Wife, let’s lay our cards on the table! What we cannot hold on to, let us release.

So filial—woman, you really dare to push your luck!

Before Cheng Xueming could properly lock his bicycle, Feng Jiayou had already dashed into the kitchen—he couldn’t even stop her in time.

With that, Cheng Xueming decided not to rush. He took his time with the lock, curious to see what new display of “maternal kindness and daughterly piety” awaited him from this pair.

“The sample issue of Yanjing Literature is out?!”

Feng’s mother, busy in the kitchen, jumped the moment she heard her daughter’s shrill cry. She put down her work and hurried out. When she saw the magazine in Feng Jiayou’s hands, she quickly wiped her hands on her apron and snatched it away.

This issue of Yanjing Literature! Li Qingquan and the others had kept it so tightly under wraps! Last week, Liu Xinwu had personally gone to their office but left empty-handed—not even catching a glimpse of the magazine, which had sent him into a fit of rage.

When he returned, he ordered all the editors to use any means necessary to get their hands on a copy of the inside sample, desperate to find out what kind of “great satellite” Li Qingquan was about to launch in this issue of Yanjing Literature.

A “great satellite”! On that very day, Li Qingquan had smugly told Liu Xinwu that this issue might just be a “great satellite,” and that Liu should wait and see the spectacle.

This only made Liu Xinwu of “October” all the more agitated.

Li Qingquan had even shamelessly claimed that their “great satellite” had a profound connection with “October.”

As for what that connection was, Li Qingquan wouldn’t say—he left them to guess and stew.

What was there to guess? Wasn’t it that Jiayou’s classmate Cha Jianying, whose manuscript had first been submitted to “October” and rejected, then sent it to Yanjing Literature?

A thinly veiled mockery that “October” had misjudged a gem.

Because of this, Feng’s mother, Gu Xueqing, had long instructed her daughter: once the sample issue of Yanjing Literature came out, after passing it to Cha Jianying, she must borrow it back at the first opportunity and let her have a look.

So, these past few days, Gu Xueqing had been coming home early, waiting for her daughter to return from school, knowing that the magazine would be out any day and she could bring the sample back.

“Isn’t this the latest issue of Yanjing Literature? Jianying’s editor delivered it to Yanda in person today, and I borrowed it!” Feng Jiayou’s face was tinged with excitement; she couldn’t wait to see how her mother would react after reading her future son-in-law’s “The Horseman.”

“The editor of Yanjing Literature delivered it in person to Yanda? That’s quite a high honor!” Feng’s mother was stunned once again. No wonder an author who could land the front page and boasted of launching a “great satellite” would merit the editor’s special trip to deliver the sample!

Usually, in their editorial office, manuscripts and sample issues were always mailed together, no matter the distance.

This only heightened Feng’s mother’s curiosity. The moment she snatched the magazine, her eyes fell on the cover: “The Horseman,” by Lao Xu.

Surprisingly, it wasn’t Cha Jianying’s real name but a pen name, “Lao Xu.” What an old-fashioned pseudonym for a girl! But that didn’t matter—content was king.

Feng’s mother opened the magazine—right on the first page was the headline story, “The Horseman,” by Lao Xu.

“He was a child abandoned by the wealthy.”

The very first line struck a nerve with Feng’s mother. After all, she herself had been a rich girl in the Republic era, raised with a silver spoon in her mouth.

Perhaps because she’d been anticipating it for days, she was drawn in at once.

Feng Jiayou waved at Cheng Xueming, signaling that they’d better retreat to her room; clearly, her mother wouldn’t finish reading any time soon.

“Why did you give it to her just like that? Wasn’t that too direct? Have you thought about how you’ll explain things to her later?” Cheng Xueming asked once they slipped into the room.

“Hee hee, you said ‘explain’—so I’ll just wing it! What, is my mom going to storm my school to interrogate me?”

“Even if she does, she won’t find anything out!”

Feng Jiayou’s clever face was alight with mischief. She pulled a remittance slip from her schoolbag and showed it to Cheng Xueming. “I never got a chance to show you this at school!”

“Look—this is your payment for your manuscript: three hundred and fifteen yuan! I took a look at Jianying’s slip—she only got seventy-three! You made so much more than she did, you’re amazing!”

If women were a bit bolder, she might have impulsively kissed him. But the times wouldn’t allow her such freedom—she was no woman of three decades hence.

“I’ll make something special for dinner tonight to celebrate, all right?”

Cheng Xueming quipped as he reached for the slip, but Feng Jiayou snatched it back, laughing. “In your dreams!”

She tiptoed over to her secret stash, hidden in a copy of “Song of Youth,” and tucked the remittance slip away with the other. “Tomorrow, let’s go to the post office and deposit the money.”

“Still, we should celebrate! Darling, I’ve been holding back for days now!” Cheng Xueming put on a pitiful act.

“Celebrate what? Didn’t I already celebrate for you the other day?”

“You want a second celebration for the same payment?”

“We agreed: whenever you bring home a new slip, I’ll celebrate with you. No slip, no celebration—end of story!”

Feng Jiayou gave him a sidelong glance, too delighted with her little treasure hoard to bother with him.

“But this one’s a novella! It takes a long time to write!” Cheng Xueming protested. This novella, which he’d reported to her, wouldn’t earn him a payment slip until it was published.

If he brought her a slip from another source, his secret “little treasury” would be exposed.

“That’s your problem!” Feng Jiayou said firmly. She was a woman of principle—no exceptions!

“Fine! But since this is a novella, when I finally get paid, it should count as ten short stories—so we celebrate ten times, all right?” Cheng Xueming tried to argue his case, hoping to break through her defenses.

“Xueming… you…” Feng Jiayou stared at him, utterly baffled—she’d never expected him to come up with such an idea.

Could you really count it that way? One novella as ten short stories, so ten celebrations? Was he mad?

“Jiayou, come out here and watch the stove—the rice is still cooking!” Her mother’s voice called from outside, breaking the brief, bewildered silence in the room.

“Coming!” Feng Jiayou snapped back to reality and fled the “beast” in a hurry—ten celebrations, could he even handle that?

“Mom, where are you going?” she asked when she saw her mother, magazine in hand, wheeling her bicycle toward the door.

“Your classmate’s story is truly excellent—no wonder Li Qingquan dared to make it the cover story. I need to hurry and bring this to the office for Lao Liu and the others to see!” her mother said urgently.

“Is that necessary, Mom? It’s just a story—‘The Horseman.’ It’s nearly dark—will anyone even be at the office?”

Feng Jiayou glanced at the sky. Was “The Horseman” really worth her mother’s frantic rush?

“You’ve got some nerve, talking like that! ‘Just a story’? When your work is half as good as your classmate’s, I’ll burn incense in thanks!” her mother shot back, before adding, “You don’t understand—Lao Liu is obsessed with this issue, ever since Li Qingquan… oh, never mind, you wouldn’t get it.”

“Keep an eye on the stove—I’ll be back soon!”

She nearly mentioned that Lao Liu had been driven half-crazy by Li Qingquan’s secrecy, waiting every day for the sample to see what “satellite” was being launched. Now that she had the magazine, how could she not hurry?

With that, she pushed her bicycle and hurried out the door.

“Darling, seeing how things are, maybe we should just confess to Mom and hand over this novella as a peace offering?” Cheng Xueming was starting to have second thoughts—if things got out of hand, honesty might be the best policy.

“Fine! Later, you can confess to your mother-in-law—maybe she’ll go easy on you!”

…