Chapter 2016 - Beginning of a New Life

"...Take the Qingjie Institute, for instance. In thirty years, I've lost count of how many chaste widows lived here. True, a handful endured until their children grew up and took them away for peaceful old age. But what of the rest? For ten, twenty years, all they saw upon opening their eyes each morning was the square patch of sky above the courtyard. Counting hours every day, waiting for darkness, suffering through years until they couldn't endure anymore—then carried out and sent to the cremation ground. That was the end of a life. I went along every time to handle matters at the cremation ground, watching these perfectly fine women locked up here until they died... what was the point of it all..."

His voice wavered; tears welled in his own eyes. Mao Xiuyu wiped the corners of his eyes and laughed self-consciously. "Ashamed, ashamed." He continued: "This time everyone has a future. I see Director Lu and Comrade Lu here, their hearts filled with joy—as happy as if you were all their own family..." At these words, Lu Cheng couldn't stop tears from rolling down her face. After expending such effort, enduring such hardship at the Jiliang Institute, hearing Mao Xiuyu's words now filled her with overwhelming emotion and profound recognition.

"So I say—everyone here is blessed!" His voice strengthened. "Today is a joyous day. Don't cry. Your good days stretch long ahead... I toast you all!"

Sister Zhen picked up her belongings and followed the group through the Huanghua Temple's main gate.

The afternoon sun blazed brilliant, almost blinding, warming her body through. She looked up at the mountain gate with its replaced plaque. In fifteen years, this was only her second time passing through here. The first time, she'd carried her one-year-old son on her back, following the managing woman here, slipping with every step on muddy ground after rain, walking all the way from the city. She still remembered—the weather had been just as fair that day, but her heart was shrouded in gloom: husband dead, family destitute, carrying a one-year-old son. With no path forward, she'd listened to others' advice and come here to keep chastity.

Once here, fifteen full years had passed. In all that time, except for when she'd wept herself dry carrying her son's small body to the back for cremation, she'd never stepped beyond the Qingjie Institute's main gate—let alone this Huanghua Temple mountain gate. Manager Sister-in-law Sun had once boasted proudly that a chaste widow in the Qingjie Institute hadn't stepped outside for fifty years.

Sister Zhen had never imagined she could leave here alive. Her son was dead, her last hope shattered. Only as a corpse, sent to the Liuhua Bridge cremation ground, would she be carried out from here.

Days in the courtyard were endlessly long—every moment felt like suffering—yet also swift as lightning. In a blink, fifteen years had passed. When the Australians fought their way in, more than half the widows present when she'd entered were no longer among the living.

Bitterness—this was the word widows chanted year-round. Insufficient food, spinning yarn day and night—these were bitter, but endurable. The true bitterness lay in the hopeless future, the unknowable destiny. Do I really have to live here until death? Sister Zhen had asked herself more than once before sleep. Many women had probably asked the same. Some couldn't endure the depression and went mad. Others simply hung a skirt sash on the tree behind the house to liberate themselves.

Many believed in Buddha, chanted sutras, prayed for the next life. Sister Zhen had learned chanting from an old sister too, but it couldn't relieve the bitterness in her chest at all. How long would these boundless dreary days last? Sometimes she felt death would be preferable—only death could liberate her from this boundless sea of suffering.

Unexpectedly, she'd truly escaped the sea of bitterness. She gazed greedily at the world beyond the mountain gate, feeling reborn.

The sisters around her also stopped one by one before the gate, gazing bewilderedly at the outside world, afraid to take a step. They'd been away from this world too long.

"Don't space out! Hurry up—the scheduled boat won't wait. Watch your steps." Lu Cheng, responsible for escorting them to Lingao, urged upon seeing this.

Another group of women carrying belongings emerged from the opposite side of the mountain gate—the "students" preparing to depart for Guangzhou city. Compared to the "chaste widows," they proved much livelier, chattering nonstop along the way, faces full of cheerful smiles.

Lu Cheng maintained order while urging everyone to walk faster. Suddenly she noticed two people in cadre uniforms by the mountain gate who looked very familiar. Looking closely—Wang Jun and Du Yibin, standing in the shadows of the corner, invisible unless specifically noticed.

She felt surprised and about to speak when she saw Wang Jun press a finger to his lips in a "shush" gesture. Lu Cheng had to remain silent.

They'd heard today was the women's departure day and come specially to see them off. However, at the mountain gate, Wang Jun changed his mind.

"Let's not go in."

Du Yibin didn't understand. "We're here already. Why not enter?"

