Xia Xiaolan’s biological father, Xia Dajun, was the sort of man who believed in fists over words.

Whenever there was a fight over irrigation channels or farmland, Xia Dajun would be sent in. Big, strong, and built for brute force, he was the Old Xia family’s sharpest weapon—point him at a problem, and he’d charge straight ahead.

In Xia Xiaolan’s eyes, however, her father was nothing more than a thick-skulled fool. He cared only about the so-called “greater family” and never about his own household, neglecting his own wife and daughter. A first-rate fool, through and through.

Among the three Xia brothers, Xia Dajun ranked second—and was the only one without a son. That fact alone crushed his pride.

Feeling he could never hold his head high, he took out his resentment on his wife, Liu Fen. When sober, he cursed her endlessly; when drunk, he didn’t hesitate to raise his hand.

Even Xia Xiaolan, his own flesh and blood, was nothing more than a money-losing burden in his eyes.

It wasn’t that Xia Dajun failed to see Xia Xiaolan’s potential value—rather, the era itself had narrow standards of beauty. Xia Xiaolan was pretty, but her fox-like looks appealed only to young men. Elders despised that sort of face at first glance: restless, seductive, the type to bring chaos into a household.

By contrast, her cousin Xia Ziyu had a round face, thick brows, and bright eyes—dignified and wholesome. One look and anyone would declare her a “good girl.”

Xia Xiaolan was known as an airhead. Xia Ziyu hadn’t been especially clever as a child either, but after finishing middle school, she seemed to awaken overnight. Her grades soared, and this year she’d actually been accepted into a university in the capital.

The Old Xia family had produced a golden phoenix.

Xia Dajun despised his own daughter, yet doted endlessly on his niece.

The village’s able-bodied men went off to work on river embankments to earn money—money meant for Xia Ziyu’s living expenses. She left for Beijing with more than 500 yuan scraped together by the entire family. Afraid she wouldn’t have enough to spend in the capital, everyone worked like old oxen, bending their backs to support this prized college student.

As for Xia Xiaolan?

She had smashed her head against a pillar, yet wasn’t even taken to the hospital. A barefoot village doctor from the clinic wrapped the wound carelessly, and that was that.

Same family name. Entirely different fates.

Thinking of the original Xia Xiaolan, President Xia couldn’t help but sigh inwardly.

That outstanding cousin of hers was no easy opponent. The villagers didn’t understand, but Xia Xiaolan did—college students in this era didn’t pay tuition. Not only that, the state even provided a monthly living allowance. That money alone was enough to cover personal expenses.

Going to college in 1983 with 500 yuan in hand?

That was practically white-rich-beautiful treatment.

Xia Ziyu enjoying such privilege didn’t bother her.

What bothered her was this—

Earlier, she’d seen the entire Xia family. None of them were as emaciated as Liu Fen, thin enough that you couldn’t squeeze two ounces of oil from her bones. Yet Xia Ziyu’s own mother also wore patched clothes—her complexion rosy, her hands full and smooth, nothing like Liu Fen’s cracked, skeletal fingers.

The most brutally exploited household was Xia Xiaolan’s.

Xia Dajun was willing to play the old ox, but Xia Xiaolan refused to swallow that injustice on Liu Fen’s behalf.

“Dad will be back eventually,” she said coolly. “Let’s see what he chooses—his niece, or his daughter.”

She didn’t know whether Xia Dajun had heard about her smashing into the pillar, but once the work was done, he would return. Xia Xiaolan decided to give the original owner’s father one last chance.

Liu Fen sensed something was wrong and quickly tried to smooth things over.

“Your father does care about you. Your cousin is just—”

Xia Xiaolan smiled faintly. Liu Fen’s voice trailed off, her confidence evaporating.

In rural areas, it wasn’t uncommon for uncles to favor nephews over daughters. But favoring a niece over one’s own daughter? Even Liu Fen had never seen such a thing.

Xia Dajun truly disliked Xia Xiaolan. Liu Fen’s body had been damaged giving birth to her, leaving her unable to conceive again. Xia Dajun blamed everything on the daughter who’d “ruined” his chances of having a son.

Mother and daughter fell into silence. Xia Xiaolan looked around the dilapidated house.

“I’ll go gather some firewood.”

She also wanted to take the opportunity to observe Dahe Village—see where she might scrape together some money. With no cash in hand, even the best plans were useless.

Dahe Village was poor. Then again, in 1983, there were hardly any villages that weren’t.

Poverty was deeply rooted—shaped by geography, history, and the limitations of the era. People lived by clawing food from the soil. Being able to fill one’s stomach was already a blessing.

As the sun dipped toward the horizon, a few women were washing clothes by the river.

Dahe Village lived up to its name—a broad river ran past its edge. In theory, fish belonged to no one; catch them and sell them for money. It wasn’t that villagers feared going to the city to sell fish… but while fish were born of nature, this stretch of river was collectively owned by the village. Catching a few fish to eat was tolerated. Selling them for profit was not.

Xia Xiaolan had no moral qualms about secretly catching fish to sell. The only property she and Liu Fen owned was twenty jin of sweet potatoes. When starvation loomed, who had the luxury of moral purity?

Unfortunately, she had no tools—and no skill at catching fish bare-handed.

Both riverbanks were thick with tall white reed grass. If it were May, she might have stripped reed leaves to sell for wrapping zongzi. But the Dragon Boat Festival had long passed.

No demand meant no money.

Weaving mats?

Making baskets?

In the original Xia Xiaolan’s memory, many villagers had those skills, producing straw mats and carrying baskets during slack seasons. They sold cheaply in the countryside and held little appeal in the city. Folk crafts weren’t popular yet—urban demand focused on meat, eggs, milk, and livestock products.

Xia Xiaolan stared at the river, lost in thought.

Had she climbed all the way to become a multinational executive, only to starve to death in 1983?

If she wanted to break free from the Xia family, she needed the ability to support herself and Liu Fen. Before those twenty jin of sweet potatoes ran out, she had to secure some startup capital.

The countryside wouldn’t work.

She needed to go to the city.

Only circulation of goods could generate profit. Rural people had no disposable income. Aside from industrial goods like matches, soap, and fertilizer, villages in 1983 were largely self-sufficient.

As Xia Xiaolan picked up dry branches by the river, she noticed the women pointing and whispering. She ignored them. Wasting energy arguing with busybodies wasn’t worth it. Instead, she walked farther, toward the reed marsh near the cattle shed—an area avoided by villagers due to the stench.

She had only gone a few steps in when two wild ducks suddenly burst out of the reeds.

Flapping wildly, quacking loudly—almost as if they were deliberately drawing her attention. Xia Xiaolan’s eyes lit up.

Did they really think they could fool her?

This was a classic feint.

Sure enough, after carefully searching the reeds, she found a well-hidden duck nest.

Inside, nestled among soft grass, were green-shelled duck eggs packed tightly together. President Xia—who had signed contracts worth hundreds of millions—grinned foolishly at a nest of wild eggs.

She picked them up one by one, holding them up to the light.

Fresh. Not even slightly incubated.

Twelve eggs in total.

The saying was true—live by the mountain, eat from the mountain, live by the water, eat from the water. With these reeds and this riverbank, she could survive in 1983.

Resisting the urge to thoroughly scour the marsh, she tucked away the twelve eggs, gathered her firewood, and returned to the dilapidated house.

“Mom,” she said cheerfully.

“How about we roast some sweet potatoes?”

You had to eat your fill first—only then could you work.

If you like my translations, please support me on ko-fi!