Chapter 138

Inside the TV station, the winds of change were howling as various factions clashed and maneuvered. Zhou Mingxing temporarily entrusted Zhou Yinuo to Hu Qianqian’s care. He even sent the family’s nanny over to the Hu household to help out with chores and look after the child. As for himself, he rolled up his sleeves and prepared to go all-in at work.

When Zhou Yinuo heard she could stay at Auntie Hu’s place again, she was over the moon. She really adored Auntie Hu—so beautiful, so gentle, so good at crafts, and she even had an adorable little cat. If she could have her way, Zhou Yinuo wished Auntie Hu could become her new mom.

Kids these days matured early. Both Zhou Mingxing and his ex-wife Liang Yue were public figures, and their divorce was no secret. With Liang Yue having passed away, it wasn’t uncommon for her classmates to ask when her dad would find her a new mom.

At first, Zhou Yinuo had cried in secret about it. But the nanny had comforted her, saying that since her dad kept sending her to Auntie Hu’s house, he must have feelings for her. Who knows? Maybe Auntie Hu would become her stepmom someday.

Oh! Wouldn’t it be wonderful if Auntie Hu married Dad?

But what Zhou Yinuo didn’t expect was that just moments ago, while she was crouched in the Hu family garden playing with the cat, she overheard Grandma Hu talking to another elderly lady.

As she listened, her little arms wrapped around her knees, tears silently began to fall.

So… Auntie Hu wasn’t going to marry Dad? She was going to marry the son of that other grandma? Then… who would become her new mom?

Hu Qianqian had just stepped out to pick up a package. When she returned, she found a little kitten of a girl, soaked in tears, curled up in the courtyard.

“Oh no! Who bullied our Yinuo? Tell Auntie, and I’ll go teach them a lesson!” Hu Qianqian quickly set the package down, washed her hands, and pulled Zhou Yinuo up into her arms.

At first, Hu Qianqian had looked after Zhou Yinuo out of a sense of mutual benefit—if she helped take care of Zhou Mingxing’s daughter, maybe he would help out more with her own son. But after spending so much time together, while they might not be as close as mother and daughter, their bond had grown deep.

Hu Qianqian had even considered bringing it up with Zhou Mingxing—why not make Yinuo her goddaughter? The child was so sweet and lovable. And she worried: what if one day Zhou Mingxing remarried and the new wife didn’t treat Yinuo well? At least with her as the godmother, the girl would have somewhere to turn if things got rough at home.

But the moment she asked what was wrong, Zhou Yinuo burst into even louder sobs. Through her tears, she began pleading on her father’s behalf—

“Auntie Hu, do you really have to marry Uncle Liang next door? Why can’t you marry my dad instead?”

“Our house is really big, and my dad makes lots and lots of money. I even have a ton of allowance—I’ll give it all to you. Can you be my mommy, please? Wuwuwu… I don’t want you to marry anyone else.”

Just then, “Uncle Liang” happened to walk in with a delivery: “…”

And Zhou Mingxing, who had just arrived to pick up his daughter after work: “…”

He froze in his tracks when he saw Liang Yi walking toward Hu Qianqian with a massive bouquet of flowers. His eyes widened in disbelief as he looked between the two.

When did this happen?

To be honest, even Zhou Mingxing couldn’t deny that he had some feelings for Hu Qianqian. There was definitely a fondness there, but it hadn’t yet reached the point of “she’s the one.” In his mind, love was sacred—if you didn’t truly love someone, you shouldn’t toy with their feelings.

Liang Yue had been right about him. Zhou Mingxing might seem easygoing and friendly, able to chat with anyone, but his heart was like iron—impossible to warm.

He’d always been slow to warm up to people. He liked to weigh every option, consider every angle, and only then make a decision.

His family had been urging him to remarry, to give Yinuo a stable home. He’d thought about it. But he didn’t want to date anyone from the entertainment industry. As for the women his family introduced—some were too young to know how to care for a child, others were his age but came with kids of their own.

Being a stepmother was hard—especially when you had your own child. Who wouldn’t favor their own flesh and blood? Even Zhou Mingxing, if he were in that position, knew he’d love his own kid more.

So, if he couldn’t be a saint, he had no right to expect others to be.

By comparison, Hu Qianqian was actually the ideal partner. She was cheerful and kind, wore her heart on her sleeve, and her only son was already grown—she didn’t need to devote herself to childcare anymore. If they got married, he could hire a live-in nanny. With two women in the house, Hu Qianqian wouldn’t have to exhaust herself. All she’d need to do was enjoy life with Yinuo.

Most importantly, Yinuo adored her.

Like Liang Yi, Zhou Mingxing had also chosen to start with the child. Over the past year, he’d been creating opportunities for Yinuo and Hu Qianqian to spend time together. He knew Hu Qianqian had a soft heart—if she grew to love Yinuo, even just out of pity, he could use that to persuade her. If their families merged, and they were already so familiar with each other, it could become a harmonious blended family…

Zhou Mingxing had considered everyone’s feelings—except one. He forgot that love isn’t like a math problem. One plus one doesn’t always equal two.

