RYEY -Chapter 315 Strict Village Rules

“Widow Liu, don’t cry injustice to me. You know perfectly well what you’ve been up to. If you’re really innocent, then go pick a fight with Chen Weimin’s wife.”

“Village chief, look at me—do I look like I could win against Sister Zhaodi? She loves scratching people’s faces. One grab and you’re left with several claw marks. I… how am I supposed to find a man in the future?”

Zhao Hui felt a scorching gaze land on him. He lifted his eyes and, sure enough, saw Widow Liu’s lively eyes shimmering with moisture as she stared straight at him.

Goodness—her heart was racing. How could there be such a handsome man? No matter his age or looks, or that upright, imposing bearing—he truly struck right at her heart.

Zhao Hui saw through Widow Liu’s thoughts at a glance and felt instantly nauseated. A shameless tramp like this—if things went on, the atmosphere in Xiangyang Village would be completely ruined.

He glanced at Li Huan, who could only smile bitterly. Back when this woman was so poor she barely had a penny to her name, she’d been honest and well-behaved.

No one knew when it started, but suddenly she had money—she rebuilt her house and even dressed neatly and smartly.

As for where the money came from, there was no need to spell it out. Li Huan hated the men of his village—once their pockets loosened even a little, they started thinking about that.

Sure enough: when women go bad, they have money; when men have money, they change. This couldn’t go on. If it did, the village’s moral climate would be utterly destroyed.

Today it was Widow Liu. Tomorrow, could it be other men’s wives? Or even gambling dens? Once this door was opened, there’d be no stopping it.

“Xiangyang, come on. We need to discuss this.”

“Yes, Brother Huan.”

Wang Xiangyang was sharp. He’d already seen the problem and hurried after Li Huan into his house. Aunt Wang entered last, and as she closed the door, she spat toward Widow Liu—shameless.

“Xiangyang, draft village rules immediately. Anyone involved in gambling or indecent businesses—once caught, send them straight to the Public Security Bureau. No leniency.”

Wang Xiangyang led Li Huan and Zhao Hui into his room. As soon as they sat down, Li Huan spoke. He’d been careless—only focused on making the villagers richer, improving their lives.

He hadn’t expected people to grow richer while their minds stayed poor—always eating from one bowl while eyeing another. What was the point of that kind of wealth? It just made him sick.

Wang Xiangyang took out a pen, but hesitated before writing. Every winter, when villagers stayed indoors, they played cards or mahjong. Wins and losses were only a few cents.

So if he was setting village rules, he couldn’t ban card games outright—that would never work. The only solution was to clearly specify monetary limits.

After all, entertainment and gambling were two different things. A little bet for fun was acceptable. Li Huan nodded. Winnings and losses under one yuan were allowed. Over one yuan—warning issued, all gambling money confiscated.

Over five yuan—not only confiscation, but a fine as well, triple the amount. Over ten yuan—sorry, straight to the Public Security Bureau. Let the officers educate you.

As for someone like Widow Liu, Li Huan truly had no way to make Wang Xiangyang put it into the rules. Without catching her in the act, there was nothing to say.

They could only hold more tea meetings, gather the village women, raise their vigilance, and tell them to guard their own fences tightly—don’t let any stray beasts slip in.

He even deliberately mentioned an unspeakable infectious disease—one that couldn’t be cured, and would disgrace not only oneself, but ancestors above and descendants below.

Zhao Hui watched the two young men discuss things heatedly. His eyes shifted. He opened his briefcase, took out paper and pen, wrote down their ideas, and added a few more rules of his own.

“Let’s eat first,” Aunt Wang called. “Huan-zi’s uncle is here too. You might not be hungry, but your uncle sure is.”

She had reheated the dishes and, seeing they still hadn’t come out, knocked anxiously. Only then did Wang Xiangyang and Li Huan snap out of it—they’d been too absorbed.

“Here,” Zhao Hui said. “I’ve written it all out. Just use it as a reference.”

Li Huan took it and saw the bold, flowing handwriting. His eyes narrowed with envy. Cheng Qiao also wrote beautifully, but men and women were different—his uncle’s handwriting was simply too imposing.

“Uncle, how did you practice such handwriting?”

“When I was young, I knew that if I wanted to rise above others, I had to work harder than my siblings. That’s how I grew up. Zhao Min grew up the same way. So did Cheng Qiao. It’s just a pity Zhao Min left too early.”

Li Huan felt a pang for Cheng Qiao. It seemed children from wealthy families might grow up facing even more hardships—more danger, more diligence—than poor children.

“Uncle, I don’t want my children to grow up like that. Otherwise, where would childhood joy go? Where would trust between people go?”

Zhao Hui smiled but didn’t answer. He stood up and sat beside Wang Duocai. Seeing Wang Duocai cradling a child with a beaming smile, he knew this was Wang Xiangyang’s son.

“Here—your great-uncle has candy for you.”

Zhao Hui took out a bag of White Rabbit milk candies from his briefcase. Cheng Qiao had given them to him. He hadn’t wanted them—what grown man eats candy? But she’d said they’d be useful in the countryside. And indeed, they were.

“Thank you, Great-Uncle.”

The child was well taught. Without an adult’s permission, he wouldn’t reach out. Wang Duocai, on the other hand, had eyes darting—already thinking about how to trick candy from his grandson.

One look at her husband and Aunt Wang’s face turned cold. White Rabbit candies were expensive and required ration coupons. The grandson had finally gotten a whole bag—how could this old man have the nerve to swindle him?

“Bao’er, Grandma will give you one now, then we’ll hide the rest. You can eat one every day, alright?”

The little one nodded, popped a candy into his mouth, and the sweet, milky taste spread into a smile. So delicious. He felt even closer to Zhao Hui.

That night, they slept in the old house. The next day, when the commune director saw the freshly copied village rules Li Huan brought, his jaw nearly dropped.

“Good grief—how does your brain work? You even thought of this.”

“My wife says: when men get money, they go bad; when women go bad, they get money. So we’re setting this up early—to prevent bad habits from spreading until they can’t be stopped.”

The commune director’s teasing expression vanished. He mulled over Li Huan’s words and felt they rang true.

Reform and opening up had already begun. The county was about to receive a massive investment project worth 200,000 yuan. People getting rich was only a matter of time.

If problems that shouldn’t exist really did appear then—and they had no effective measures to deal with them—all their achievements and hard work would be wasted.

“Come on,” he said. “Let’s go to the county committee compound. Our commune secretary is in a meeting with the county leaders. Let’s see if we can get this proposal raised.”