The pronouncement hung in the stifling hall, thick as the grit coating every sill. Tan Ruyi felt the familiar heavy cloak of impending disaster settle around her shoulders. Her initial plan—a subtle, gradual sabotage through brick-smashing—had spiraled into this. With Liang Bo’s indefatigable strength and unwavering loyalty, failure had become an impossibility. He didn’t just execute tasks; he innovated on them, turning her half-hearted attempts at sloth into triumphs of ingenuity. She envisioned her future, not napping by a sun-dappled window, but overseeing mud-caked laborers by a roaring river, battling floodwaters, and giving endless, exhausting speeches. This simply would not do. Retirement by twenty was not a negotiable goal.
“Chief Field Engineer!” Director He’s voice boomed again, shaking loose a small shower of plaster dust from the ceiling. He wrung her hand with a fervor that was entirely misplaced. “This calls for celebration! A feast tonight, Head Tan! Your ingenuity demands it!”
Ruyi managed a dry smile. “A banquet wastes grain, Comrade He. Better a working supper with my deputy, Qiao Meilin, to plan the sluice gates.” She glanced toward Meilin, whose spine snapped taut with distrust.
Director He clapped his hands. “Splendid! A working dinner! That is the spirit of Shibao! Comrade Liang, ensure Head Tan has all she needs.” With another enthusiastic pat, he departed, his booming laughter echoing down the hallway.
Liang Bo’s face, however, was already a thundercloud. He looked from Ruyi’s tired expression to Meilin’s calculating gaze. “A private dinner?” His voice was a low growl. “With *her*?”
Ruyi patted his arm, a practiced gesture. “It’s work, my dear. Important discussions about the dam. Meilin is an educated youth; her insights will be invaluable.” This was a lie, of course. Meilin’s insights were only ever valuable for spotting Ruyi’s perceived shortcomings. But Ruyi had a new, desperate plan.
That evening, the central hall sat dark and damp. A single bare bulb illuminated three chipped bowls of millet porridge and pickled turnip strips. Liang Bo, ever diligent, had brought a clay jug of fiery sorghum moonshine, brewed by his aunt for sprained joints. He eyed Meilin, who sat stiffly opposite Ruyi, with the protective intensity of a territorial bear.
“Liang Bo, darling,” Ruyi said sweetly, “why not take your bowl to the stoop? You can monitor the river wind. This is technical strategy.” She winked at him, a silent plea. *Go.*
Liang Bo’s brow furrowed. “But I can protect you, Ruyi. She looks like she wants to argue.” He gestured with his spoon towards Meilin, who bristled.
“I assure you, Comrade Liang, my intentions are purely professional,” Meilin snapped. “I am simply here to understand Head Tan’s latest… stroke of genius.” The words were laced with venom.
“See?” Liang Bo grumbled. “She’s already starting.”
Ruyi sighed internally. “Liang Bo, please. I need to focus. For the dam. For Shibao. For our glorious collective future.” She used the buzzwords, knowing they were his kryptonite. He loved ‘glorious collective future’ even more than he loved her napping.
With a reluctant huff, Liang Bo scooped up his bowl and the flask. He shot one last warning glare at Meilin before exiting into the inky night, leaving the door ajar, undoubtedly to listen.
Ruyi tipped two fingers of the sharp spirits into Meilin’s porridge. “A toast, Deputy Qiao. To river control, and shared leadership.”
Meilin eyed the moonshine, picked up her bowl, and knocked the clay rims together. “To inevitable socialist victory.” She swallowed two hearty gulps, coughing as the high-proof distillate seared her throat.
Ruyi, ever the pragmatist, barely touched her own. “The dam, Meilin, is a monumental undertaking. It requires leadership, vision, and… immense personal sacrifice.” She paused, letting the words hang. “I confess, the mantle is exhausting. Far too grueling for one woman, even an eager one.” This was another lie, of course. The burden was light as a cloud, thanks to Liang Bo. But Meilin didn’t know that.
Meilin drank another mouthful, scarlet creeping up her neck. “Exhausting? You? You sleep behind the grain sacks until noon, and suddenly discover reinforced mortar! What hardship could you possibly claim?” Her voice was rising, a tremor of suppressed frustration in it.
Ruyi slid a stamped petition across the pine planks: an irrevocable transfer of brigade authority, pre-stamped with red wax. “The hardship, Deputy Qiao, is the public scrutiny. The unending push to achieve. It wears one down.” She nudged the earthenware jug closer. “You thrive under fire. Your drive is unquestionable.”
Meilin snatched the document. Her gaze raced down the characters, chin dropping. “You… you want to give me this?” Her voice was a cracked whisper. “You want to give me *your* promotion?” She laughed, a short, bitter sound. “Is this another one of your tricks? To make me look like a fool?”
Ruyi shook her head sadly. “No trick, Meilin. A genuine offer. The spillway, the county inspections… it is too much. I dream of simpler days, of quiet productivity. I’m simply not cut out for the limelight, for this constant… pushing. My constitution, you see, is delicate.” She faked a small, weary cough.
Meilin stared at the document, then at Ruyi’s placid face. The sorghum moonshine did its work, stripping away her posture. Her shoulders began to shake. A single tear tracked a path through the dust on her cheek. “You… you don’t even try!” she choked out, slamming her fist on the table, making the bowls jump. “You don’t even *try*, and everything falls into your lap! While I… I work myself to the bone! I read every pamphlet, I memorize every policy, I volunteer for every extra shift! My hair is falling out in clumps, Head Tan! Clumps!” She tugged at a handful of thin strands, tears streaming down her face now. “I haven’t slept properly in weeks! I dream of grain quotas and production targets! And you… you just drift through life, and they call you a genius! They promote you! They give you the dam! I hate you, Tan Ruyi! I hate you for being so effortlessly brilliant!”
The door to the hall, which Liang Bo had left ajar, suddenly burst open. Liang Bo stood framed in the doorway, his massive form silhouetted against the pale moonlight, his eyes blazing. He had overheard. All of it. But not in the way Ruyi had intended.
His gaze, usually so gentle when fixed on Ruyi, was now a storm of fury directed at Meilin. “Falling hair? Sleeping badly? You are *bullying* my Ruyi!” His voice, deep and resonant, rattled the windows. “You are making her constitution ‘delicate’! You are the reason she is ‘tired’!”
He strode to the table, his footsteps heavy. Before Ruyi could explain, before Meilin could even stammer a protest, Liang Bo snatched the transfer document from Meilin’s trembling hand. With a guttural roar, he ripped it in half, then again, and again, until it was nothing but a pile of confetti. He then crushed the scraps under his heavy boot. “My wife’s honor is not for sale, nor is her position to be abandoned because of *your* malicious words!” He turned to Ruyi, his face softened with fierce devotion. “You are a genius, my sleeping dragon. You deserve every promotion, every dam. I will build it for you, brick by brick, so you never have to lift a finger.”
Ruyi pressed a hand to her forehead, a headache blooming behind her eyes. This was worse than she could have imagined. Her only path to blissful mediocrity had just been crushed into dust, ironically by the very man who sought to protect her from it.
Just then, the copper horn speaker wire pinned above the lintel began to hiss with static. A sharp administrative bark cut through the air.
“Attention, village cadres! Directive from regional command: Comrade Tan’s spillway work is canceled. Her mortar formula demands immediate deployment at the capital bureau. Report to the ministry transport Monday dawn.”