The election was over.
Everything had gone as expected, each step unfolding according to plan. With such a commanding lead, any slip-up would have been a disaster—they might as well have shut down for good.
Zhou Guoqin was beaming, feeling as if he were dreaming. So this was what it meant to be village chief. Though the position wasn't an official cadre role, it was still something villagers aspired to. He had been a construction worker, with little education—who would have thought a salted fish could turn over, or the Yellow River could clear? His entire family was overjoyed.
Only Zhou You was gloomy.
Professor Li had returned, and seeing the Zhou family's growing prosperity gave him more confidence. He understood grassroots realities, knowing that many farmers lost money partly due to village-level issues. But Zhou You's sullenness puzzled him.
He sat beside Zhou You and patted his shoulder. "Teacher Zhou, why the long face? Not happy?"
"What's there to be happy about? It's all driven by self-interest!" Zhou You sighed deeply, a trace of sorrow creeping in.
Li Baoyin, a university professor, had once been full of youthful ambition, wanting to make a difference without seeking fame or fortune, only to be true to his conscience. But what had happened? Half a lifetime wasted. His edge had long been worn away. Middle-aged people had no emotions left—only calculations of gain and loss.
"Teacher Zhou, look on the bright side. Interest is a knife—wielded well, it can benefit others. If someone wants to do harm, you can't blame the knife, can you?" Li Baoyin tried to console him, understanding Zhou You's mindset: wanting to accomplish something but having to resort to tactics. Though the goal was achieved, it still left a bitter taste.
Zhou You gazed at the clouds in the sky and gave a wry smile. "I'm just sentimental, a pessimist. I see things through a darker lens, worrying about failure before success."
"Life is short, yet we carry a thousand years of worries," Li Baoyin echoed.
Zhou You was thinking back to his painful days in sales, when his spirit and body were at odds. Other salespeople would stop at nothing for profit. But Zhou You could never bring himself to be ruthless—he wanted to earn money, maintain his dignity, and avoid cheating people. His mentor had told him, "You're not cut out for this line of work. You're too righteous, too quick to hate evil."
Naively, Zhou You had asked, "Isn't that a good quality?"
The mentor had just downed a drink and smiled bitterly, saying nothing.
Honesty, courage, kindness, humility, tolerance, integrity, generosity—these virtues were preached everywhere. But how many did you see in real life? Those who possessed them were often labeled with another trait: pedantry.
Pride, envy, wrath, sloth, greed, gluttony, lust—the seven deadly sins were far more common. Yet when the powerful and wealthy displayed them, they were rebranded as cleverness.
No one could choose the era they were born into. Ordinary people had little say in most worldly matters. Ancient sages had said it millennia ago: "When the Way prevails in the world, show yourself; when it does not, hide." "When the state is well-governed, serve as an official; when it is not, roll up your talents and keep them to yourself." Seek not fame among the nobles, only to avoid punishment.
Zhou You's mind raced like a wild horse, but his face remained grim. Beside him, Li Baoyin didn't know what else to say. He had become a mundane man, focused only on fame and fortune, unable to benefit the world.
Alas, if only Fangfang were here. Zhou You missed her. If she were here, knowing he was having another episode, she would have cured him long ago. What did these crude men around him understand?
Everyone else was reveling, paying no attention to Zhou You or his thoughts. To them, he was a bookish man with too many ideas and some talent—but that was only because he was rich now. In the past, he had been secretly mocked as a bookworm, someone who had read himself stupid. What was the point of studying if not for promotion and wealth?
You can't discuss ice with a summer insect.
Zhou You knew his personality made life hard; his past life had proven it. But he really couldn't change. Some said character was inherited, others that it was shaped by experience. Everyone had their own theory. A river's course may change, but a person's nature is hard to shift. Zhou You accepted it. If his previous life, full of disappointments, couldn't change him, this one wouldn't either. Not even Jesus could.
Too bad this wasn't a cultivation society—otherwise, this insight alone would have boosted his Dao heart by a hundred points.
"Xiao You, your big brother got elected. Should we celebrate and treat everyone to a meal?" Uncle strode over, beaming, his voice booming.
"Keep things normal. Don't get arrogant with success—it breeds envy. We were low-key before, operating in the shadows. Now we're in the open, so we need to be even more careful." Zhou You had to pour cold water on their illusory joy.
The others heard him and began to think. They had indeed been too flashy these past two days.
