The last remnants of summer’s heat were washed away by a few autumn rains, and the crops in the fields had lost their deep green, taking on a steady golden hue, signaling the approach of harvest. In Xiangyang Brigade, the air carried a familiar sense of anticipation—a mixture of earthy fragrance and the ripening scent of grain. The autumn harvest mobilization meeting had been held, sickles had been sharpened, the threshing grounds leveled; all that remained was the order to begin reaping.
Mu Yao’s life seemed to have settled into a relatively stable rhythm. As the autumn harvest approached, the work in the yard shifted to more meticulous preparation: repairing burlap sacks, making simple threshing tools, drying and selecting the best seeds. The tasks remained tedious and strenuous, but she had long grown accustomed to them. Even under Aunt Zhang’s guidance, she could lead a few older children and systematically complete preparation for an entire area. Her skin had tanned further, calluses thickened layer upon layer, yet her gaze had grown calm and steady, like the autumn sky—vast and clear.
The Practical Accounting Handbook for Rural Areas had been worn at the edges from constant use, stuffed with scraps of paper covered in her notes and questions. Seeing her dedication, Old Xu would occasionally hand her simple, non-confidential past financial records from the brigade to organize and classify, a kind of “hands-on practice.” Mu Yao approached it with utmost seriousness, often staying in the old warehouse well into the night. The crisp click of abacus beads accompanied her through lonely yet fulfilling nights.
The invisible distance between her and Gu Jingci remained. With the harvest imminent, he was busier than ever, rushing across the fields all day—coordinating machinery (if those few old tractors could even be called that), allocating manpower, checking each production team’s readiness. Their encounters were rare; even if they caught sight of each other from afar, they would quietly avert their gazes, as if strangers.
Only once did their paths almost cross. Mu Yao had gone to the brigade office to return the completed data sheets and brushed past him at the door. He was walking briskly with several production team leaders, speaking in low tones, brow slightly furrowed, expression focused. As he passed, a gust of wind followed, carrying the familiar mix of sunlight, soil, and faint tobacco scent. He didn’t look at her, but she keenly noticed the fresh scrapes and dirt on the knuckles of his hanging hand—evidence of recent labor in the field.
Her chest tightened slightly, but that was all. She lowered her head and hurried into the brigade office, handing the sheets to Old Xu. He adjusted his glasses, glanced at the neat and clear tables with the brief analytical notes she had added—carefully worded—and for once, a faint expression of approval crossed his face: “Hmm, not bad. An improvement over last time.”
A small ripple of satisfaction spread through Mu Yao. Recognition earned through her own effort, however minor, felt genuinely gratifying.
But this calm was shattered on a brisk autumn afternoon.
Mu Yao was in the yard, sealing the last stack of burlap sacks with the children. The brigade’s messenger—a half-grown boy—came running up, panting, shouting: “Mu Yao! Mu Yao! There’s a telegram for you from the brigade office! Urgent!”
A telegram? Urgent?
Her heart sank, and the rope in her hands slipped to the ground. In this era, when communication relied mostly on shouting and letters could take ten or fifteen days, a telegram—especially an urgent one—often meant serious matters back home. Her parents were long gone; could it be… relatives in the city? Or her brother, with whom she had almost lost contact, also in difficult circumstances?
The others paused, curiosity piqued. Aunt Zhang patted her shoulder: “What are you standing there for? Go check it!”
Mu Yao shook herself, her face pale. She nodded and hurried after the messenger to the brigade office, her mind a whirlwind of ominous guesses.
Inside the office, the atmosphere was unusual. Not only was the deputy team leader present, but also the rarely-seen branch secretary, and a middle-aged cadre from the commune, wearing a gray Zhongshan suit and a stern expression. Old Xu stood to the side, his face grave. Gu Jingci was there too, by the window, back to the door, posture straight but tense.
As Mu Yao entered, all eyes turned to her. They scrutinized her with complex expressions, a hint of… pity?
“Comrade Mu Yao, you’ve arrived,” the branch secretary said, clearing his throat. His tone was formally serious. “This is Comrade Officer Liu from the commune’s Organization Department. There is a matter that needs to be conveyed to you.”
Organization Department? Mu Yao’s heartbeat quickened. She forced calm and nodded at Officer Liu: “Yes, Officer Liu.”
Officer Liu examined her briefly, then pulled a red-stamped document from his briefcase. His tone was steady, leaving no room for dispute:
“According to higher-level instructions, to strengthen production in the border regions and support the Third Front, some politically reliable, healthy, and moderately educated youth from various communes will be transferred to the Northwest XXXX Farm for construction. After review, it has been decided to select Comrade Mu Yao of Xiangyang Brigade. You are to report to the designated assembly point three days from now, on October 18. This transfer order takes effect immediately; related procedures will be assisted by the commune and brigade.”
He handed her the transfer order.
Mu Yao stood frozen, as if struck by lightning. Northwest? A farm? Three days to depart?
