Ch 67: Bringing a Farming Game System to the 1970s

By the time they left the Qin family’s home, Yu Xiang’an’s mouth was completely dry. It wasn’t that she hadn’t been drinking water, but she’d been talking non-stop, and any water she drank was quickly used up.

Yu Xiangyan wasn’t much better off. Even after they got back, there was no rest. The news of the Yu family’s college students returning spread like wildfire in the small county. How much excitement could that stir up?

They became the talk of the town, a spectacle for everyone to see.

Families with children preparing for college entrance exams came over, hoping to get tips and advice from them. It wasn’t something they could avoid—after all, these were neighbors they’d lived alongside for years. Turning people away would risk being seen as arrogant or disdainful of their roots, which could easily spark gossip about them looking down on others.

When Yu Qingshan came home, he was greeted by a loud, bustling scene outside his house. A crowd had gathered, their chatter creating a constant buzz.

He hesitated to enter for a moment, feeling a little helpless, before raising his voice. “Excuse me, make way! Let me through!”

Hearing his voice, some in the crowd turned and called out, “Old Yu, you’re back!”

“Your kids are back from university—such an achievement! You’re set for life now!”

“Look at how dignified they are. No wonder they’re students from the capital, under the emperor’s feet!”

“Old Yu, you won’t have anything to worry about anymore…”

A flood of compliments followed.

Yu Qingshan replied modestly, “Oh, they’re still young and inexperienced.”

“You’re too kind.”

“Don’t say too much, or they might get too proud, and that’s never a good thing.”

It took a lot of effort for him to finally squeeze through the crowd. After glancing at his second son, daughter-in-law, and youngest daughter, his attention was quickly drawn to the twins.

His children were all grown now, and as long as they looked healthy, he was content.

But his two grandchildren were a different matter. They had grown so much. Seeing them cling to their mother’s sleeve, clearly frightened by the crowd, he quickly stepped in.

“Everyone, give them some space. The kids can’t even breathe! Spread out, spread out!”

It took several attempts before the crowd finally dispersed.

“Dad, you’re back.”

Yu Xiang’an greeted him with a relieved smile, the tension on her face easing.

Yu Qingshan chuckled. Being surrounded by so many people singing their praises might have made most people happy, but his family didn’t seem to enjoy it much.

Once the neighbors were gone, Yu Xiangyan sighed wryly. “Dad, you didn’t see how long we were stuck in that crowd. Sure, everyone loves hearing compliments, but when it’s non-stop, it’s like listening to a monk chanting endlessly.”

Yu Xianghai grinned. “I wish I could hear that. But for me, there’s no chance of ever going to university. If I want to hear praise like that, I’ll have to wait until my kids get there.”

Ye Qijia shared his sentiments, thinking to herself that while she and her husband wouldn’t achieve it, their children could. With an uncle and aunt paving the way, their chances were better.

Meanwhile, Yu Mingjie shivered suddenly, as if sensing something ominous. Looking around nervously, he scratched his head, puzzled by the feeling.

Yu Xiang’an took a closer look at Yu Mingyao.

When she was younger, Yu Mingyao had resembled the eldest sister from Yu Xiang’an’s original world, making it hard not to dote on her a little extra. Now that she’d grown, she resembled Ye Qijia more, but she was still her niece.

Once the crowd was gone, leaving only family, Yu Xiang’an brought out the gifts she had brought back.

Each person received something special. For Yu Qingshan, it was a fountain pen. For Yu Xianghai, a small five-star badge. Ye Qijia received a silk scarf printed with a design from the Forbidden City. For Yu Mingjie and his siblings, there were brand-new clothes.

Each gift was met with delight.

Ye Qijia carefully examined the silk scarf, hesitant to touch it directly. First, she rubbed her fingers on her clothes to check for any rough edges, worried about accidentally snagging the delicate pattern. Only after confirming there were no issues did she dare to handle it, treating it with great care.

Yu Qingshan was happy to receive the gift, but he couldn’t help questioning, “Where did you get the money for all this? You’re still students, and while you do get some subsidies, there’s not much left after expenses. You’ve got kids over there, too, and they’re attending daycare. You’re spending money everywhere. You should return these gifts if possible.”

Yu Xiang’an replied innocently, “I didn’t spend much money. I made food for others and traded my skills. That’s the benefit of mastering a craft.”

Yu Qingshan was skeptical. “You really managed to trade for all this?”