Liang Yi had approached from another angle. He’d started with Wei Sheng, using shared interests to quietly weave himself into every corner of Hu Qianqian’s life, drawing her attention bit by bit. His ultimate goal? To make her fall in love with him.

But Zhou Mingxing was different. In his eyes, all relationships in the world could be judged by one simple standard: whether they were suitable or not.

But does being suitable always mean you’ll fall in love?

Watching Hu Qianqian holding a huge bouquet of flowers, her eyes crinkling with joy as she smiled, Zhou Mingxing felt a bitter pang in his heart. He picked up the still-sobbing Zhou Yinuo, made a hasty farewell, and left.

Watching his “rival in love” retreat with such a disheveled back, Lawyer Liang’s lips curled into a faint smile. He turned to Hu Qianqian and casually extended an invitation, “My friend’s flower nursery is about to be demolished in a few days. I just went to check it out—there are still lots of leftover flower seedlings and pots. How about we grab lunch together tomorrow, and after that, we can swing by the nursery and pick some out?”

The flowers Liang Yi brought weren’t the kind of elaborately packaged roses. Instead, they were several freshly cut varieties, taken straight from the branches. He knew Hu Qianqian loved flower arranging and often joined community group buys to purchase inexpensive cut flowers. If he’d brought those overly packaged, fancy bouquets, they might’ve looked nice, but the excessive formality would’ve made things awkward for both of them.

So, he’d gone out of his way to ask around and found several flower nurseries in the suburbs. These nurseries often sold fresh cut flowers wholesale—affordable and with a wide variety. Sure enough, when Hu Qianqian heard she could get flower seedlings and pots at a low price, she nodded enthusiastically.

“Then I’ll owe you one—lunch is on me tomorrow.”

Liang Yi smiled and nodded.

He never refused Hu Qianqian’s invitations to lunch. After all, if she treated him this time, he’d have a perfect excuse to return the favor next time~

Langshan’s Nine-Bend Slope—this was the second time the production crew of *The Fierce Wife Arrives* had come here. But this time, the filming location they were heading to was so remote that even motorcycles couldn’t reach it.

In Season Two, Liang Yi had written a new script for them, focusing on the legal disputes frequently encountered in the rural e-commerce sector. In recent years, rural e-commerce had been booming across the country. However, many rural entrepreneurs, unfamiliar with the law, had suffered significant losses during their ventures.

The village they were visiting this time, Nine-Bend Slope, had fallen victim to such a case. The genuine “Li Kui” had been outmaneuvered by a fake “Li Gui”—someone had beaten them to registering the trademark and packaging design, rendering all the village’s carefully prepared branding and packaging unusable, resulting in huge losses.

The crew had come not only to film on location but also with a more important mission: to help the villagers of Nine-Bend Slope sell their navel oranges.

Unlike the relatively gentle slopes of Langshan Village, Nine-Bend Slope—true to its name—was perched entirely on a steep mountain ridge.

Beneath the ridge lay a nearly vertical cliff face, and below that, the winding, bottomless Jiuqu River.

A few years ago, during the final “decisive battle” of the local poverty alleviation campaign, the harsh environment of Nine-Bend Slope had made it one of the toughest challenges for the local government.

Just how difficult was life for the people here?

Let’s put it this way: in Nine-Bend Slope, you’d witness a rare sight—every household lived in long, flat houses, with almost no two-story buildings. These homes were built layer by layer along the mountain’s contours, on terraced plots dug out by hand, forming narrow, elongated clusters of buildings.

Due to the severe shortage of arable land, villagers in earlier years had to seize every available patch—here a plot, there a corner—planting corn, potatoes, and soybeans just to scrape by. Any young person who could leave had gone off to find work elsewhere.

Langshan was already poor, but Nine-Bend Slope was said to be the poorest village in all of Langshan. The average annual income per person was less than a thousand yuan. That’s less than a thousand a year—barely a hundred yuan a month. Even the statistics bureau would be at a loss for words.

What’s the point of collecting data at that level? Just get to the poverty relief already!

So, a few years back, the local government sent several poverty alleviation cadres to the village and invited agricultural experts to help brainstorm solutions. They helped the villagers raise funds to purchase a batch of Newhall navel orange saplings, which were quite popular on the market at the time.

To everyone’s surprise, the steep and barren terrain of Nine-Bend Slope turned out to be unexpectedly well-suited for growing Newhall navel oranges. The fruit produced here had tender flesh, a perfect balance of sweet and tart, a rich fragrance, and each orange could weigh over 200 grams! Not only were the yields high, but the oranges were also exceptionally good for storage.

In theory, with a bountiful harvest of navel oranges, the villagers’ lives should’ve gradually improved, right?

Compared to the old days, the villagers’ annual income had indeed increased more than tenfold. But every yuan they earned was hard-fought—sweat and blood money, quite literally.

