“What else could it be?” Shen Zhiyi’s eyes reddened. “Do you pity me? You think my brother sold me off and I have nowhere else to go, so you’re showing me charity out of the goodness of your heart?”
The moment the words left her mouth, she froze.
That wasn’t what she had wanted to say.
She had wanted to thank him. She had wanted to tell him she would treat the money as a loan and repay every cent of it someday.
But somehow, all the grievances she had buried deep inside her heart, the humiliation of leaving home, the dizzy misery on the ferry, and the despair she had felt when she realized she had been deceived, surged to the surface and turned into sharp, piercing words.
Zhou Xubai remained silent for a long time.
So long that Shen Zhiyi thought he would never speak again.
Then he suddenly walked over to the desk, pulled open a drawer, and took out some paper and a pen.
“Write an IOU,” he said.
Shen Zhiyi stared at him in surprise.
“The fifty yuan will be a loan from me.” Zhou Xubai pushed the paper and pen toward her. “Annual interest… one percent. Pay me back whenever you’ve managed to save enough.”
His tone was as calm as if they were discussing tomorrow’s weather.
Shen Zhiyi looked at the yellowed sheet of writing paper, then at the five ten yuan banknotes on the table. It felt as though something had lodged itself in her throat.
“Why?” she asked softly.
Leaning on his crutch, Zhou Xubai walked over to the window.
Beyond it stretched the brilliant blue sea, with several seagulls gliding past the rocky cliffs.
“That year, after stepping on the landmine, Little Sichuan survived,” he said slowly, as though recalling something from a lifetime ago. “Later, he wrote to tell me he’d gotten married and had a child. There was ten yuan tucked inside the letter. He said he was paying me back.”
He turned to face her, his gaze settling on Shen Zhiyi’s face.
“At the time, I thought, what kind of repayment is this? One leg in exchange for ten yuan? I sent the money back and burned the letter. It wasn’t until much later that I understood… he wasn’t repaying money. He was repaying a debt of gratitude. Debts of gratitude are the hardest to repay, so the only way is to use the clumsiest method possible, calculating every last cent so everything is clear.”
At that moment, Shen Zhiyi understood.
He wasn’t giving her charity.
He was teaching her.
Teaching her how to accept help with dignity, and how to repay it with dignity, in a world that was both cold and full of kindness.
She walked over to the desk and picked up the pen. The tip hovered above the paper for a moment before finally touching down.
IOU:
Today I borrowed fifty yuan (¥50) from Comrade Zhou Xubai. The annual interest rate shall be one percent. Borrower: Shen Zhiyi. Seventh day of the fifth lunar month, 1975.
After finishing, she pressed her thumbprint onto the paper.
Zhou Xubai took the IOU, folded it neatly, and placed it back into the drawer.
Then he pushed the fifty yuan toward her.
“Now it’s yours.”
Shen Zhiyi picked up the money. She pulled out one ten yuan note, then another, then a third.
She carefully wrapped the thirty yuan inside her mother’s handkerchief, then handed the remaining twenty yuan back to Zhou Xubai.
“Please keep this for me.”
He didn’t take it.
“You should keep it to yourself.”
“I’m afraid I’ll lose it.” Shen Zhiyi stubbornly kept holding it out. “Keep it for me. Whenever I need it, I’ll ask you for it.”
It was the first time she had ever asked him for anything.
Zhou Xubai looked at her for a long moment before finally accepting the money. He slipped it back into the kraft paper envelope, locked it inside the drawer, and put the key away.
Silence settled over the little tin house.
The water on the stove came to a boil, bubbling noisily as white steam rose into the air.
Shen Zhiyi turned to fill the thermos when she heard Zhou Xubai speak behind her.
“I’ll mail the money this afternoon.”
“I’ll go myself,” she replied.
“Do you want to write a letter home?”
Shen Zhiyi paused in the middle of filling the thermos. Some boiling water splashed onto the back of her hand, instantly turning the skin red.
“Write what?” she said with a bitter smile. “That I’m doing well, the money’s on its way, and they shouldn’t worry?”
Zhou Xubai said nothing.
After sealing the thermos, Shen Zhiyi walked back to the desk and suddenly asked, “When was the last time you received a letter?”
“1969,” Zhou Xubai answered. “It was from the army, informing me that I was being discharged.”
After that, there was only silence.
No one ever wrote to him again, and there was no one left for him to write to.
