The snow fell without a sound.

Overnight, Su Family Village was wrapped in a thick layer of white. Roof eaves, withered branches, and field ridges—all their sharp edges were smoothed away. The world between heaven and earth was utterly silent, as if even sound had been swallowed up by this heavy snow.

Su Lai was like a cough in this snowy weather, arriving abruptly and then disappearing without a trace.

No one mentioned him. No one asked about him.

When villagers passed by the tightly closed wooden gate of his house with their heads lowered, they would unconsciously quicken their pace, as if some monster that devoured gazes lurked behind that door. His wife, who usually loved to curse and shout at the village entrance, had also fallen silent, staying behind closed doors all day long.

Su Lai, along with his malicious, triangular eyes, had been cleanly and decisively carved out of Su Family Village’s memory.

This collective amnesia was more chilling to the heart than any hoarse, screaming invective.

Inside the workshop, the smell of caustic soda and paper pulp mingled with the warmth of the furnace fire, creating a world apart from the one outside.

Su Ming walked past rows of men toiling with their heads down, carrying a batch of newly produced straw paper samples.

The atmosphere had changed.

Those faces that just a few days ago were gathered together, eyes flickering, whispering and calculating something, now all looked like eggplants beaten by frost. They worked harder than ever before, their hands moving swiftly, yet each had become a silent gourd. Apart from the clatter of tools colliding, not a single word of idle chat could be heard.

A newly arrived man accidentally knocked over a bucket of clean water. The loud “clatter” of the wooden bucket rolling echoed with particular harshness in the workshop shed.

Instantly, everyone stopped their work. Dozens of pairs of eyes, like startled birds, shot towards him. The man’s face turned deathly pale from fright, and he stood frozen on the spot, at a complete loss. Only when the foreman came over, cursing and shouting for him to clean it up quickly, did everyone seem to snap out of it. They silently lowered their heads again, but the force in their hands grew even heavier.

“See that?” Lin Yu’s voice sounded in Su Ming’s mind, carrying a hint of a lazy drawl. “Fear is the best bridle. More effective than money, less troublesome than reason.”

(Inner thoughts: “Classic workplace PUA… no, it’s classic gangster management. That old fellow Zhao Dequan, what a waste of talent not joining a gang.”)

Su Ming remained silent and delivered the samples to Zhao Dequan’s room.

Zhao Dequan was sitting by the charcoal brazier, still idly rubbing that glossy, oil-shined pipe tobacco holder in his hand. He seemed more leisurely than usual, just gazing at the snowy scenery outside the window, his eyes distant, lost in thought.

“Uncle Zhao, the paper samples are ready,” Su Ming said, handing over the paper.

Zhao Dequan grunted an acknowledgment, took the paper, merely rubbed it with his fingertip, and then set it aside without even a careful look.

He raised his eyes to look at Su Ming. Those eyes, which always seemed somewhat turbid, were now frighteningly clear.

“The village has been very quiet lately,” he said. It wasn’t a question, but a statement.

“Yes, the New Year is almost here. Everyone is busy,” Su Ming replied in a low voice.

A vague, ambiguous smile tugged at the corner of Zhao Dequan’s mouth. He tapped out the pipe ashes unhurriedly and said, “Quiet is good. When people are quiet, their minds become clear, and their hands and feet become nimble. This work can then be done for a long time.”

His voice wasn’t loud, but it was like a cold stone thrown into Su Ming’s heart.

Su Ming withdrew. The cold wind blew, and only then did he realize that a thin layer of sweat had seeped onto his back at some point.

Walking on the way home, the festive New Year atmosphere finally seemed to have broken through that invisible layer of oppression, stubbornly poking its head out.

Brand new red paper-cuttings were pasted on the windows of every household. The bright colors stood out starkly against the backdrop of white snow. From the eastern end of the village came the distinctive squeals of the New Year’s pig being slaughtered, mixed with the cheers of children.

Everything looked no different from previous years.

But Su Ming felt that the red this year was a bit too glaring. The liveliness this year also felt hollow.

The smiles on people’s faces seemed like masks hung up, polite yet distant. When neighbors met, their conversations were limited to the weather and the harvest. Mid-sentence, there would always be an unconscious pause, as if weighing which words shouldn’t be spoken.

Under the old locust tree in the center of the village, Su Ming saw Zhao Dequan.

He was standing there casually, hands clasped behind his back, looking up at the snow piled on the withered branches. He did nothing. He said nothing. Yet everyone passing by him would unconsciously slow their steps, bow slightly, and respectfully call out, “Village Chief, sir.”

That reverence came from the marrow of their bones.

“Master, the village… it’s as if nothing happened, yet it feels like everything has changed,” Su Ming whispered in his heart. “Su Lai is like a stone thrown into a pond, not even leaving a ripple.”

“Who says it left no ripple?” Lin Yu’s voice held a touch of mockery. “The ‘quietness’ you tread upon, see with your eyes, and hear with your ears—that’s the biggest ripple.”

He paused, his voice gaining a trace of cold severity. “This is called ‘killing the chicken to scare the monkey.’ That chicken was named Su Lai. Now, all the monkeys in the village have quieted down. Zhao Dequan didn’t use a knife, yet he carved an invisible knife into everyone’s heart. Masterful, my disciple. This is the real method.”

Su Ming fell silent.

He remembered the words his master had said—”find yourself a plank that can keep you afloat.”

Only now did he truly understand that this ship named Su Family Village was far more complex than he had imagined. The captain, Zhao Dequan, was also far colder than he appeared. On this ship, any disobedient sailor could be thrown into the sea on some windless, waveless night, without a sound.

And he, Su Ming, did not want to be the one thrown overboard.

Returning home, a rich aroma of meat greeted him.

Inside the small earthen house, it was warm and cozy.

Mrs. Su Chen was humming a little tune, bustling by the stove. A large pot of pork stewed in the pot, something the family had gritted their teeth to buy specially for the New Year. His father, Su Shan, was sitting on the threshold, unusually not working, puffing on his pipe tobacco with a satisfied smile on his face.

Eldest Brother Su Feng and his wife, Wang Chuntao, were also there, helping their mother. The family was rarely gathered together like this, chatting and laughing.

“Ming’er, you’re back! Quick, wash your hands, we can eat soon!” Mrs. Su Chen’s smile grew even brighter when she saw him.

“Third Brother, smell that, isn’t it fragrant? Mother has brought out all her best cooking skills!” Sister-in-law Wang Chuntao teased cheerfully.

This warm, genuine, earthly aura instantly dispelled the chill Su Ming had brought back from the village.

He looked at the simple, genuine smiles on the faces of his parents, brother, and sister-in-law. They knew nothing of the undercurrents in the village, immersed only in the joy of the approaching New Year.

This fragile warmth was like a single candle flame in a snowstorm, needing someone to protect it with all their might.

Su Ming suddenly felt that merely finding a plank to keep him afloat might… not be enough.

What he wanted was to build a ship of his own.

A ship sturdy enough to carry his cherished family safely across any turbulent undercurrents.

Once this thought took root, it was like a maddening vine, instantly entwining his entire heart.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep