The courtyard was located at the center of the village—a stretch of flat, firm yellow earth, surrounded by tall stacks of grain and bundles of unthreshed crops. It was the village’s most “public” space: in summer and autumn, grain was laid out to dry; in winter and spring, miscellaneous items were stored there. On ordinary days, it was a place where children played, elders basked in the sun, and women did needlework while chatting. The sunlight poured down without obstruction, heating the ground, and the air was thick with dry dust and the distinctive scent of grain.
Mu Yao carried a small bundle of luggage and a cloth bag, stepping into the courtyard under countless curious, scrutinizing, contemptuous, or sympathetic gazes. The deputy team leader had already spoken with Zhang, the women’s squad leader in charge of the courtyard. Zhang was a forthright woman in her forties, broad-shouldered and strong, with a loud voice. Her gaze at Mu Yao was professional, yet subtly complex.
“Here?” Zhang gestured to a section of corn cobs spread out to dry at the east end of the courtyard. “Go flip through those cobs, pick out the moldy or shriveled ones, and stack them separately. Be careful—don’t mix good and bad ones.”
“Yes, Zhang.” Mu Yao replied softly. She put down her luggage—she didn’t dare leave it in plain view, only in the shadow of an inconspicuous straw stack, covered with an old cloth. Then she picked up a worn willow winnowing basket and moved toward the golden corn.
Squatting down, the heat mixed with the scent of soil and corn silk hit her face. She started working, her movements initially stiff and slow. Turning the corn required bending over; sorting required careful eyes. The sun blazed directly overhead, burning her head and neck. Soon, sweat soaked her thin clothes, and droplets rolled down her forehead into the dust. Short hair clung uncomfortably to her damp forehead and neck.
The gazes around her didn’t lessen as she worked. Other women were busy as well, working in pairs or small groups, speaking quietly while glancing at her. Those looks felt like countless needles piercing her back. She vaguely heard snippets of conversation:
“That’s her… the capitalist’s daughter…”
“I heard… something about the team leader… tsk tsk, she got reported…”
“Seems pretty quiet, though…”
“You never really know a person…”
Mu Yao pressed her lips tightly, lowering her head further, fingers moving quickly to flip and sort the cobs—one, two, three… carefully picking out the moldy, blackened, and shriveled kernels, tossing them into a worn burlap sack. Sweat stung her eyes, and she wiped it away roughly with her sleeve before continuing.
At noon, the whistle blew for a short break. Other women brought out their rations and water, gathering under trees or by straw stacks, eating and chatting. Mu Yao didn’t join them; she quietly retreated to the shadow where she’d left her luggage and ate her cold morning-cooked vegetable porridge in small bites. The water in her thermos, filled that morning, had also warmed under the sun.
Head bowed, she felt the intentional and unintentional glances sweeping over her. The isolation was like an invisible wall, separating her from everyone else.
The afternoon work was even heavier. The drying corn needed to be gathered and stacked to prepare for tomorrow. Mu Yao and a few other women scooped corn with wooden shovels, filled the sacks, and carried them in pairs to designated spots. The sacks were heavy; once full, they were nearly unbearable. Mu Yao, slight and weak, paired with another young, thin wife. Together, they struggled, walking unsteadily, gasping for breath.
“Use some strength! Didn’t you eat?” a broad-shouldered woman sneered, easily hoisting a sack of corn and walking off briskly.
Gritting her teeth, Mu Yao and her partner forced every ounce of strength to lift the sacks. When they set one down, her arms trembled from exhaustion, and her shoulders burned. Sweat soaked her back, the coarse cloth clinging to her, leaving her disheveled.
By the end of the day, Mu Yao was nearly collapsed from fatigue. When she returned to the firewood shed, the sky had darkened. She lacked the strength to cook, ate half a hard bun with cold water, and collapsed onto the kang. Her bones felt disassembled, every muscle screaming with pain. The scorching sun and grueling labor of the courtyard drained her far more than the dirty work in the livestock shed, and it wore on her spirit even more.
Yet physical exhaustion wasn’t the worst. The most unbearable was the pervasive atmosphere of scrutiny and judgment—the feeling that, no matter how much sweat she shed, she would always be inferior, excluded, and isolated. And the worry about Gu Jingci weighed heavily, like a stone pressing down on her heart.
She didn’t know what the branch committee had discussed with him, or how he was doing. She didn’t dare ask, nor did she have anyone to ask.
Day after day… the routine of flipping, sorting, and carrying crawled slowly forward. Mu Yao tanned and grew thinner, but her eyes grew calmer, even gaining a hint of icy hardness. She no longer tried to avoid those gazes, nor did she flinch at the whispers. She worked silently and mechanically, treating herself as a tool in the courtyard, devoid of emotion.
During this time, she glimpsed Gu Jingci twice from afar. Once, he walked past the courtyard with a few militia men to inspect warehouse safety. He led the group, tall and steady, expressionless. His gaze briefly landed on her, so fleeting she thought it was an illusion. He didn’t stop, acting as if she were just another ordinary villager.
