"Lydia girl! Hey, Lydia girl!"

Outside, Mrs. Morrison’s voice suddenly rang out, loud and sharp, carrying that mix of excitement and sour envy she never bothered to hide.

"Come out and look! Your golden phoenix is back!"

Lydia Chambers paused mid‑cut, the blade hanging in the air.

Shaun Shepherd? Back?

She stared down at the herbs in her hand. Even her eyelashes had gathered a thin layer of frost, trembling a little with each breath.

The cotton jacket on her was worn thin, patched so many times you couldn’t tell which side had originally been the front or the back. The sleeves were rubbed almost bald, and the stuffing peeked out in messy tufts.

But none of that could hide her looks. Her face was pale from years of poor meals, yet her skin was smooth, her nose straight, her lips naturally flushed.

The most striking were her eyes—clear and bright like a winter spring, carrying a cool sharpness that didn’t match this shabby little house at all.

Grandpa had been gone for three months now. The day she came back from burying him, she burned with fever for three days and nights, nearly didn’t make it.

No one would’ve guessed that fever would lead her to discover the Medicine Cottage hidden in the Chambers family jade pendant.

A few sips of the spring water inside, and her body recovered. More than that, her mind felt like someone wiped the fog clean—everything suddenly sharp, clear.

The girl who used to bend over backwards for Shaun Shepherd, who poured out her heart for him, had been burned away in that fever.

The Lydia standing now was the real heir of the Chambers family—the girl who knew her needles, saw through people, and no longer bowed to anyone.

She put her work aside, rubbed her stiff fingers gently, and instead of rushing out like Mrs. Morrison imagined, she calmly gathered the slices of astragalus, laid a clean cloth over them, and set everything neatly in place.

Only after that did she stand, smoothing the stray hair at her temples, and push open the creaking wooden door.

Outside, the place was already buzzing.

The villagers who had been huddled indoors for winter suddenly all poured out—men, women, kids—all crowding the roadside with their hands tucked in their sleeves, craning their necks like they were about to witness something grand.

Their eyes shone with envy, curiosity, even a bit of eager flattery.

Right in the middle stood a brand‑new Phoenix 28‑inch bicycle, polished so shiny the black paint gleamed in the dull winter light, bright enough to make anyone’s eyes sting.

In times like these, having a bike was practically the top of the line.

If a family managed to get one, they’d hang a big red flower on the handlebars and make a whole parade out of it, beating gongs through every nearby village.

And right now, the owner of this shiny ride—Shaun Shepherd—was standing with one foot on the ground, looking all pleased with himself while the whole village gathered around to gawk.

"Good grief, Shaun, what kind of life are you living now? This bike must be close to two hundred yuan, right?"

"Two hundred? Even with money you can’t get one! You need industrial coupons! Only folks in the city can score those!"

"So this is what a technician from a state-run factory looks like, huh? Amazing! Just look at those clothes. That fabric… tsk tsk… must be dacron, yeah?"

Compliments flew at him from all directions, and Shaun practically puffed up from satisfaction.

He’d deliberately put on a fresh set of dark blue work clothes today—the uniform issued by Hongxing Steel Plant. Two pens clipped neatly at his chest pocket, and above the one on the left were five bright-red words spelling out Hongxing Steel Plant.

In the late seventies, those words were worth more than gold.

They meant a guaranteed job, state rations, a life far from the muddy fields.

On his feet were black leather shoes polished so shiny they could blind someone, and his hair was combed flat with a generous amount of pomade, gleaming in the sunlight.

To really show off, he hadn’t bothered with gloves, leaving his Shanghai-brand watch exposed on his wrist, ticking away proudly.

"Uncle, don’t make such a fuss. It’s just a bike."

Shaun kept a polite smile on his face, but his tone carried that unmistakable smugness.

"I’m in charge of technical upgrades at the factory. The leaders approved extra coupons just for me. It’s really just for getting around. The city’s big—without a bike you can’t manage."