Transfer? To support the border? It sounded grand, but for her, a “capitalist’s daughter,” this “honor” was clearly… exile! A different form of dispatch! The northwest frontier—she had heard of its harsh conditions and severe environment. This meant long distances, uncertain return, perhaps even worse…
Fear and cold despair seized her, leaving her limbs icy, her blood seeming to freeze. Instinctively, she looked at Gu Jingci.
He had turned, facing her. His face was impassive, lips pressed into a firm line. Only his bottomless eyes were fixed on her, swirling with emotions she could not decipher—shock? anger? helplessness? something else? She couldn’t tell, only feeling the weight of those eyes pressing down like a stone.
“Comrade Mu Yao, this is the organization’s decision, and an honorable assignment,” the branch secretary said again, breaking the silence. “Prepare yourself. The commune will send a vehicle in three days. The brigade will assist you in work-point settlement and packing your belongings.”
Officer Liu added: “This transfer has been carefully reviewed and considered. We hope you treat it properly, follow instructions, and continue contributing to the construction of the Motherland in your new post.”
Treat it properly? Follow instructions?
Mu Yao opened her mouth to speak, but her throat felt blocked; no sound came out. What could she say? Protest? Explain? Refuse? Claim it’s unfair? In this era, individual will was as light as a feather before “organization decisions” and “honorable assignments,” especially for someone like her.
Slowly, with great effort, she reached out and took the thin but weighty transfer order. Her fingertips were icy; the paper trembled slightly under her touch.
“I… understand,” she whispered hoarsely, almost not sounding like herself.
The branch secretary and Officer Liu gave a few more instructions and left. The deputy team leader and Old Xu patted her shoulder, sighed, and also departed. Only she and Gu Jingci, still by the window, remained.
The air seemed frozen.
Mu Yao lowered her head, staring at the order. The words blurred before her eyes: Northwest XXXX Farm. October 18. Three days from now.
So soon… no time to prepare.
“Why?” she suddenly looked up at Gu Jingci, voice trembling uncontrollably, tinged with near despair. “Is it because of that letter? Because of Liu Caixia? Or… because of me?”
She wanted to know whether this sudden misfortune came from malicious reports, her lowly background, or… the complicated, indefinable connection between her and him that had drawn countless criticisms.
Gu Jingci looked at her reddened eyes and pale face. His jaw was tense. He stepped closer; she could smell his familiar scent, see the depth of turmoil in his eyes more clearly.
“Not just that,” he said softly, his voice low and hoarse. “There are reports, and… other factors.” He did not specify, but the weight in his gaze said it all. Perhaps further “arrangements” by the commune regarding her “background,” perhaps someone applying pressure, perhaps… more complex reasons beyond her reach.
“Three days…” Mu Yao murmured. Tears finally escaped, falling heavily on the order, smudging the ink. “Only three days…”
In three days, she would have to leave this place where she had struggled to adapt, planted invisible roots, and quietly invested hidden emotions. Leave the land soaked with her sweat. Leave the man who had silently given her clumsy care and steadfast protection.
Gu Jingci watched her tears surge, his hand by his side clenching into a fist, knuckles white. The fresh scrape on his hand stood out sharply. His Adam’s apple moved several times; he seemed to want to speak, to comfort, to explain, perhaps… to hold her back. But in the end, all words were trapped, turning into deeper silence and a near-painful helplessness.
He knew better than anyone what this transfer order meant, and he knew his own powerlessness. He could withstand brigade rumors, refute Liu Caixia’s accusations, protect her during the flood, yet he could not oppose this higher-level decision, cloaked in “organization” and “mission.” His authority, in the face of this order, was insignificant and laughable.
“Pack your things,” he finally said, his voice dry and hoarse. “If you need anything… tell me.”
Mu Yao looked at him through blurred tears, seeing the deep pain and helplessness in his eyes. Suddenly, she understood everything. And also… felt utter despair.
She wiped her tears hard, gripping the damp order in her palm as if to crush it. Then she straightened her slightly stooped back, just as she had faced confrontations in the yard, just as she faced every hardship.
“Alright,” she heard herself say, in an unusually calm, even icy tone. “I’ll pack. No need to trouble you, Captain Gu.”
She turned away without another glance, walking step by step out of the brigade office. Her steps were slightly unsteady, yet exceptionally resolute.
The autumn wind blew in from outside, ruffling her thin clothes and messy short hair, carrying the chill of late autumn, and the sense of farewell.
Gu Jingci stood still, watching her disappear into the bright autumn light, her straight but frail figure cutting into his heart like a blunt knife.
He slammed his fist into the nearby earthen wall, the dull thud echoing. Dust fell, and the scab on his hand split again, blood mingling with the soil—a chaotic mess.
Outside, the autumn sun shone high and the sky was clear. The joy of the approaching harvest seemed discordant with the gloom suddenly cast over the brigade office.
A sudden storm had arrived without warning in late autumn. And Mu Yao, just beginning to grow and flourish, seemed about to be uprooted and thrown into an unknown, harsher distance.
Three days. Only three days.