"So, what's our next move?" Zhou Guoqin asked, though he had won, he was unsure of the next step.
"Don't forget the purpose of the election. Everything is for the development of the farm. If the farm stalls, can you still be village chief? Even if they let you stay, you probably wouldn't want to!" Zhou You said coldly.
Second Uncle was the first to catch on. "Right, winning is just the first step. We were too happy too soon. Everyone, keep a low profile."
Many people knew what they should do, but along the way, they got distracted by other things. As children, they listened to the story of the kitten fishing and thought it was a childish mistake. But how many realized that adults were the ones who constantly got sidetracked? A piece of breaking news could unsettle you, let alone the convenience of a phone—watching videos, playing games, reading novels.
In the end, Zhou You's few words calmed the whole family down. They didn't invite outsiders, just had a family dinner. Then Zhou You left.
He came in a hurry and left in a hurry.
Back home, Wang Fangfang noticed his unusual mood and knew that Brother You was feeling sorry for the world again.
"Think about it once in a while, but don't let it upset you too much," Wang Fangfang said, lying immobile in bed, still trying to comfort him.
Zhou You touched her face. "I know. You don't have to push yourself so hard. You're not up to it, but you insisted on overdoing it. Now you can't move."
Wang Fangfang rolled her beautiful eyes but said nothing. She hesitated for a long time, as if wanting to say something, but ultimately held back.
Zhou You went alone to the viewing room and took out a documentary he hadn't finished watching. According to Zhou Hao, filming it had started out of curiosity. During a factory visit, he wondered where the raw materials came from, and that led to filming the entire supply chain. It took years and was grueling work. The initial ambition had been grand—to film across borders in India and Thailand to trace the whole chain—but various obstacles prevented it. Many places required extensive negotiations, and it was incredibly difficult. Even so, they had traveled far and wide. Without Zhou Hao's wide network, it would never have been made.
The opening scene was a vast expanse of yellow sand, with small whirlwinds tearing across the fields, kicking up clouds of dust. The documentary was roughly edited along three main threads: planting, textile mills, and jeans manufacturing. The planting segment followed a timeline: planting, topping, lifting yarn, and transport to the textile mill.
Recruiting workers for the harvest drew eager crowds from rural areas. Some had been before and knew the hardship, but the money came relatively fast. Others, who hadn't, joked, "It's like going on a trip, broadening our horizons." But after three days, they couldn't take it anymore, crying to go home. The foreman manipulated them: "If you're really uncomfortable, I'll take care of you, but look—there are women seven or eight months pregnant who don't complain. They're supporting the team." One woman kept sobbing, "I earned the money, but my body feels terrible. What's the point?" In the end, the foreman held back harsher words because of the camera.
The more Zhou You watched, the more a sense of déjà vu washed over him. These were truths people had understood long ago, only spreading widely with the advent of better information flow, awakening more people.
From the central plains to the western frontier, the green train took two or three days. Most migrant workers could only get standing tickets. At first, everyone was excited, as if they were really going on a trip. A woman, urged on by the crowd, even sang a Henan opera piece, "Who Says Women Are Inferior to Men?"
"Brother Liu, your words are too biased. Who says women have it easy? Men go to war at the border, women weave at home. By day they till the fields, by night they spin, working tirelessly without rest. That's how the folks have food and clothes. If you don't believe me, look at their bodies—our shoes, socks, and clothes, every stitch and thread is their work. Many heroines have married and gone to war, generation after generation producing talents. Which of these women is inferior to a man?"
The joy of the journey was matched only by the misery of the return. A farmer looked into the camera and said, "You come all this way, earn a little money, go back... you can't think about it. What's the point? Earn some money, spend it, get some food to eat."
Hours later, Zhou You finished watching.
"Those who wear silk and satin are not the silkworm raisers." That line kept echoing in his mind, refusing to fade.
These people were all too familiar to Zhou You. The villagers back home followed the same path, the same route. They were the ordinary people who made up the majority of society. Seeing them reminded him of Xiangzi, Camel Xiangzi—dreaming of owning his own rickshaw, one without a monthly fee. He scrimped and saved, denied himself everything. And just when things started to improve, it all vanished in an instant.
This was the mindset of ordinary people: pull the rickshaw, complete the initial accumulation, buy the rickshaw (the means of production), save money, marry a wife, and enjoy a peaceful old age. It was exactly like "study hard, get into a good university, find a good job, buy a house and car, retire!"
The thought was chilling.