“Well, it is the capital. There are plenty of wealthy people who love to indulge. Dad, think about it—if your family had several people earning wages and someone who could cook amazing meals, wouldn’t you be willing to pay a little extra for such a treat?”

Even Yu Xiangyan felt a pang of regret. His cooking skills were decent by ordinary standards, but he couldn’t compete with professional chefs, let alone his sister’s culinary talent, which could rival the best.

No wonder her life was so vibrant—she truly had the skills to back it up.

“How long can you stay this time?”

They couldn’t stay long. Winter break was less than a month, and after accounting for travel time and days allocated for tasks, they could only remain in the county for six or seven days.

Once the New Year was over, it would be time to head back.

Yu Xiangyan sighed, “I’ll be returning to Red Star Brigade tomorrow.”

His two daughters and son were there.

Yu Qingshan nodded. “You should go. We’re also planning to return for the New Year.”

Since his second son wanted to spend the holiday with his kids, they decided to all head back together. After all, there was already a house to stay in.

Nowadays, Yu Qingshan spent his days off either at the commune visiting Yu Xiangju or at the Red Star Brigade visiting his parents and grandchildren. With his second son away, he felt responsible for looking after the kids. Without their parents around, they were bound to feel uneasy.

Now that school was out for break, there was no need to choose between the two places. Yu Xiangju was also staying at the Red Star Brigade, running around with a group of teenagers and playing to his heart’s content.

Yu Xiang’an could empathize with Yu Xiangyan and Wen Ruzhen’s eagerness to see their children. Her own twins had never been away from her for more than a day, and just imagining months-long separation made her heart ache. She worried endlessly—were they cold? Hungry? Hurt? Bullied?

Not knowing anything would drive her to overthink. Now, it had been nearly six months since Yu Xiangyan’s children had seen their parents. The younger ones might not even remember who their mom and dad were anymore.

Since Yu Qingshan and Yu Xianghai both had work and couldn’t leave immediately, they agreed that Yu Xiangyan, Wen Ruzhen, and the children would head back to the village first. The others would follow when their schedules allowed.

When Yu Xiang’an saw Yu Xiangju, she noticed he had grown taller and now looked more like a young man. His personality had also changed—where he used to be cheerful and carefree, he had become more reserved.

When he saw Yu Xiang’an, his eyes lit up with a familiar excitement, and he eagerly asked her a flurry of questions. Yet, in front of others, he reverted to his quiet demeanor.

Clearly, what happened with Zhao Qiaoniang had left a lasting impact on him.

That ordeal had transformed him from a carefree child into a more somber youth. Growing up often came with a price.

Two or three years might not bring noticeable changes in adults, but in children, the transformations were significant. Yu Xiangju, Yu Mingjie, and Yu Xiangyan’s three children were prime examples.

When the three children saw their parents, the two older ones still remembered them but showed signs of unfamiliarity. The youngest, however, didn’t recognize them at all. Curious, the child tugged on Zhang Chahua’s hand and asked, “Who are they?”

When Wen Ruzhen heard those words, her eyes reddened. “I’m your mom! Do you still remember me? Mom went to school and traveled far away, but now I’m back.”

Yu Xiang’an glanced at the children and sighed internally. Children raised by their mothers were quite different from those raised by their grandmothers or great-grandmothers.

In the past, Wen Ruzhen had meticulously cared for the three kids, keeping them clean most of the time. But now, they were tanned, sturdier, and their clothes were often dirty. The youngest even had mud stains on the back of their pants, clearly from rolling around in a dirt pile. They seemed lively and carefree, but the change from their earlier appearance was striking.

It was just like those jokes: kids raised by their moms were little princes and princesses in suits and dresses; kids raised by their grandmothers turned into country bumpkins in floral cotton jackets.

Returning to Red Star Brigade wasn’t much different—just a change of location and a new crowd of people heaping praise on them. Yu Xiang’an found herself repeating the same conversations until her throat felt dry.

Thankfully, she’d anticipated this and prepared three extra sets of photos and materials: one for her grandmother, one for Yu Qingshan, and one for Yu Changyou and Zhang Chahua. These were helpful distractions, allowing her to slip away while everyone else remained engrossed in conversation.

Yu Changyou, typically reserved, stood nearby, listening with a constant smile on his face. Compared to when Yu Xiang’an had left, his back was now hunched, and he had grown thinner, resembling a frail old man. The sight was heart-wrenching—he had aged significantly.

