A whirlwind marriage with a high-ranking official: Lights out, don't force me to take the initi

"Father, why did you name me this?"

The seven-year-old girl looked up at her father.

That was a study from the early years of the Republic of China, and the leaves outside the window were just beginning to turn yellow.

My father sat in a wicker chair with a thread-bound book of poems open on his lap. Sunlight streamed through the carved window lattice and fell on his thin profile.

In his eyes, there was love, expectation, and something else she couldn't understand at the time.

Her father put down his book and reached out to pat her head.

The palms were warm, carrying a scholarly air.

"Of course, we hope that when we grind jade, it can withstand carving and become a useful object, just like the jade being polished."

"Research? How do you research?" The little girl tilted her head, her eyes bright.

Her father smiled, picked her up, and placed her on his lap. He pointed to the trees outside the window, then to the inkstone on the table.

"Look at that tree, how many storms must it endure to grow into a mature tree? And that ink, how many rounds must it be ground to produce beautiful characters?"

He lowered his head and looked into his daughter's eyes.

"After being polished and refined, jade shines with warmth and brilliance."

"Yan Yu, you are a rough jade. Always remember, only by polishing yourself can you shine."

-

decades.

Now 72 years old, Li Yanyu sits at her desk.

She put on her reading glasses and prepared to write down the training materials that Ye Wenxi had asked her to prepare.

moment...

She recalled this conversation she had with her father when she was a child.

My father was an intellectual who had returned from studying abroad. He opened a bookstore in Beijing and also sold stationery.

The store is quite large and well-known in cultural circles.

My mother came from a family of textile manufacturers in Jiangnan, and her embroidery skills were part of her dowry that she brought with her to the north.

When I was a child, my family often had literary figures visiting, discussing poetry and painting, and enjoying tea and music.

She was the youngest and most favored daughter in the family. Her father taught her to read and write, and her mother taught her needlework.

"After being polished and refined, jade shines with warmth and brilliance."

Her father stroked her head, his eyes shining.

That light held the promise of her entire life.

Later, times changed.

The bookstore closed, the literati dispersed, and the embroidery that my mother had given as part of her dowry was locked in the bottom of a chest and never taken out again.

Li Yanyu arrived in Northeast China.

Later, the composition was redefined.

Those things that once made her proud—her scholarly atmosphere, good family background, and refined upbringing—have all become "problems" that need to be covered up.

She learned to walk with her head down.

I learned to speak less in front of others, to keep my knowledge to myself, and to be a "dutiful" woman.

Marrying, having children, and managing household chores.

She lived her life cautiously, afraid of revealing even the slightest hint of being a "prostitute".

She only dared to use her excellent skills at home, making clothes for her children and sewing shoe soles for herself, and never mentioned them to outsiders.

Over the decades, she almost forgot who she was.

She forgot that she could read, and that her father had once touched her head and said, "You are a piece of jade."

She was just an old lady.

They can work, but they're old; they have skills, but they're not valuable.

I've been through it, but nobody wants to hear it.

In those years, she kept the name "Yanyu" hidden deep inside.

It means to hide something so long that even you forget what it means.

until today.

Ye Wenxi held her hand and said, "Aunt Li, we all believe in you."

She suddenly remembered the look in her father's eyes when she was seven years old.

Their eyes suddenly overlapped.

It turns out that she had been waiting for these words all these years.

That piece of jade never broke.

It's just covered in dust.

Ye Wenxi and Zhang Yunxia stayed behind and talked to her about it again and again.

She used simple and easy-to-understand language to explain to her how to extract her own experience and how to share her skills.

"Aunt Li, don't worry. When we do anything new, we shouldn't think about how to do it the best."

"Instead, I'll just start doing it. Even if it's just to get started, I'll guide you through it step by step."

"Leave all the miscellaneous things unrelated to sewing to me. I'll write them, and you can tell them."

"And the professional part is up to you."

"Our helpers are all experienced and skilled, so don't feel pressured. Everyone will learn quickly."

Later, Ye Wenxi asked Li Yanyu to bring out some paper and pens.

"You try saying one first, and I'll write it down."

Li Yanyu thought about it.

"Well... let me tell you how I made the overlocking process faster."

Ye Wenxi wrote on the paper: Experience sharing, techniques for speeding up edge locking.

Li Yanyu began by talking about her techniques, her tricks, and the "little tricks" she had figured out over the decades.

Ye Wenxi listened and took notes, focusing on the key points and breaking the content down into several items.

Finally, the following framework was formed on the paper:

Experience Topic: Techniques for Speeding Up Overlocking

Preparation: Stitching, spool placement, and fabric pre-processing.

The core technique involves the angle at which the left hand feeds the fabric and the coordination of the right hand pressing down with the foot.

Key points: handling corners and connecting joints.

Common problems: skipped stitches, broken threads, uneven tension – how to avoid and fix these issues?

Ye Wenxi pushed the paper in front of her.

"Aunt Li, look, this is the structure of sharing. From now on, whatever you talk about, you can follow these aspects: what to prepare, how to do it, what the key points are, and what problems might arise."

"Once you learn this, you can apply it to other situations."

Li Yanyu looked down at the paper.

Those things she had done her whole life but never thought she could say were now clearly written on it.

She suddenly understood.

It turns out that one's skills can be described and have value.

Li Yanyu held the piece of paper that Ye Wenxi had written and looked at it over and over again.

Then he picked up a pen and began to write on the blank paper.

She wrote a line first, then realized something was wrong.

Tear it up and rewrite it.

I wrote a few more lines, but I still felt it wasn't good enough.

Tear it up and rewrite it.

……

Much later, her grandson's exercise book was almost completely torn up.

She stopped writing, looked at the torn pieces of paper in front of her, and suddenly remembered what Ye Wenxi had said.

"When we do anything new, we shouldn't think about how to do it the best."

"Instead, just do it. Even if it's just to get started."

She was stunned for a moment.

Then lay out a new sheet of paper.

This time, she didn't stop writing where she wasn't having any fun.

If it doesn't flow smoothly, just keep writing; if you can't remember something, just skip it.

Ye Wenxi said that as long as she can understand it and explain it, that's fine.

She just kept writing and writing.

The son, Li Hui, stood by the door, looking at his mother who was hunched over the table, his expression a complex mix of emotions.

He heard about it when he got home from get off work: his mother had been hired by Ye Wenxi as a lecturer to teach the helpers.

He was stunned for a few seconds.

He certainly didn't believe there weren't more suitable candidates among the helpers.

Putting aside other opinions, Zhang Yunxia is definitely a good fit.

Even if Zhang Yunxia is busy, there should be other people younger than her mother who have the physical strength and energy.

But Ye Wenxi actually came to our door.

Not only did they search for help, they even helped their mother organize her thoughts and build a framework.

He looked at that piece of paper with the shared experience; it was written very clearly and grasped the key points.

He stood there, watching his mother's retreating figure.

For decades, aside from recording daily necessities, he had never seen his mother pick up a pen.

He roughly knew about his mother's family and his maternal grandfather's past. His mother came from a wealthy family and was skilled in music, chess, calligraphy, and painting.

But as time passed, all of that was buried in the past.

Later, my mother got married, had children, and became an "ordinary woman."

Later, she became an "old lady".

He thought those things were long gone.

But now, Mother is holding a pen, hunched over under the lamp.

Each stroke, each line, seems to be searching for something.

Li Hui suddenly felt a burning sensation in his eyes.

He didn't say anything, quietly turned around, and went to the kitchen.

I'm going to pour my mother a glass of hot water.