"My heavens, listen to him!"

Someone in the crowd sighed with admiration.

"Shaun has made something of himself! The Shepherd family must’ve stored up some good karma!"

Shaun lifted his chin slightly, letting his gaze sweep over the villagers in their faded padded jackets, their faces worn from years of hard work. That sense of superiority swelled in his chest.

Once upon a time, he had been one of these same farm folks, breaking his back in the fields for a few pitiful work points.

But now, things were different.

He was a city man now, an officially hired engineer at the Hongxing Steel Plant, pulling in forty‑two yuan and fifty cents a month, plus all kinds of ration tickets.

He and these villagers… they didn’t walk the same road anymore.

"Shaun, you’re back to take Lydia into the city to enjoy some real life, yeah?"

Someone in the crowd hollered, voice bright and loud.

"That girl damn near worked herself to death just to put you through school. Now you’ve made something of yourself, she can finally catch a break!"

The moment those words landed, the lively buzz around them froze.

Shaun Shepherd’s smile stiffened on his face.

For a split second, something ugly flashed through his eyes—disgust, impatience—like someone had poked right where he didn’t want to be touched.

He smoothed it over quick enough, but the smile he put back on was thinner, hollow, nowhere near as warm as before.

"Mm… just came back to take a look," he mumbled, dodging the whole “take her into the city” bit entirely.

He even lifted his wrist to check that ridiculously pricey watch of his. His brows pinched, like staying one more minute in this poor little place made his skin itch.

"Alright, alright, everyone head on home. Weather’s freezing," Shaun waved them off, all impatience, looking for all the world like some official done with an inspection.

He swung himself back onto that shiny Phoenix bicycle.

The bell rang out sharp—ding‑ling‑ling—over and over, echoing far down the road.

Showing off, and rushing folks out of his way all at once.

"Make some space, don’t scratch the paint! This bike cost real money!"

…

Lydia Chambers stood at the gate of her rundown yard, hearing that grating bell long before she saw him.

The wind swept up dry leaves, spinning them around her boots.

Soon enough, the figure surrounded by all those villagers came into view.

To be fair, Shaun Shepherd really was easy on the eyes.

Tall, straight-backed, features neat and proper, and now wrapped in that crisp factory uniform with a shiny new bike under him—yeah, in a place as plain as this village, he really did look like some fancy “golden phoenix” dropped out of nowhere.

If it had been the old, foolish Lydia Chambers, just catching that look in his eyes would’ve had her rushing up to him, thinking she’d finally waited long enough to see a good day come.

But the Lydia standing here now only found it ridiculous. She’d seen that kind of look too many times to count.

Shaun Shepherd stopped his bike right at the doorway, one foot on the ground.

He didn’t even bother getting off. Just sat there on the seat, staring down at Lydia, who was leaning against the mud wall.

They looked at each other.

One dressed neat and tidy, carrying himself like some proper city cadre.

The other in patched-up rags, face pale as paper.

The contrast was so sharp that even the villagers who’d gathered around fell quiet. Anyone could feel the giant gap standing between the two.

Shaun’s gaze dragged over Lydia from head to toe.

Her patched cotton coat.

Her hands swollen red from the cold.

The messy yard behind her.

The disgust in his eyes barely stayed hidden.

Too shabby. Too embarrassing.

Just thinking that he—an engineer at a steel factory—was tied by a marriage promise to a poor village girl who couldn’t even eat her fill made him feel twisted all over, like he’d stepped into a mud pit while wearing brand-new shoes.

“What happened to you?” Shaun finally spoke, but not a trace of happiness at meeting again showed in his tone. Just annoyance, impatience.

“Couldn’t you at least tidy yourself up? Look at this place.”

Lydia said nothing, just watched him quietly.

Her eyes were too clear, too cool—like she could peel away every little thought he tried to hide.