Zhang Chahua, on the other hand, looked healthier, likely due to her stronger constitution. The couple no longer worked and simply stayed home to watch over the kids, ensuring they didn’t get into too much trouble.

After the crowd dispersed, Yu Xiang’an asked, “Grandpa, have you been drinking the tonic wine I gave you? Don’t skimp on it—just a small glass before bed.”

Yu Changyou laughed heartily. “I’ve been drinking it! Look, the bottle’s much lower than before. If I wasn’t drinking it, how could that happen?”

He was clearly pleased—being cared for like this made him happy. Ginseng wine was expensive, a luxury many envied. Some of his old friends even endured scoldings from their younger relatives, being labeled as burdens who couldn’t work and only wasted food. By comparison, he felt truly fortunate.

“Grandpa, as long as you’re drinking it. I brought another bottle this time. Don’t worry about running out—there’s more where that came from. The ginseng isn’t too old, so it’s not very expensive.”

She had also given some to her grandparents on the other side of the family, knowing how beneficial it was for the elderly.

Watching this, Zhang Chahua gently stroked the twins’ hands. “You two look so good—such beautiful skin and features. You’ve inherited all the best from your parents. One day, you’ll grow up to be college students, just like them!”

She was filled with pride. These were her grandchildren, carrying her bloodline.

They spent the New Year in the village, during which Yu Xiang’an took time to explore the area.

In just a few years, Red Star Brigade had developed significantly. Yu Shunwen firmly believed in the saying, “To get rich, first build roads.” Even though they couldn’t afford much cement, they had laid down gravel on the roads.

The nearby river provided an abundant supply of stones, and while transporting them required effort, the brigade had carts and oxen. Once the roads were completed, they would benefit not only the current generation but also future ones.

The local primary school had also expanded. With the reinstatement of college entrance exams last year, the number of children attending school had surged.

The village’s most educated youths were now teaching there. Some were officially employed, while others worked on a contract basis, but all were decently compensated. The atmosphere for learning was vibrant.

During the New Year holiday, people came seeking advice—those who hadn’t passed the previous year’s exams and were still striving, including Yu Manwu.

When it came to Yu Manwu, Yu Xiang’an could only silently wish him well. He had told his family he’d give himself one more year. If he passed the exam, he’d go to college. If not, he’d settle down and focus on farm work.

His family had agreed, and with Yu Xiangyan and Yu Xiang’an back, he had a chance to get answers to many of his questions.

When Yu Xiang’an helped him, she noticed the red veins in his eyes and felt a complex mix of emotions. Love truly made people irrational.

Still, this was a good thing. Passing the college entrance exam would be a tremendous achievement in this era, akin to a carp leaping through the dragon gate. Even if he failed, he could look back without regret, knowing he had tried his best.

As Yu Manwu asked his questions, his progress became evident. Despite starting with weak foundations, he had worked diligently over the past few months and improved significantly. If he kept this up, there was a real chance he could succeed in the college entrance exam come June.

The New Year was undeniably lively, with everyone gathering together in celebration. Yet amidst the joyous laughter, Yu Xiang’an found herself missing Lin Chuanbai. Spending so much time together daily had numbed her to his presence, but now, after some time apart, she realized how much she missed him.

Sometimes, she’d instinctively say things like, “Can you pour me a glass of water?” or “Come here and take a look,” or “What do you think about this…” only to realize he wasn’t there. Each time, she’d feel a pang of emptiness.

Thinking back to her life before transmigration, she couldn’t imagine herself living in this era, marrying someone, and having a pair of twins.

But now, she’d grown accustomed to it. Life here wasn’t bad at all.

Before returning to the capital, Yu Xiang’an made visits to old friends and acquaintances, including Deputy Director Wang, Yan Yuzhen, and Gao Yimei. Seeing each other after such a long time led to inevitable nostalgia. Though everyone had their own lives and had spent time apart, they couldn’t predict when their paths might cross again.

When she finally took the train back to the capital, Lin Chuanbai was waiting at the station with a large sign in hand. The moment he saw them, he rushed over and embraced the three of them tightly. His enthusiasm caught the attention of nearby onlookers, but he didn’t care. “You’re finally back!”

The twins missed their father dearly and clung to him tightly, unwilling to let go.

“Daddy, I missed you so much!”