"Going in means delivering another speech, then everyone shouting 'Long live the Council of Elders.' Getting rather tired of it." Wang Jun smiled. "We don't covet those 'Long lives.'"

"But how will this demonstrate the Council cares for them..."

"They'll definitely remember our care," Wang Jun said. "Even long after we die, someone will remember."

"So we return?"

"Since we're here, let's watch them leave. Consider it our final regard."

So they stood silently in the corner, watching the women line up and depart. Compared to when they'd first arrived here, the spiritual outlook of both "single women" and "students" had undergone earth-shaking transformation. Wang Jun reflected: prostitutes and chaste widows—two terms as incompatible as fire and water, groups with absolutely no intersection—yet at this moment both were embarking on new lives under the Council of Elders' grace and blessing. What a wondrous thing. Nothing made Wang Jun feel the era's absurdity more than this. Yet he secretly felt elated—how many people had they saved from fate's quagmire? Coming to this timeline, obtaining status and wealth unimaginable in the old timeline, yet this psychological satisfaction proved incomparable to any status or wealth. Perhaps precisely because of this, the Council of Elders could endure so many years of toil, loneliness, and danger—pushing history's wheel forward step by step.

He suddenly noticed Du Yibin wiping his eyes and laughed. "What? Happily got sand in your eyes?"

"No, not that—don't talk nonsense." Du Yibin lowered his handkerchief. "I'm happy! It's been almost eight years since D-Day, and this is the first time I'm so happy. Never felt what I did was so meaningful. Actually I started just wanting to find wives for workers—now I understand: I know why I came here."

Wang Jun thought: Isn't it the same for me? Responding to Du Yibin's memo back then was merely to cultivate some presence within the Council. Yet at this moment, what did that bit of presence matter?

Neither Lu Cheng, nor Sister Zhen, nor any other woman heard their conversation or knew their inner thoughts. They walked briskly, stepping onto the road to a new life.

—

Fang Fei held the document with a wry smile playing across his face.

Since planning and hosting the "Public Memorial Ceremony" last time, organizing the "Collective Wedding" had fallen to him this round.

Generally, weddings beat funerals—at least they're celebratory. But this collective wedding represented a typical "cook a meal without rice" assignment. When Liu Xiang discussed the project with him, the core message was "must be excellent yet economical." He'd lectured on the collective wedding's significance to the "New Life Movement," benefits for women's liberation, various propaganda advantages... so it must be grand, giving Guangzhou citizens a "fresh perspective." But later he'd repeatedly emphasized "tight budget" and frugal management.

In veteran planner Fang Fei's eyes, holding events always meant results proportionate to expenditure. Wanting spectacular results with minimal money would eventually produce something nondescript.

Moreover, available technical conditions in the seventeenth century were limited. Many common methods for domestic large-scale events couldn't be employed—they didn't even possess the most old-fashioned approach of hanging colored light bulbs.

Guangzhou lacked electricity, nor did it have Lingao's public lighting system. Nighttime event lighting became a major problem. The wedding couldn't be held at night, forcing a daytime ceremony. As for the so-called "Pearl River Night Cruise" and fireworks—boats and fireworks were relatively simple to arrange. White Swan Pond harbored many luxury pleasure boats, mostly from brothels. Due to the vice industry cleanup, many brothels had closed and their boats were confiscated, transferred to the Zi Ming Lou Entertainment Company. Getting Zi Ming Lou to provide several boats for free use posed no difficulty. But twenty-first-century Pearl River night cruises relied on coastal nightscape illumination. The seventeenth-century White Swan Pond surroundings had no myriad lit homes. Past wealthy people cruising at night mostly drank and listened to music for pleasure. When it's pitch black, what could newlyweds see on the boat? Security issues would also prove difficult to resolve.

Fang Fei wanted to cut this item, but Director Liu had specifically mentioned the "water cruise" project when assigning the task, so he naturally couldn't eliminate it. After considerable thought, only daytime would work. Since the Plaid Skirt Club luminaries insisted on "performing," why not hold a waterside public performance at the Great World pier for the newlyweds to watch? It would count as "propagating the new literary situation." As for refreshments on the cruise ships, Zhang's Food could sponsor them, and beverage costs could also be covered.

But what about the daytime wedding banquet? Although Liu Xiang had said "no gluttony," in the seventeenth century where most people didn't have enough to eat, a wedding focusing solely on ritual and atmosphere couldn't leave a deep impression on the masses. Instead, it would give commoners the perception that "the Council of Elders is stingy with subordinates, unwilling even to host a banquet for weddings."