Another time, at the brigade office entrance, he was speaking with several people, seemingly about spring plowing reports. Mu Yao was sent to move some items nearby. From a distance, she saw him in profile, brows slightly furrowed, listening intently. The sunlight highlighted his sharp features—handsome, yet distant. He never looked toward her.
These brief, distant encounters were like shards of ice falling into her already cold heart. No interaction, no eye contact, not even a ripple. The silent understanding and clumsy care they had built over months in the livestock shed seemed to vanish with the anonymous letter and her transfer.
That was fine, Mu Yao told herself. Staying away from her was best for him. She was already a mire; he shouldn’t be tainted by her.
Still, somewhere in her chest, an emptiness ached more than her body.
That afternoon, the courtyard was particularly busy. A batch of freshly harvested spring wheat needed urgent drying to prevent mildew. Everyone present was mobilized to spread and turn it. The air smelled of new wheat and flying dust.
Mu Yao bent over with a wooden rake, spreading thick wheat grains. Sweat dripped from her chin when a sharp, tearful female voice suddenly pierced the courtyard:
“Ah! My silver ring! My silver ring is gone!”
Everyone turned to see Liu Caixia, standing not far off, stomping her foot in distress, palms open, tears welling. She had also been temporarily sent to help in the courtyard that day.
“What’s wrong, Caixia?” a nearby woman asked.
“My silver ring! My mother left it to me! It was on my hand a moment ago, then I put it on the edge of that winnowing basket to rest—now it’s gone!” Liu Caixia pointed at the empty basket near Mu Yao.
All eyes immediately followed the gesture to the basket, and then, following Caixia’s pointed glance, landed on Mu Yao, working nearby.
Mu Yao stopped raking and straightened up. She saw the anxious, “innocent” expression on Liu Caixia’s face and felt a cold clarity wash over her. Here it comes. Sure enough, it had arrived. The anonymous letter hadn’t fully defeated her, now it was this underhanded frame-up.
“Caixia, calm down. Check carefully—maybe it fell among the wheat?” someone advised.
“No! I checked everywhere!” Liu Caixia cried harder, locking eyes on Mu Yao. “You were closest to my basket just now! I went for a drink and when I returned, it was gone!”
Now all eyes fixed on Mu Yao, full of suspicion. A silver ring in these times was valuable, especially one “left by a mother.” Theft—especially by a “capitalist’s daughter” from a poor villager—was a serious accusation.
Tension gripped the courtyard.
Mu Yao stood there, wooden rake in hand, sunlight blinding, feeling dizzy. She felt the stares like needles and heard suppressed murmurs. She saw the cruel satisfaction flicker at the corner of Liu Caixia’s mouth.
Anger—icy, cold anger—sprouted from her heart, burning away the last traces of fear. Memories of being falsely accused, publicly criticized, helpless in her previous life surged up. Not this time! She would not let history repeat!
She slammed the rake onto the ground with a dull thud. The courtyard fell slightly silent.
Mu Yao lifted her head, eyes calm, facing Liu Caixia, voice clear enough for the quiet courtyard:
“Comrade Liu Caixia, you said your silver ring is missing and suspect me?”
Liu Caixia flinched at her calm gaze but, trapped, forced an even more aggrieved expression: “I…I didn’t say you took it! I just said you were nearby! The fact is my ring is missing!”
“Good.” Mu Yao nodded, stepping forward to the empty basket. “You said the ring was on the edge of this basket. Which hand did you place it with? Inner edge or outer? Horizontal or vertical? How long were you gone for a drink? During that time, besides me, who else passed by this basket?”
Her questions were calm, clear, and methodical—like an investigator examining details, not an accused thief.
Liu Caixia hesitated, eyes flickering, stammering: “I…I used my right hand, placed it on this edge, horizontal… I was gone…a few minutes? Besides you, I don’t recall anyone else…”
“Are you sure it was only me?” Mu Yao pressed, scanning the nearby women with varied expressions. “Zhang just now was organizing sacks here? Li Ersao also came to check the wheat color?”
Zhang and Li Ersao’s faces changed instantly.
Liu Caixia panicked: “I…I didn’t notice! Anyway, the ring was gone when I returned! If not you, then who? Did it grow wings and fly?”
“The ring doesn’t fly,” Mu Yao’s voice cooled. “But people lie, and they can frame others.”
“You…you’re accusing me!” Liu Caixia screamed. “Why would I frame you? You’re just jealous! Jealous of my background, jealous of Team Leader Gu…” She abruptly stopped, realizing she’d slipped, her face flushing.
A suppressed stir ran through the courtyard. Team Leader Gu? Now he was involved?
Mu Yao’s heart clenched, but her expression remained calm. She stopped looking at Liu Caixia and turned to the women’s squad leader Zhang, tone respectful but firm:
“Comrade Zhang, Comrade Liu Caixia accuses me of theft—a serious charge. I request that, in front of everyone, you search my person and luggage,” she indicated the small cloth bag and bundle in the straw shadow, “to prove my innocence.”