“Daddy, Daddy, I missed you!”

Lin Chuanbai laughed. “I don’t ever want to be left behind like this again.”

The family returned home together, laughing and chatting along the way. After two days of relaxing at home like “slackers,” they finally recovered their energy.

It was now 1978, a year Yu Xiang’an looked forward to with great anticipation.

This year, many significant events would occur in their original world—like the Third Plenary Session of the 11th Central Committee, which marked the beginning of the reform and opening-up period, the household responsibility system, and the return of the educated youth to cities.

Signs of the educated youth returning were already visible. In nearby areas, Yu Xiang’an noticed many unfamiliar young men and women, likely former educated youths who had returned home for the New Year but were reluctant to go back to the countryside.

Those who wanted to take the college entrance exam naturally gravitated toward the city, where they had access to more knowledge and opportunities.

Even during her trips to the market, Yu Xiang’an noticed changes. Items once only available on the black market were now being sold more openly and frequently.

For many former educated youths, returning to large families meant less space and fewer resources. To avoid scorn, they had to find ways to support themselves. Starting small businesses, which required minimal capital, became a common choice when factory jobs seemed out of reach.

Yu Xiang’an thought to herself: What a welcome change!

She hoped this trend would continue and that the day of greater opportunities would arrive soon.

In the early stages, such individual endeavors were undoubtedly met with significant pressure. People conducted their business like thieves, sneaking around in fear. Change would take time. By the 1980s, when private businesses became legal and legitimate, countless entrepreneurs would emerge, some becoming millionaires. Still, there would be many who looked down on small business owners, pointing fingers and gossiping about them.

It would take time before they could confidently and openly appear in public.

When classes resumed, Yu Xiang’an noticed significant changes in her peers.

Whether these changes were good or bad was unclear.

Many students seemed more vibrant, and there was a noticeable focus on personal grooming.

When Liu Mingyue talked about movie stars and their makeup—specifically their lipstick shades—Yu Xiang’an gave her a DIY lipstick she had made. It was a subtle, everyday red, perfect for casual use. The store-bought shades were often too bold, and given the conservative era, even wearing bright colors required careful consideration. Few people dared to step outside with vibrant red lips, but this understated shade was different. It looked natural, as if the wearer was simply born with beautifully colored lips. Liu Mingyue tried it on and immediately fell in love.

“Xiao An, I won’t stand on ceremony. But don’t hold back either—I brought back some local specialties for the New Year. Take these!”

Yu Xiang’an glanced at them. They weren’t particularly extravagant items, so she accepted them graciously. “Alright. Between us, being polite would be silly. And this lipstick? Comes with after-sales service. If you use it up or it breaks, just let me know, and I’ll make you another.”

“Oh, you’re the best! I’ll remember that!”

At first, Ke Manyun hadn’t paid much attention. But after seeing Liu Mingyue use the lipstick, she visited the department store to look for one herself. When she couldn’t find it, she asked where it had been purchased and learned it was a gift from Yu Xiang’an.

Disappointed, Ke Manyun muttered, “Why would she give you one and not me? Aren’t we friends?”

Hearing this, Liu Mingyue frowned.

How could someone openly ask for something they weren’t offered? And their friendship with Yu Xiang’an wasn’t even that deep. Liu Mingyue had heard before that Ke Manyun was exhausting to be around, and now it seemed clear why their relationship felt strained. It wasn’t surprising that Yu Xiang’an hadn’t given her anything.

Besides, how was she supposed to respond to that? Liu Mingyue forced a laugh. “It’s a rare item, and we were just talking when it came up. You checked the department store, right? They have other lip balms.”

Ke Manyun replied, “…Those don’t have any color. They’re not pretty.”

Liu Mingyue sighed inwardly. Why does she fixate on this so much?

What reassured Yu Xiang’an, however, was that despite the increased attention to appearances, everyone remained diligent with their studies. No one slacked off, and no one skipped classes.

That didn’t mean there weren’t dramas, though.

One day, a young woman arrived at the school with a child, looking for her husband. She claimed that ever since he started school, she hadn’t heard from him. Feeling uneasy, she brought their child along to find him.

She waited outside the school gates for a while but didn’t see him. In desperation, she stopped a school leader and knelt before him, begging for help. This scene played out in full view of many students and quickly became the talk of the campus.