That look made Shaun’s heart skip for no reason, and right after, irritation kicked in.

He was the “nephew” of Jasper Pemberton, after all!

He had a bright future waiting for him.

So why on earth would a village girl make his stomach knot for no reason?

"What are you staring at? Cat got your tongue?"

Shaun Shepherd pushed his bike through the yard. His shiny leather shoes crunched on the frozen ground, every step loud and sharp.

He kept glancing down, carefully skirting a muddy puddle like it might jump up and ruin his brand‑new shoes.

"Let’s talk inside."

Lydia Chambers finally spoke. Her voice was rough, but there was a chill tucked under every word.

"Wind’s strong out here. Wouldn’t want our precious Technician Shaun to catch a cold."

The tone wasn’t warm or cold—just distant.

Shaun froze for a second, surprised. The Lydia who used to follow his every word, quiet and obedient, had never talked like this.

He didn’t think too hard about it though. In his mind, she was probably just jealous that he was doing better now.

He snorted, parked his new Phoenix bike, then pulled out a white handkerchief to wipe dust off the seat—dust that wasn’t even there.

Only after that did he lift his chin, clasped his hands behind his back like some official doing an inspection, and stepped into the dark, cramped mud house.

The moment he walked in, a heavy herbal smell mixed with dampness rushed at him.

Shaun instantly covered his nose, his brows scrunched tight.

"What the hell is this smell? It’s choking!"

He hovered at the doorway, refusing to take another step, like the air inside might poison him.

Lydia ignored his theatrics. She walked to the table, lifted the chipped black teapot, and poured a bowl of cold water.

"This is all I’ve got. Drink it or don’t."

She set the rough, broken‑rim bowl on the table with a firm, solid thud.

Shaun Shepherd stared at the yellow ring clinging to the rim of the bowl, his stomach churning hard.

Back in the city, he drank from enamel mugs with little blue flowers on them—sometimes he even got malted milk. How on earth was he supposed to swallow something like this?

“Enough. Don’t bother.”

He waved her off, impatient and annoyed, planting himself in the middle of the room and trying his best not to let his work jacket brush against the soot‑stained walls.

His gaze swept over the shabby place.

A wobbly table, rickety chairs, blankets so dark you couldn’t tell what color they used to be, bundles of dried herbs piled in the corner, and that sickly woman who spent her days boiling medicine.

Every bit of it made him feel smothered. He just wanted to turn around and get out, right now.

He needed to cut ties with this place—especially with the woman sitting in front of him.

To him, she was a stain on his life, a stone tied to his ankle while he tried climbing upward.

Shaun took a deep breath and slid a hand into the inner pocket of his work clothes. Inside was a thick stack of crisp bills and a neatly written letter ending their engagement.

His fingers brushed the bulk of the money, and a wave of certainty settled over him.

With cash and status in hand, what problem couldn’t he fix?

Lydia Chambers was perched on a three‑legged stool, turning a sharp little chopping blade between her fingers.

Even in the dim light, the edge of the knife gave off a cold gleam.

She watched Shaun’s string of disgusted, self‑important gestures, watched that fake, tight expression on his face. Her lips tugged up, a thin, icy smirk.

Shaun pivoted toward her, looking down from above, clearing his throat as he straightened his posture like he was about to announce something grand.

“Lydia, since you’re home, we should talk this out.”

He lifted his chin a touch, eyes full of that condescending generosity—as if whatever he was about to say was some kind of gift to her.

“I didn’t come back to take you with me.”

Outside, the wind slammed harder against the crooked wooden door, its howls sharp and wild.

Shaun’s face, plumped from city living, twisted as his mouth opened and closed, ready to spit out the words that would decide both their futures.

Lydia’s fingertips brushed the cold spine of the blade. Her eyes were calm, almost empty, except for that layer of frost‑hard killing intent settling beneath.

Let’s see, she thought, how far this rooster with a few city feathers stuck on him thought he could crow.