Chapter 7: Why Does She Strive So Relentlessly?

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Her pen tip was already bitten raw, and after repeatedly reviewing those old study documents, Wei An finally managed to clumsily handwrite a study plan. Deputy Director Jin frowned tighter and tighter as he read through her plan.

Just as Wei An anxiously feared she wouldn’t pass, Deputy Director Jin neatly stacked the papers and placed them on his desk.

Wei An breathed a sigh of relief.

“Keep strengthening your studies,” he said, his brows still furrowed.

Wei An didn’t notice his lingering sternness; she only felt a surge of joy and nodded eagerly before returning to her office.

But half an hour later, she received a new task from Li Kunshan:

“Go out on an assignment with Old Qin, and before you leave, hand me a 3,000-character self-criticism about your unexcused absence a few days ago.”

Wei An: “...”

She thought that matter was already behind her. Why was he still holding it over her?

Besides, it was already 2:30 in the afternoon. Going out with Old Qin would take at least two hours, and with travel delays, she’d barely make it back before the end of the workday—then still have to write a 3,000-character self-criticism?

The thought of painstakingly writing a self-criticism she’d never even seen before made Wei An want to cry but have no tears.

Oh heavens, who could save her?

“Officer Xiao Su!”

“Coming!”

Old Qin was already waiting downstairs with his tools, so Wei An could only grab her bag and rush down.

“Can you ride a bike?”

Old Qin, a veteran cadre in the Propaganda Department in his fifties, with graying hair, about 1.6 meters tall, thin and small, was holding a half-new, half-old bicycle.

“Yes,” Wei An nodded.

She indeed could, but she didn’t have a bike.

Her family had one, but it was mostly her father who rode it.

“Here’s the key. It’s the fourth bike on the second row from the left in the garage,” Old Qin said, handing her the keys as soon as he heard she could ride.

Wei An blinked.

If she had said she couldn’t, would she have been able to ride with Old Qin instead?

The two of them rode in silence and reached their destination in just over ten minutes.

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It was the back street of the machinery factory, where the slogans on the wall had faded from wind and rain.

Old Qin’s task was to repaint them.

Wei An locked her bike and followed right behind him.

She wasn’t quite sure why she was even there since Old Qin clearly didn’t need her help.

He carried a bucket of prepared lime water in his left hand and a brush in his right, crouching in horse stance or tiptoeing slightly, painting each character in neat, flowing calligraphy on the wall.

All Wei An could do was walk ahead and kick away any stones or branches that might be in his way.

Of course, she admired Old Qin’s beautiful handwriting very much.

She simply couldn’t produce anything like it.

Not just on walls—on paper, too, her handwriting was barely acceptable.

Out of boredom, she traced the characters in the air with her fingers to match Old Qin’s strokes and angles. She didn’t notice the faint smile that flickered in Old Qin’s eyes as he faced the wall.

It didn’t take the two of them the two or so hours they had expected; in just over an hour, they had touched up all the propaganda slogans within the machinery factory.

By the time Wei An locked her bike back in the garage, it wasn’t even five o’clock.

“Back already? If you want to get off work on time, you’d better write that self-criticism faster,” a familiar voice came from behind as she finished locking her bike.

Wei An turned to see Li Kunshan, and couldn’t help but pout and plead:

“Uncle, do I really have to write the self-criticism? I promise I’ll never do it again.”

She raised her finger to swear.

“Verbal promises don’t leave much impression. I expect to see your self-criticism in half an hour,” Li Kunshan said with a half-smile, half-glare, opening his palm toward her.

Wei An instinctively handed him the keys, then realized the bike she had just ridden belonged to Li Kunshan.

Her smile immediately faltered.

“Oh, Uncle, please spare me. I’ve never even seen what a self-criticism looks like. I swear I won’t be late or leave early again. I’ll work hard, okay?”

Li Kunshan’s expression didn’t change, but his eyes clearly said no argument was allowed.

“Remember, half an hour.”

Wei An glared after his retreating back.

He’s my real uncle, can’t he cut me some slack?

...

Slack? That was definitely not going to happen.

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Wei An scratched her head for a long time. Several ink spots appeared on the blank paper, but she had no clue where to begin.

No one in the office knew what she was supposed to write, and no one offered help. Only Sister Liu filled her cup with hot water before leaving.

“Xiao Su, remember to check the windows and doors when you leave. Looks like it’s going to rain again.”

Rain? It wasn’t just going to rain; it was going to pour for three days straight.

Wei An glanced out the window, wondering how to take her big grass carp out of her room without arousing her parents’ suspicion.

“Five minutes of study time. If you don’t hand it in within half an hour, the 3,000 characters will become 10,000. If it’s not done by Monday morning, don’t come to work,” Li Kunshan said, slapping her head with several sheets of paper.

Wei An snapped to attention, staring at the self-criticism paper in her hands with a dark expression.

“Uncle, please, it has to be handwritten. How could I possibly finish in half an hour?”

She could type on a computer, but even then, she managed only about two thousand words in an hour.

Li Kunshan’s face darkened.

“You say you can’t even before you start? Then what do you think you can accomplish?”

Wei An: “...”

Her father was vice chairman of the city’s general labor union; her mother was head of the logistics department at a department store. She lacked for nothing. She even earned about twenty yuan a month herself. Why should she work so hard?

“Hurry up. If it’s not done this afternoon, you’re not leaving work.”

Li Kunshan was truly frustrated.

Skipping work for a man and then writing illegible words was one thing, but now that she had a chance to practice her handwriting, she was still making excuses.

He was even considering talking to his cousin later—he couldn’t keep spoiling this girl; if he did, she’d be ruined.

Seeing Li Kunshan’s stern expression made Wei An feel guilty.

She picked up the sample text and read it carefully, thought about her reasons for skipping work, then finally put pen to paper.

“Write neatly. If you dare scribble, I’ll make you rewrite it.”

Just as she wrote the first stroke of the character for “self-criticism,” Li Kunshan’s serious voice floated over again.

Wei An resisted rolling her eyes, slowed her pace, and finished her first-ever self-criticism at 6:40.

Li Kunshan wasn’t really satisfied—neither with the content nor the handwriting.

But he knew not to push her too hard, so he said nothing, took the paper, folded his hands behind his back, and returned to his office.

Wei An pouted, grabbed her bag, and hurried to catch the bus to visit her second sister.