His world had shrunk to this little tin house, this stretch of rocky shore, his daily weather records, and the occasional fishing trip.
Shen Zhiyi spread out another sheet of writing paper on the desk.
She held the pen for a long time before finally beginning to write.
Brother,
I’ve sent the money, thirty yuan in total. Once you receive it, buy some brown sugar and eggs for Sister in law so she can recover her strength. I’m doing well on the island. I’ve learned how to mend fishing nets, become a consultant, and now earn work points. Zhou Xubai is a good man. His leg may be disabled, but he has a warm heart. Please don’t worry about me.
Your sister, Zhiyi.
After reading it over once, she felt it sounded too stiff, so she added one more sentence.
When my nephew is born, let me know.
She folded the letter together with the thirty yuan.
Zhou Xubai stood up with the help of his crutch.
“I’ll head to the post office.”
“I’ll come with you.”
The two of them left the tin house one after the other.
The May breeze swept across the cliffs, carrying the scent of the sea mixed with the fragrance of unknown wildflowers.
As they passed Granny Lin’s house, laughter drifted out from inside. The women of the net weaving group were learning a new weaving pattern.
Shen Zhiyi suddenly stopped walking.
“Zhou Xubai.”
She turned to face him, looking at him with complete sincerity.
“Once I’ve repaid the fifty yuan… let’s write a new agreement.”
He paused, his hand tightening around the crutch.
“What kind of agreement?”
“A real partnership agreement. No advance payments, no IOUs. I’ll work, you’ll go fishing, and whatever we earn… we’ll split it equally.”
The sea breeze lifted the loose strands of hair across her forehead.
Standing in the sunlight, her eyes were clear and unwavering, just like the girl who had stood soaking wet on the rocky shore that day and stubbornly declared, I want to stay.
Zhou Xubai looked at her for a long time.
Then he nodded. “All right.”
The elderly postal clerk accepted the money and the letter, carefully checked the address, and stamped them with the postmark.
Watching the letter disappear into the dark green mailbag, Shen Zhiyi suddenly felt dazed.
Just three months earlier, she had been the girl from the Jiangnan water town who had been traded away in a Marriage Swap.
Now she stood on an island in the South China Sea, sending money home so her pregnant Sister in law could buy nourishing food.
Fate was like the waves upon the sea, tossing people wherever it pleased. No one ever knew where the next wave would carry them.
By the time they walked out of the post office, the sun was already sinking toward the horizon.
The sea glowed crimson and gold beneath the sunset, while fishing boats returning home dotted the water like scattered stars.
Zhou Xubai stood by the roadside waiting for her, the shadow of his crutch stretching long across the ground.
“Let’s go home,” he said.
Shen Zhiyi walked over to his side.
The two of them made their way back along the dirt road in silence. Neither spoke, yet something in the air had changed. The fragile balance they had carefully maintained was gone, replaced by something steadier, something bound together by an IOU and a promise.
“Shen Zhiyi.”
Zhou Xubai suddenly called her name.
“Yes?”
“If… if one day your brother comes to take you home, will you leave?”
Shen Zhiyi stiffened.
After a long while, she answered softly, “I still haven’t repaid the fifty yuan I owe you.”
“What about after you’ve paid it back?”
“I don’t know. But at least for now… I don’t want to leave.”
That night, Shen Zhiyi lay in bed for a long time without falling asleep.
She gently touched her father’s woodworking plane beside her pillow, thinking about her brother and Sister in law back in Jiangnan, the letter that would soon arrive, the IOU tucked away inside the drawer, and the question Zhou Xubai had asked her.
What if my brother really does come to take me home?
She turned over and heard the steady rhythm of breathing beyond the curtain.
Zhou Xubai was already asleep.
The one legged man lay in the hammock made from fishing nets and canvas, even turning over carefully so he wouldn’t wake her.
Shen Zhiyi suddenly sat up. Moving as quietly as possible, she climbed out of bed and walked to the desk.
The kerosene lamp was still burning.
Using its light, she pulled open a drawer.
Not the one where the money was kept.
The other one.
Everything inside was neatly arranged: several well worn books, a stack of writing paper, half a bottle of ink, and… a tin box.
She recognized it.
It had originally held biscuits from the supply and marketing cooperative, though it was now covered in rust.
Almost without realizing what she was doing, she reached out and opened the box.