Get up, get up. Just give your New Year's greetings normally." Wu De sometimes couldn't handle her formality. He accepted the tangerines. Using tangerines for New Year greetings—this must be a regional Chaoshan custom.

But Chuyu didn't rise. She just smiled up at him. "New Year's greetings without red envelope gifts?"

"Fine, fine, here." Wu De had prepared many red envelopes the day before. The contents were meager—each contained just a one-jin salt ticket. But locals, influenced by Cantonese customs, valued the tradition.

Watching Chuyu cheerfully bustle about the room, he smiled to himself. A thread of homesickness surfaced unbidden. He murmured aloud:

"Ah, when can we accomplish great things and return home to visit?"

Then he reconsidered: even if they immediately captured Guangdong, his homeland in this spacetime had nothing to do with his real home.

He looked out the window. Dawn was just breaking, and commune cadres were already arriving to pay their New Year's respects. He went out to visit familiar households throughout the commune and check on the group dormitories. New Year breakfast was cafeteria sesame tangyuan for everyone. Wu De surveyed the scene—no household seemed to be struggling. The sight made him quite happy.

After breakfast, though it was a holiday, there was nothing in the way of entertainment. Wu De made his routine rounds of the various construction sites, all of which depended on commune labor supply. Per the schedule, the brick kiln and quarry wouldn't cease operations—the labor-reform team would continue production. The Bopu Baitu Village housing project also pressed forward; this village was primarily for shipbuilding workers, so their housing remained at Bopu port, though the village kept its Baitu name. Wu De didn't request a vehicle. Taking only his bodyguard Yuan Qiushi, he walked along the highway to Bopu to check on the project's progress.

At the construction site, Wen Desi and several people from the Building Department were climbing a tall sand pile, pointing and discussing, apparently in the midst of some debate.

"Mr. Wen, good morning! Oh, right—Happy New Year!"

"Happy New Year to you too!" Wen Desi called down from above. Wu De could see Building Department chief Mei Wan and several others he didn't recognize up there with him.

Wu De climbed the sand pile to join them. Wen Desi was holding a rough sketch, discussing it intently with the Building Department staff. Leaning in, Wu De saw it was structural plans for Baitu Village's new buildings.

"What's this? Changing the design for the new village buildings?" Wu De noticed the structure differed from the standard residences already built in Bairren Commune.

"Bairren Commune's current Standard Residence A has a significant drawback—low defensive capability. That's not a problem in our core area, but somewhere like Bopu needs to account for defense. There's another issue you might not have noticed: farmers aren't accustomed to multi-story buildings, and the A-type design failed to consider residents' need for drying clothes and goods."

This B-type residence arranged all the houses in a square surrounding formation, totaling thirty-eight households. Each unit featured two sixteen-square-meter floors with an additional ten-square-meter rooftop terrace and a six-square-meter small room. The structure resembled townhouses. Corner towers on all four corners had shared toilets on the ground floor, with wastewater and excreta piped into a biogas pit. The central area was a four-hundred-square-meter threshing ground complete with a communal well.

These buildings had no windows or doors facing outward on the ground floor—they opened only to the inner threshing ground. Rooftop terraces featured external crenellations. The corner towers could station sentries and store communal village supplies. If enemies invaded, everyone could shelter inside with water and grain for short-term defense. The residential area had only one entrance gate, fronted by a gatehouse equipped with firing ports.

(End of Chapter)