“Because of the steep terrain here in Nine-Bend Slope, they couldn’t even build cement roads. In the past, villagers had to walk back to the village on foot. Later, when large-scale navel orange farming began, the county helped install a zip line so the harvested oranges could be quickly transported down the mountain. But even that zip line doesn’t help much,” Jiang Xiaoman explained to Wei Sheng as she led the way.

All the navel orange trees in Nine-Bend Slope were planted on narrow, steep mountain slopes. Every harvest season, villagers had to carry baskets on their backs and carefully climb up the slopes to pick the oranges. They’d fill the baskets, then slowly carry them down to the zip line loading point. Only when they’d filled a large crate could they send it down the mountain.

The harvesting process was grueling. And because growing navel oranges was profitable, many villagers had even taken the risk of clearing new land near the cliffs by the river to plant more trees. In recent years, there had been accidents almost every year—people falling off the cliffs while picking oranges.

Don’t the farmers know they shouldn’t plant trees near the edge of a cliff?

They do.

But planting just a dozen more trees could mean an extra thousand yuan a year for the family. For households with kids studying in the county, that extra two hundred yuan a month could buy the child a late-night snack after evening classes. Just so their children could eat a little better while away from home, they’re willing to risk their lives planting trees along the cliffside.

Hearing this, Wei Sheng fell silent.

The rest of the crew felt a bitter ache in their hearts too.

It’s not that the Poverty Alleviation Campaign in Nine-Bend Slope wasn’t a success. In fact, compared to the days when the average annual income was less than a thousand yuan, today’s Nine-Bend Slope—with its booming Navel Orange cultivation—has seen per capita income surpass ten thousand yuan. In a place as poor and underdeveloped as Langshan, that’s already a remarkable achievement.

But to say the villagers are now living well? That would be a stretch. Every single yuan the local fruit farmers earn is paid for in sweat—and sometimes, blood.

According to Xiaoman, because the orchards are on steep slopes, villagers have to carry heavy baskets up and down the hills. Almost everyone has had the experience of slipping and tumbling down the mountainside.

If you’re lucky, you end up sore all over, maybe with a few scrapes or a twisted ankle. But every year, there are always a few unlucky ones who suffer broken bones. And when that happens, the family loses a strong laborer for the entire Navel Orange harvest season.

Don’t underestimate the value of one strong worker. This variety of Navel Orange is known for ripening early. If you can harvest early and get your fruit to market first, you can fetch a great price. But if you fall behind, once other varieties of oranges and tangerines flood the market, the price of Navel Oranges plummets.

“I heard that every year, when the first harvest begins, every household here straps on headlamps and picks fruit day and night. They even invented a modified tea mug rice cooker for quick meals on the go. I’ll borrow a few from the locals and cook you some later—you’ve got to try it.”

The crew had been feeling pretty down, thinking the lives of Nine-Bend Slope’s fruit farmers were unbearably harsh. But when they climbed up the bamboo ladders, lugging their gear and bags into the village, they were met with a surprising sight: the villagers were picking fruit while singing mountain songs, full of joy and laughter.

Their tears, which had been welling up, suddenly had nowhere to go—falling would feel wrong, but holding them back felt just as awkward.

“Haha—really, you don’t have to feel so bad,” someone said with a chuckle. “Sure, life here may look tough to outsiders, but compared to a decade ago, things have improved dramatically. Many families in the village have lifted themselves out of poverty thanks to Navel Orange farming. Some have even renovated their homes and bought refrigerators and washing machines.”

Standing halfway up the mountain, surrounded by the sweet, lilting songs drifting from the orchards, Jiang Xiaoman and several other villagers from Langshan had faces glowing with something unmistakable—hope.

Wei Sheng gazed thoughtfully at the endless rows of Navel Orange trees, and in that moment, he finally understood what Jiang Xiaoman meant.

They thought life in Nine-Bend Slope was hard—because compared to the rural areas of more developed regions, it really was.

But from another perspective, maybe for the villagers of Nine-Bend Slope, the government had turned their once-worthless mountain land into gold-bearing hills. Their income had increased tenfold. Now, they could afford to send their kids to school in the county, renovate their homes, and buy major appliances. To them, this was the Good Life they had dreamed of.

To outsiders, the lack of machinery and the need to pick fruit by hand, climbing up and down the mountains, seems like backbreaking labor.

But to the fruit farmers of Nine-Bend Slope, those heavy baskets on their backs aren’t burdens—they’re the hope of a better future for the whole family.

Yes, carrying dozens of pounds of Navel Oranges uphill is exhausting. But every step they take, they take without regret.

To them, this isn’t a grueling harvest path—it’s the only road out of generations of poverty, the one chance they have to turn things around.

As long as they keep moving forward and don’t look back, every basket of Navel Oranges can be traded for a big house, a small car, and the confidence to send their children to school in the city.

(End of Chapter)