“Isn’t that exactly it?” The high-cheekboned woman picked up the thread, deliberately raising her voice. “Who on the island doesn’t know about Zhao Shuisheng’s family? His son’s leg is crippled and he can’t find a wife, so they tried to trade their daughter in a marriage swap. In the end, the daughter ran away, and they ended up bringing in an outsider instead…”
Shen Zhiyi tightened her grip on the bucket handle until her knuckles turned white. She said nothing and turned to leave with the bucket.
“Hey, wait.” The high-cheekboned woman stepped in front of her, looking her up and down. “Are you really from Zhou Xubai’s household?”
“Yes.” Shen Zhiyi lifted her eyes to meet hers, her gaze calm.
The women exchanged meaningful looks. The round-faced woman lowered her voice, though it was still loud enough for everyone nearby to hear. “Comrade Zhou Xubai is a strange man… can you really live a life with him?”
“Yes,” Shen Zhiyi answered without hesitation.
The high-cheekboned woman seemed about to say more, but Shen Zhiyi had already walked past her. The bucket was heavy, her steps slightly unsteady, yet her back remained straight.
After walking a dozen steps, she could still hear the whispers drifting behind her.
“Putting on airs…”
“Just a cheap wife from a marriage swap…”
“With Zhou Xubai’s background, only an outsider would dare…”
Shen Zhiyi did not stop walking. She only tightened her grip on the bucket handle. The brown sugar in her pocket pressed against her thigh, and she remembered Zhou Xubai’s words: “There’ll be people at the well.”
So he had already known.
When she returned to the iron-sheet house, Zhou Xubai had already prepared breakfast.
A pot of corn gruel so thin it could reflect a face, and two potatoes roasted until blackened.
“Sit.” He pushed an enamel bowl toward her.
Shen Zhiyi sat down at the table and lifted the bowl, sipping slowly. The gruel was bland, but she ate with care. Zhou Xubai sat across from her, peeling the potato skins in an unhurried manner. His movements were not very nimble, and the index finger of his right hand was missing half, an old injury.
“In a while, we’ll go to the supply and marketing cooperative. To buy needles and thread,” Zhou Xubai said suddenly.
Shen Zhiyi froze. “I… I don’t have ration coupons.”
“I do.” Zhou Xubai took out a small cloth bundle from his pocket and opened it. Inside were several yellowed coupons, the top one a military grain ticket.
Shen Zhiyi looked at them, recalling the women’s gossip at the well, “outsiders don’t have coupons.”
“Can… Can I use your coupons?” she asked hesitantly.
Zhou Xubai glanced at her, his gaze deep as well. “Martyr’s family subsidy. They can be used.”
Shen Zhiyi’s heart trembled. She remembered what the woman on the ferry had said. Were his parents martyrs, or… his fallen comrades?
She did not dare ask.
The supply and marketing cooperative stood in the center of the village, two low stone buildings. Above the entrance hung a faded wooden sign reading “Naozhou Island Supply and Marketing Cooperative.”
When Shen Zhiyi pushed the door open, a man in his fifties sat behind the counter, wearing reading glasses and working an abacus. Hearing the door, he looked up and examined her through the lenses.
“What do you want?”
“Needles, thread, and…” Shen Zhiyi glanced at the sparse goods behind the counter. “Is there soap?”
“Needles and thread, yes. No soap.” The man spoke slowly, taking out a small paper packet from beneath the counter. “Needles, two fen. Thread, five fen. Got coupons?”
Shen Zhiyi handed over Zhou Xubai’s coupons. The man looked at them, then at her again, his expression shifting.
“Zhou Xubai’s?”
“Yes.”
The man asked no more. He wrapped the needles and thread and handed them over, then rummaged through a drawer and produced half a bar of soap. “This one, I’ll throw in for you. Comrade Zhou Xubai… hasn’t had it easy.”
Shen Zhiyi accepted the items and quietly thanked him. As she turned to leave, the man called out again.
“Girl, are you from Comrade Zhou Xubai’s household?”
She nodded.
The man sighed, taking off his glasses to wipe them. “Comrade Zhou Xubai is a good man… just unlucky. Since you’re here, live well with him. People on the island have sharp tongues, don’t take it to heart.”
Warmth stirred in Shen Zhiyi’s chest, and she thanked him again.
When she stepped out, the sunlight had grown harsh. Not far away, beneath the banyan tree, the women from the well had gathered again, pointing and whispering.
She took a deep breath and walked back toward the iron house, clutching her paper-wrapped purchases.
Halfway there, someone called out behind her.
“Shen Zhiyi!”
She turned to see a man in a Zhongshan suit in his fifties hurrying over. He was thin, with a smile on his face, though it did not reach his eyes.
“You must be Shen Zhiyi. I’m the village Party secretary, surnamed Chen.” He extended his hand.
After a brief hesitation, she shook it. His hand was rough and gripped firmly.
“I heard you arrived yesterday. I should have gone to receive you, but there’s been a lot going on in the village. How is it? Are you settling in?” Chen said with a genial smile.
“I am,” Shen Zhiyi replied simply.
“That’s good, that’s good.” Chen rubbed his hands together, his gaze flicking across her face. “Well… have you and Comrade Zhou completed the formalities?”
Shen Zhiyi’s heart tightened. “What formalities?”
