Volume One, Chapter 18: Handheld Tractor Design Blueprint

“Tilling the land—whoever finishes these four-tenths of an acre first wins.”

An acre is about six hundred and sixty-seven square meters; four-tenths would be around two hundred and sixty-seven square meters. Even a robust, experienced farmhand, working at full speed and ignoring exhaustion, would need seven or eight hours to till that much land.

At first, the widow’s son hesitated, but after glancing at Jiang Yingli’s delicate frame, his confidence surged. She looked every bit the pampered young lady—he doubted she could last half an hour before crying out to concede. What was there to fear?

“Fine! Whoever admits defeat first is the loser’s son!”

Jiang Yingli arched a brow. Aunt Ding wanted to intervene, but the team members were already marking out the plots for them. With a stomp and a bite of her lip, she spun around and rushed to the cadres’ office. She had to fetch Captain Zhou—by the time four-tenths of an acre were turned, who knew if the young Comrade Jiang would even be able to stand!

She couldn’t fathom what Jiang Yingli had done to offend the heavens, but it seemed the entire village was against her.

At the sound of the whistle, the contest officially began.

Jiang Yingli shifted her grip on the hoe back and forth, as though unused to it, exclaiming oh, how heavy it was. Hearing this, the widow’s son put his all into the work, sparing no effort—his energy a far cry from his usual languid manner during the team’s labor.

An hour passed. Under Jiang Yingli’s feet, only two or three strides’ worth of earth had been turned, while the widow’s son had already covered seven or eight square meters.

“Oh, it’s over—Jiang Yingli’s done for!”

“She deserves it! Always shirking work, and yet people keep defending her for some reason!”

“Ding Cuiying? You have the nerve to show your face? If not for her, we’d never have known you’d tampered with our work points!”

Ding Cuiying hadn’t expected her first words to draw such ire. She pursed her lips. “She’s the one at fault now! Captain Zhou’s already restored your points!”

Yuan Yanzhou had just arrived and heard this, but said nothing. Aunt Ding shouldered her way past to bring him inside.

Nearly knocked over, Ding Cuiying bit back a retort when she realized it was the captain, swallowing her indignation and retreating into the crowd.

Aunt Ding was nearly out of breath. She’d reached the office only to learn the captain was out on patrol, and it had taken ages to track him down.

After an hour, Jiang Yingli was surely exhausted!

Seeing her still in the field, Aunt Ding tugged at Yuan Yanzhou. “Captain, please, make them stop!”

Yuan Yanzhou gently released her hand, his gaze fixed intently on Jiang Yingli. Then he smiled faintly. “Auntie, there’s no need. She knows what she’s doing.”

Aunt Ding was beside herself with worry, even suspecting there was something untoward between him and the widow—why else would he speak such nonsense with a straight face?

“Knows what she’s doing? She’s never worked a day in the fields; how could she possibly know how grueling it is…” Wait! It seemed she was about to win.

At the very moment the two arrived, Jiang Yingli stopped feigning weakness. Both hands gripped the hoe, swinging it up and down in a steady rhythm, quickly catching up to the widow’s son. Yet she never quite surpassed him—whenever she was about to overtake, she slowed, trailing just behind. The widow’s son was forced to push himself to keep ahead.

When he was finally spent and slowed, Jiang Yingli caught up again, sticking close on his heels.

So they worked through half the plot. At last, the widow’s son collapsed onto the ground, lips pale and breath ragged.

Seeing he’d been thoroughly exhausted, she lost interest in continuing. Setting aside her hoe, she fished a piece of White Rabbit Creamy Candy from her pocket, unwrapped it, and slipped it into his mouth.

“Captain Zhou, I’ve won.”

Yuan Yanzhou watched her cheeks flushed and her eyes shining like meteors, feeling as if his heart had taken a fierce blow.

“Yes, you’ve won.”

“So, he’s my son now.”

The widow’s son’s ears were ringing, unable to make out their words—only the lingering sweetness in his mouth registered. Through blurred vision, he saw her—like an angel plucked from a Western fairytale—gazing down at him.

“Auntie, what do you think of his speed?” Jiang Yingli asked Aunt Ding.

“Mm… very fast, even faster than me.”

Aunt Ding, recalling his performance—half the plot turned in just two hours—felt a flush of embarrassment. She’d never guessed he was feigning weakness all this time! No wonder their group’s efficiency was always the lowest.

Jiang Yingli nodded, clearly agreeing, and said thoughtfully, “Yes—a person who never even earns full work points, yet today outperformed you. It seems that unless people are pushed, they’ll never know the extent of their own potential.”

The more total work points a brigade earned, the more grain they’d submit, and at year’s end, the greater the profit to be divided. Anyone who didn’t pull their weight was harming the interests of the entire village.

The widow, broad-shouldered and full-figured, with fox-like eyes and skin like white jade, was a voluptuous beauty. She stepped forward, her voice plaintive and fragile. “It’s my fault. He’s our only pillar of support. I’m afraid he’ll get hurt in the fields, and we have no money for a doctor. I fear he’ll end up like his father…”

Her husband had worked himself half to death in the fields, injuries compounding and untreated, until finally, illness claimed him with a single fever.

Her situation was understandable, and none of the team could blame her too harshly—after all, she had only this one child.

Yet as she spoke, each member thought of their own families; some unconsciously pressed at aching wrists, knees, or backs.

Yuan Yanzhou sensed the collective morale drop—if this continued, the team would never give their all for the spring planting. The season might be lost!

“Captain, I have a way for everyone to save strength and still finish the spring planting in time.”

Her clear, spirited voice reignited the group’s energy; all eyes turned to her.

Jiang Yingli was radiant with confidence. Yuan Yanzhou noticed the young team members’ restlessness and pressed his lips together, uneasy.

She was invited into the cadres’ office—only she and Yuan Yanzhou remained.

As he moved to close the door, Jiang Yingli quickly interjected, “Captain Zhou, please, leave it open!”

He glanced at her, then complied, taking a seat opposite.

Her concern wasn’t for herself, but for how the team might perceive things. Her goal was to earn the village’s trust, paving the way for her next steps. She didn’t want anyone thinking she relied on favoritism for her accomplishments.

“Comrade Jiang, what’s your idea?”

Before her was a steaming cup of water, with a cube of reddish-brown sugar—likely brown sugar—dissolving within. Jiang Yingli pulled out a set of blueprints from her pocket—a hand-held walking tractor.

Such machines were already being mass-produced in the country, but she’d never seen one in use in any nearby brigade, meaning they simply couldn’t afford them.

The Fifth Production Brigade alone tilled around four hundred acres; a commune had several thousand. With just a few walking tractors, efficiency could soar.

She refocused, seeing Yuan Yanzhou already absorbed in the design. He recognized the machine—it was used in places like Beidahuang, where the land was flat and fertile, and grain yields were high enough to afford such equipment.

He returned the blueprints, his expression calm. “Even with the plans, we can’t afford one.”

“Who said anything about buying?”

His eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”