All day long, Chen Ping shuttled back and forth between the hillside and the Pigsty.
Cutting grass, carrying grass, cutting more grass, carrying more grass…
The heavy basket bent his back, and the rough straps chafed his shoulders until they were raw and bloody. Sweat dripped into the open wounds, bringing a stinging, heart-piercing pain.
The few burly men responsible for chopping the grass sat in a shady spot nearby, occasionally shouting to urge him to move faster.
At noon, the Foreman arrived with a bucket.
One bowl per person of murky, foul-smelling Gruel.
Chen Ping practically snatched it, not caring about the scalding heat. He gulped it down in a few desperate mouthfuls.
The little he swallowed did nothing to ease his hunger. If anything, it burned more fiercely in his stomach.
In the afternoon, he was assigned to clean out a manure pit in the corner.
It was a huge, deep pit filled with black-green viscous filth. Maggots wriggled within, and the stench was so overwhelming it was almost suffocating.
He and two other Laborers used long-handled wooden ladles to scoop out the filth one ladleful at a time, dumping it into a nearby manure cart.
The heavy wooden ladle, the splattering filth, and the pervasive stench made him dizzy and nauseous.
Just as he gritted his teeth against the urge to vomit, mechanically repeating the scooping motion, he caught movement out of the corner of his eye.
Two servants were dragging a roll of tattered straw matting toward the other end of the pit.
A corner of the matting came loose, revealing a bluish-gray foot caked in grime.
“Bad luck! Another one dead!”
One of the servants cursed, his expression unchanged, as though he were dragging a bundle of firewood.
“His old illness, was it? If he couldn’t hold out, better to be reborn sooner and stop taking up room,” the other replied casually.
The two walked to the edge of the manure pit and swung their arms. The roll of matting traced an arc through the air.
Plop!
It landed heavily in the thick black-green filth, splattering large amounts of muck.
The matting loosened a bit. One could vaguely see it wrapped around an emaciated body, face down.
The corpse was quickly swallowed by the filth, leaving only a few strands of grayish-white hair floating on the surface before they, too, sank.
Like discarding a useless rag.
Chen Ping’s hand gripping the ladle tightened violently, his knuckles turning white. The churning in his stomach froze solid under an icy chill.
That casually discarded corpse was like a heavy stone smashing against his chest.
He recognized those few strands of grayish-white hair.
It was Old Zhang, a laborer from another corner of the shack area who had arrived many years before him. Usually silent and stooped like a shrimp, he suffered from coughing fits that sounded like he was trying to hack up his lungs.
He thought he had seen the old man struggling to chop wood just yesterday…
Gone, just like that?
Tossed into the manure pit like garbage?
An indescribable chill shot up from the soles of his feet straight to the crown of his head.
Chen Ping stared fixedly at the filthy surface as it gradually returned to calm, with only bubbles rising now.
If not for the Jade Pendant…
If not for that tiny, weak sprout last night…
Would his final outcome be just like Old Zhang’s?
Would he breathe his last without a sound some unknown night or morning, then be rolled up in a straw mat and thrown into this filthy pit, reduced to fertilizer for the land?
No one would remember his name. No one would care whether he lived or died.
The only trace of his existence would be an empty straw sleeping spot in the shack and one more nameless corpse in the manure pit.
Fear, like a winter wind, froze his heart.
His chest tightened until he felt suffocated.
“What are you staring at? Get to work!”
The Foreman’s scolding voice lashed at his ear like a whip.
Chen Ping snapped back to reality with a start. He quickly lowered his head and forcefully plunged the ladle into the filth again.
He clenched his jaw tight, cheeks bulging, forcing himself to continue working.
But now, every swing of his arm felt exceptionally heavy.
Finally, night fell.
Chen Ping dragged his legs, heavy as lead, back toward the shack area step by painful step.
Every part of his body hurt without exception.
Where the basket straps had chafed his shoulders raw, scabs mixed with sweat stuck to his tattered clothes; pulling the fabric away brought stabbing pain.
His hands were covered in small cuts and blood marks from the grass stems. His back and waist were so sore he couldn’t straighten up; every breath tugged at the muscles under his ribs.
But worse than the pain was the bone-deep exhaustion. He was too tired even for hunger pangs—just an emptied-out weakness remained.
The bowl of gruel he received for supper was scarcely thicker than water. A few gulps emptied it, but his stomach remained hollow.
A dead stillness hung over the shack. No one spoke. There were only labored breaths and muffled coughs; everyone seemed drained of spirit, reduced to a numb shell.
Chen Ping found the heap of straw in his corner and all but collapsed onto it. Pain and exhaustion surged over him. He leaned against the cold earthen wall, closed his eyes, and wanted nothing more than to fall asleep.
Yet the tiny shoot that had pierced the black soil appeared vividly in his mind, along with the shallow hole, half a finger deep, and the cool, fine soil beneath his fingers.
That faint hope flickered stubbornly like a firefly in the dark, holding up his faltering spirit. He had to make sure it was still there. He needed its light to drive away the cold despair of what he had witnessed that day.
Late into the night, snores filled the shack, interrupted now and then by someone mumbling in their sleep. Chen Ping waited patiently until he was certain everyone was sound asleep, their breathing slow and even.
He held his breath and carefully drew out the Jade Pendant hidden against his body. Its cool touch revived him a little. He gripped it tightly and gave the silent command: Enter!
Hum!
The familiar dizziness returned, but passed quickly, far less intense than it had been the night before. Perhaps he was getting used to it, he guessed.
His feet settled on solid ground, and the warm, moist breath of the Black Earth enveloped him. Overhead, the milky, moonlike glow remained soft and constant.
Chen Ping immediately turned toward the spot where he had planted the seed yesterday.
One glance was enough to freeze him in place. His pupils widened, and his breath caught.
Yesterday, there had been no more than a small bulge in the soil. Now a seedling stood there—a Spirit Grain seedling nearly seventeen centimeters tall!
Its long, narrow leaves were a fresh, vibrant green. Beneath the milky light, he could clearly see their veins.
It was only a single plant, standing alone on that silent stretch of Black Earth, yet it was so upright, so full of life.
Its leaves spread out as though quietly declaring its existence.
Chen Ping stared, his mind blank. The faint hope of last night had become a real, living plant.
Right before his eyes. On this miraculous patch of Black Earth that belonged to him.
One day. Just one day!
A seed had grown into a seedling nearly seventeen centimeters tall. That speed was simply beyond belief.
Joy burst through him like a flood breaking its banks, sweeping away his exhaustion, his pain, and the fear and despair that had weighed on him all day.
His knees gave way, and he dropped onto the Black Earth.
His rough hand reached instinctively toward the tender green seedling, then stopped just short of its leaves. He was afraid his touch might soil it or disturb its fragile body.
He stared at that patch of green without blinking. His vision blurred.
Hot tears spilled uncontrollably down his dirty cheeks and dripped onto the cool Black Earth beneath him.
At first, he wept without a sound. Then his shoulders began to shake, and stifled sobs rasped in his throat like broken bellows.
He bit down hard on his own arm to keep the sound in, but his body trembled violently under the force of his emotions.
It was not grief. It was hope.
In the depths of despair, he had seen a real light—one within reach.