“The marriage formalities.” Chen lowered his voice. “Your situation is special, it’s a marriage swap, but the proper procedures still need to be done. Otherwise… it’s not proper, and people will talk.”
Shen Zhiyi remained silent.
“How about this, I’ll make the decision for you. Next week, hold a simple wedding. Invite a few elders from the village for a meal, and that will make it official. Then the production team can legitimately allocate fishing gear to you. Comrade Zhou’s mobility is limited, but with you there, getting a fishing net shouldn’t be a problem, right?”
“Secretary Chen.” A low voice cut in.
Shen Zhiyi turned to see Zhou Xubai standing not far away. He leaned on his crutch, his back straight, his face expressionless, but his eyes cold.
Chen’s smile stiffened. “Comrade Zhou, just in time. I was telling Little Shen about your marriage—”
“Wait a little longer.” Zhou Xubai interrupted, walking to Shen Zhiyi’s side and naturally taking the paper package from her hands. “There’s no rush.”
“But… how can there be no rush?” Chen forced a laugh. “You’re already living together. If you don’t hold a wedding, it won’t look good…”
“I said, wait.” Zhou Xubai repeated.
Chen opened his mouth, then closed it again, finally leaving awkwardly.
Shen Zhiyi watched his figure disappear around the corner before asking softly, “Why not hold it?”
“If we do, you won’t be able to leave anymore. Like this, you can leave anytime.”
Shen Zhiyi followed behind him, watching his back. The morning light stretched his shadow long across the uneven dirt road, rising and falling with the rhythm of his crutch.
“If I leave, what about your fishing gear?” she asked.
Zhou Xubai paused briefly but did not turn back. “There will be a way.”
Back at the iron house, Zhou Xubai pulled a wooden chest from beneath the bed. The chest was old, its paint long worn away, but the latch remained intact. When he opened it, inside were neatly stacked notebooks and several metal tins.
“What are these?” Shen Zhiyi leaned closer.
“Meteorological records.” Zhou Xubai took out a notebook and opened it. The yellowed pages were densely filled with writing—dates, times, wind direction, wind speed, air pressure, cloud formations, along with hand-drawn cloud charts so detailed they were astonishing.
Shen Zhiyi flipped through the pages, more and more surprised. The records dated back to 1969, almost without a single day missed. The most recent entry was yesterday’s.
“July 23rd, morning. Northeast wind level three to four. Wave height zero point five to one meter. Increasing cumulus clouds, possible thunderstorms in the afternoon.”
She looked up at Zhou Xubai. “Can you predict the weather?”
“Stay at sea long enough, you learn to read the sky.” Zhou Xubai sat at the table, picking up a pencil. “Help me organize these. Sort them by month and mark the missing dates.”
Shen Zhiyi sat down and began sorting the notebooks. She worked carefully, flipping through them one by one and noting missing dates on a sheet of paper. Occasionally she glanced up, seeing Zhou Xubai staring out at the sea, the pencil spinning between his fingers.
“You… have been recording all this the whole time?” she asked.
“Yes! When I first came to the island, I couldn’t sleep, so I watched the sky. After a while, I felt like writing it down.”
“Why?”
Zhou Xubai was silent for a long time. So long that Shen Zhiyi thought he would not answer. Then he said softly,
“The sky keeps its word. When it’s time for the wind, it blows. When it’s time for rain, it rains. It never deceives.”
Shen Zhiyi’s heart trembled. She thought of Matchmaker Li’s lies, her sister-in-law’s schemes, her brother’s silence. Yes, the sky never deceives, but people do.
She lowered her head and continued sorting, her fingers brushing over his neat handwriting. Zhou Xubai’s writing was distinctive, each stroke as sharp as if carved with a knife, firm, precise, restrained.
“Your handwriting is beautiful,” she said quietly.
Zhou Xubai did not respond, but the pencil slowed in his fingers.
By evening, Secretary Chen came again.
This time he did not enter, standing outside the door. “Comrade Zhou, fishing gear will be distributed next month. If you don’t hold a wedding, it will be difficult for the team to allocate it to you.”
Zhou Xubai was boiling water at the stove, the kettle bubbling. Without turning, he said, “Understood.”
Chen stood outside for a while, then sighed and left.
Shen Zhiyi sat at the table mending Zhou Xubai’s worn military jacket. Her stitches were fine and even, a skill honed at the textile factory. After finishing the last stitch, she bit off the thread and looked up at him.
The firelight illuminated his profile, the scar on his face appearing deeper in the flickering glow. He stared into the flames, his eyes distant, as if seeing something beyond them.
“What are you thinking about?” Shen Zhiyi asked.
He did not answer immediately. The water boiled, and he lifted the kettle, pouring it slowly into an enamel mug. Steam rose, blurring his face.
“You shouldn’t have come here,” he said suddenly, his voice low, almost to himself.
Shen Zhiyi set down her needlework and looked at him.
“This island, this house, and me…” Zhou Xubai paused. “None of it is a place you should stay.”
Shen Zhiyi stood and walked over to him. The firelight cast their shadows onto the wall, overlapping.
“But I came,” she said, her voice calm and steady. “And I don’t plan on leaving.”
Zhou Xubai looked at her. The firelight flickered in his deep, well-like eyes, like stars sinking into the sea.
They stood there, facing each other.
Outside, the sound of the waves came again and again, never ceasing.