Therefore, in order to make it easier for them to return to the city in the future, the two of them never obtained a marriage certificate, even though they had been together for more than four years, and maggie was already over three years old.
After all, without a marriage certificate, a marriage had no legal protection. If the two separated, all it would take was a certificate of severance of the relationship, and in the records both the man and the woman would still be listed as unmarried.
"I have to admit, in my previous life I was selfish!" Yang milan reflected.
But in this life, he swore that he would never let the young girl follow him in such an unclear and insecure way again. It was time to put the matter of getting a marriage certificate on the agenda!
...
It took Yang milan more than three hours to walk the twenty kilometers, and by the time he reached the bus station, it was already past eight o'clock.
Along the way, aside from the fresher air, everything else only left him with unpleasant feelings. The muddy country roads, the low adobe houses, and the pale faces of the people all revealed the poverty of this era—so bare, so merciless!
Even the county town was far less prosperous than he had imagined, with only a few more brick and tile houses compared to the countryside.
Fortunately, it was already 1975, and in just a few more years, the curtain of reform would begin. All he had to do was wait patiently!
"Buy your ticket and get on the bus!"
With a loud rumble, the long-distance bus set off towards holo City, 120 kilometers away.
Traveling long distances in this era was pure torment. It was just over a hundred kilometers—something that in later times would take barely an hour by car—but now the trip lasted three and a half hours. The violent jolting of the bus, the overcrowded seats, the constant noise and strange smells almost drove Yang milan mad.
Still, he knew that given the current conditions, even having a car was already considered incredible. Why would he even think about a bicycle?
After finally getting off at the old bus station, Yang milan looked carefully at the streets around him. Slowly, the scene before his eyes began to overlap with the holo City he remembered from his previous life.
But compared to its later glory as a major northwestern transportation hub, the City of 1975 looked shabby and desolate.
In his past life, Yang milan had come to holo City nearly every year, so he was very familiar with it. He didn't need to ask for directions—he simply relied on memory and walked towards the nearby jinhua Bookstore.
The sight of the familiar sign made Yang's milan lips curl into a faint smile. He pushed open the door and strode inside.
The bookstore wasn't large, and the layout inside was simple. The moment the door opened, the unique, rich scent of ink and paper—the smell that only belonged to books—filled the air.
For a moment, Yang's milan mood inexplicably lifted.
This was something common among book lovers—just like how the smell of fresh bread excites the hungry, the sight and scent of books could stir their hearts.
Inside the bookstore, there was no one else except a bald, middle-aged man.
As soon as he saw Yang milan, the man quickly set aside the book in his hand and asked, "Comrade, are you here to buy books?"
"No," Yang milan replied with a smile. "I want to see if I can take on some translation work. Is that possible?"
Indeed, Yang milan had mentioned before that his way of making money was through translation.
At this time, Hollow was far behind Western countries in science, technology, and many other fields. To learn advanced knowledge and management methods, a vast number of foreign materials and books needed to be translated.
However, for various reasons, there was a serious gap in educated professionals, leading to an extreme shortage of translators nationwide.
On one hand, translation talent was limited; on the other, countless works were waiting to be translated. The imbalance between supply and demand seriously affected national development. Scientific research was often delayed because foreign materials could not be translated in time.
Because of this severe shortage, the government had no choice but to distribute less important publications to different provinces and cities, instructing them to find suitable people to take on translation work for pay.
This not only reduced the burden on higher authorities but also allowed them to discover new translation talent hidden among the people.
The jinhua Bookstore, being the cultural hub in every province and city, naturally became the main platform for assigning such translation tasks.
Hearing Yang's milan words, the middle-aged man's eyes brightened instantly. He hurriedly introduced himself: "Comrade, I'm moe Yongguang, the person in charge of this bookstore. You can call me Old moe!
"Hello, my name is Yang milan."
"Comrade Yang milan , do you know any foreign languages?"
"Yeah, a little," Yang milan said modestly.
"What languages can you speak?"
In truth, Yang milan was proficient in English, French, German, Russian, Japanese, and Korean. But he knew that showing off such ability in this era would draw too much attention, maybe even suspicion from the authorities.
After some thought, he simply said: "English."
Old moe face lit up. "That's excellent! What our country needs most right now are people who understand English. But before you can take on translation work, I'll need to test your level."
"No problem!" Yang milan answered confidently.
Old moe immediately pulled out two sheets of English text from a drawer and handed them over. "Here, try translating this. Let's see how long it will take you."
Yang milan glanced at the pages and instantly recognized it—an excerpt from the English classic A Letter to Garcia.
"Five minutes," Yang milan said calmly.
"What? Five… minutes:- old man Was dumbfounded . Normally , even Just a few pages like this Would take two or three hours to translate.
Without saving more, meeting old moeyang milan pulled out his pen and paper , sat down and began translating on the spot.