A search? Everyone froze. At this time, searching a young woman was highly insulting.
Zhang frowned, looking at Mu Yao’s composed gaze and the flustered Liu Caixia, quietly weighing the situation. Liu Caixia was known to be sharp and competitive, with prior conflicts with Mu Yao. The missing ring seemed too coincidental.
But now that it had escalated, it had to be handled.
“Caixia, could the ring have fallen elsewhere? Or… misremembered?” Zhang tried to mediate.
“Impossible! I remember clearly! She stole it!” Liu Caixia insisted, trapped.
Just then, a low, authoritative male voice called from the courtyard entrance:
“What’s all this noise?”
Everyone turned to see Gu Jingci, who had apparently come over due to the commotion. His face was solemn, gaze piercing, sweeping the courtyard before settling on Mu Yao and Liu Caixia. Beside him were the deputy team leader and two militia men.
Seeing him, Liu Caixia’s eyes flickered with panic but she quickly straightened and cried out: “Team Leader Gu! Just in time! Mu Yao stole my silver ring! She refuses to admit it!”
Gu Jingci ignored her and walked into the courtyard. He first glanced at Mu Yao. The girl stood straight-backed, flushed from the sun and excitement, sweat-soaked hair clinging to her forehead. Her eyes shone, fearless, with cold anger and a desperate resolve. She looked at him, a mixture of worry, apology, and… blind trust?
Gu Jingci felt a jolt in his chest but showed no expression. He turned to Zhang: “What’s going on?”
Zhang quickly recounted the situation, including Mu Yao’s request for a search.
Gu Jingci paused after listening. The courtyard was silent; all eyes on him.
Then he approached the empty basket, crouched, inspecting its edge and the ground beneath. His gaze swept sharply over Liu Caixia and the surrounding faces.
“Liu Caixia,” he said, voice low but commanding, “you said the ring was on this basket’s edge, you went for a drink, and it was gone when you returned. Are you sure it was ‘placed on’ the edge, not ‘fallen into’ the basket or the wheat pile?”
Liu Caixia stiffened, answering nervously: “It… was placed on the edge!”
Gu Jingci nodded to the militia: “Check under this basket and the surrounding wheat carefully. Don’t miss a single inch.”
The militia fetched fine sieves and began sifting wheat and dust.
Liu Caixia’s face paled.
The process was slow and meticulous. Everyone watched in suspense. Mu Yao’s palms were slightly sweaty.
Suddenly, a militia man shouted: “Found it!”
Carefully, he picked a shiny little circle from the sifted debris—a small, simple silver ring!
It had bits of wheat husk and dust, clearly sifted from the wheat pile.
The courtyard erupted!
Liu Caixia went pale, helpless: “Impossible! I clearly put it on the edge! How could it…”
“Fell into the pile?” Gu Jingci’s eyes cut through her. “Was it the wind? Did someone ‘accidentally’ knock it? Or… did you not place it securely and now try to blame someone else?”
“I…I didn’t!” Liu Caixia shook her head in panic, looking to others for help, but those who had defended her now avoided her gaze.
Gu Jingci no longer looked at her, picked up the ring, and handed it to Zhang: “Return the property to its owner. The situation is clear: the ring was found in the wheat pile and has nothing to do with Mu Yao.” He paused, then his voice rang sharply across the courtyard: “Liu Caixia, for falsely accusing others, disrupting production, and causing conflict, write a thorough self-criticism and submit it to the brigade tomorrow! Deduct half your work points this month as a warning! Next time, you will be reported to the Youth Office!”
Liu Caixia’s legs buckled; she nearly collapsed, drained of color and words.
Gu Jingci turned to Mu Yao, his tone softened but still formally serious: “Comrade Mu Yao, the matter is clear. You are innocent. Continue your work.” With that, he left with the deputy and militia, never looking back—treating it as just another ordinary dispute.
Mu Yao stood there, watching him disappear into the rising dust. The sun still burned, her skin stinging, but her heart felt like it had been washed by a sudden storm—cold yet clearing some of the heavy sludge.
She exhaled slowly, bent down, and picked up the wooden rake.
The gazes around her remained complex, but suspicion and disdain had faded, replaced by a contemplative silence.
The day’s turmoil had ended with her “exoneration.” But Mu Yao knew that between herself, Liu Caixia, the hidden gazes, and the currents of this environment, the undercurrents were far from settled.
As for Gu Jingci… his presence and handling, seemingly impartial and detached, had publicly safeguarded her innocence while delivering immediate punishment to Liu Caixia.
He hadn’t looked at her, hadn’t given her special attention—but that, precisely, was the greatest protection he could offer her at that moment.
Mu Yao gripped the rake and continued turning the wheat. Sweat still flowed, sunlight still blazed.
Yet her spine was straighter than ever.
The scorching sun and dust of the courtyard still awaited her endurance. But at least today, she had preserved her dignity and recognized the weight of the silent, immovable truths in some hearts.