Liu Mingyue was appalled. “That man is supposed to be a literary genius in the Chinese Department! Ugh, what a hypocrite. He told people he wasn’t married, but clearly, he has two kids already. And I’ve heard he’s been getting close to one of his classmates. People say they’re dating! Now he’s ghosting his wife just because he got into university and thinks he’s above her. No matter how brilliant he is, if he lacks character, it’s all worthless!”

Yu Xiang’an nodded. “Exactly. If someone can abandon their spouse, how can they treat anyone else better? If they can ignore their own children, they’ll discard anyone the moment they’re no longer useful.”

“You’re right. It’s better that this came to light. Let everyone fawning over that ‘genius’ see his true colors!” Liu Mingyue said angrily. Then she noticed Ke Manyun sitting pale and quiet nearby. “Manyun, Manyun, you’re so pale—are you feeling unwell?”

Ke Manyun snapped out of her daze. “Huh? What? Were you calling me?”

“Yes, your face is so pale. Are you feeling sick?”

Ke Manyun placed a hand over her stomach, her voice so soft it was almost inaudible. “Yes, I’ve had a dull ache here since this morning, and now it’s worse.”

“Oh no, why didn’t you say something earlier? Go see a doctor right away.”

She gave a weak smile. “No need, it’s an old problem. I’ll just drink some sugar water when I get home—it’ll pass.”

As Yu Xiang’an watched her walk away, a thoughtful expression crossed her face.

If Ke Manyun was truly unwell, she hadn’t shown any signs before the conversation. But if she was pretending, there was certainly more to the story.

A glint flashed in Yu Xiang’an’s eyes. “Does she still follow you around often?”

Liu Mingyue nodded. “She’s so shy. She barely speaks when others talk to her, and even when she does, her voice is so quiet. How can she make any friends like that?”

Liu Mingyue hesitated for a moment but ultimately decided not to mention something Ke Manyun had said previously.

If she brought it up, it might cause unnecessary misunderstandings. Talking behind someone’s back could easily come across as gossiping.

Yu Xiang’an remarked, “That’s not going to work in the long run. Right now, we’re all classmates, so people don’t mind helping her out. But what happens when she starts working? Will she rely on others to speak up for her then? You never know where you’ll end up in the future, don’t you think?”

Liu Mingyue smacked her forehead. “You’re absolutely right. If she keeps this personality, she’ll have a tough time in the workplace.”

“Good. But don’t say I brought it up, and don’t get too involved. Just give her a nudge. She’s an adult now. At her age, many women in the countryside are already mothers.”

Liu Mingyue thought about herself. “At her age, I’d already had my first child.”

Later, Yu Xiang’an shared the story with Lin Chuanbai. He sighed and added, “Something similar happened at my school. It wasn’t an issue last semester, but during the New Year break, a lot of unresolved matters came to light. There are probably even more cases that haven’t been exposed—situations where the abandoned women don’t have the resources or courage to confront their partners. Travel costs alone could be dozens of yuan.”

“For an average farming family, where would they get that kind of money? Even if they did, they’d save it for a child’s marriage or emergencies like illness and death.”

“Families that survive on sweet potatoes and wild greens, unwilling to spare an extra egg for themselves, would have to spend an exorbitant amount to confirm something they likely already know. It’s an unbearable luxury.”

Yu Xiang’an was silent.

Noticing her mood, Lin Chuanbai tried to cheer her up. “My professor approached me today. He wants me to be his assistant. There’s no salary, but I’ll get some grain coupons. Plus, if the lab produces results, I’ll get a share of the earnings. The lack of a salary doesn’t bother me, and the grain coupons are decent. The real benefit is access to the lab equipment.”

At first, Yu Xiang’an smiled, but then she thought about the cost of lab equipment and her smile faded.

She had thought of herself as financially stable, even a bit of a “little rich lady.” But realizing that lab equipment started in the five-figure range and that all her savings would barely cover a single component forced her to confront reality.

She wasn’t rich—far from it. It was time to stop worrying about other people’s problems and focus on her own.

Why was she thinking about buying lab equipment? She realized it was like how she thought about kitchen tools—if they made her work easier, she wanted them. Wouldn’t Lin Chuanbai feel the same about his tools? If he had the means, of course he’d want proper equipment.

She steeled herself. I have to work harder!

Lin Chuanbai, observing her sudden shift in mood, was perplexed. “Why do I feel like my wife is suddenly even more upset?”

🌱🌿 🫧🍃

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