The turmoil from the inventory check gradually subsided, and the farm office seemed to return to its usual orderly rhythm. Yet in the air, something invisible felt quietly compacted by the recent reorganization. Captain Sun had grown noticeably more silent, conducting his business in the accounting office with proper decorum. Only occasionally, when he glanced at Mu Yao and Accountant Zhao, did a trace of unwilling shadow linger in his eyes. Mu Yao ignored it, focusing instead on her work and night school teaching.
Spring had firmly settled in. Though the wind and dust were still frequent visitors, the temperature had risen significantly, the frozen soil fully thawed, and the fields began to bustle with activity. Spring sowing was the most critical period for the farm office all year, and the accounting office grew busier accordingly. Receipts for seeds, fertilizers, and pesticides—whether for procurement, allocation, or issuance—poured in like snowflakes, and cash transactions became far more frequent. Mu Yao often worked late into the night, by the oil lamp, sorting, verifying, and recording one receipt after another, each still carrying the earthy scent of the soil.
Accountant Zhao was even busier. Beyond handling the office’s own matters, he had to attend various production coordination meetings, manage resources, and review plans. His already stooped frame seemed even more hunched, and his coughing had grown more frequent. Mu Yao saw it but didn’t know how to comfort him, so she focused on keeping the accounting office’s daily affairs in order to ease his burden as much as possible.
That afternoon, the sky suddenly darkened. Leaden clouds hung low over the plains, and the air grew oppressively hot. A distant, muffled rumble of thunder rolled across the horizon. Experienced veteran workers knew immediately: a violent, flood-inducing storm was approaching, one that would not be gentle.
The farm office sounded the preventive alarm, instructing all teams to suspend outdoor work and check flood-control measures, particularly for warehouses and animal sheds near gullies. The accounting office, located in a relatively elevated mudbrick building near the center, was temporarily safe. Still, Accountant Zhao urged Mu Yao and Xiao Liu to quickly lock the important account books and vouchers—especially those for cash and valuable materials—into the metal cabinet and take measures against water damage.
The wind rose suddenly, lifting clouds of dust that rattled the windows. Then, rain the size of beans fell in torrents, instantly forming a white curtain that blurred earth and sky. Thunder cracked overhead, shaking dust from the mudbrick walls.
Mu Yao and Xiao Liu scrambled to secure things while Accountant Zhao stood by the window, brow furrowed, watching the pouring rain and the accumulating water in the low spots. “This rain… it’s going to be heavy,” he murmured.
Sure enough, in less than half an hour, water began pooling in the farm’s low-lying areas, murky and filled with debris, rushing in all directions. Distant shouts and urgent whistle signals hinted that trouble had already struck somewhere.
Accountant Zhao’s face changed. He grabbed a tattered raincoat from the corner, threw it on, and instructed Mu Yao and Xiao Liu, “Lock the door, watch the account books! I’m going to check outside!” He plunged into the storm.
Xiao Liu shrank back, scared, hugging the wall. Mu Yao felt tense too, but forced herself to stay calm. She double-checked the doors and windows, then wrapped the boxes containing the important account books with several extra layers of plastic (miraculously found by Accountant Zhao) and raised them slightly above the floor.
Time crawled amid the thunder, rain, and mounting anxiety. After an unknown duration, Accountant Zhao returned, drenched and caked in mud, his face pale, lips purple from the cold, coughing violently. “The old warehouse near the gully for Team Three… the back corner of the wall was washed away… the sacks and spare farming tools inside got soaked… Director Yang and others are repairing it… cough… cough…”
Mu Yao quickly poured him a cup of hot water. His hands shook so badly that some spilled as he drank, and though it eased him slightly, his cough persisted, harsh and alarming.
“Accountant Zhao, you should change into dry clothes and rest,” Mu Yao urged.
He waved her off, gasping, “No… the soaked sacks and tools… we need to quickly inventory the losses, estimate them, and record them… otherwise, it’ll be another messy accounting… cough… cough…” His body bent forward with each violent cough, his face flushed unnaturally.
Mu Yao and Xiao Liu exchanged a worried glance. If he continued to push himself in this weather, his health could collapse.
“Accountant Zhao,” Mu Yao bit her lip and stepped forward, “you’ve always explained the process and key points for loss inventory and accounting to us. Why don’t you tell us the important things to watch for, and Xiao Liu and I will go to the site to make a preliminary record and assessment? You can stay here and supervise. If you keep overexerting yourself and fall ill, it’ll be even harder to handle the work later.”
Xiao Liu nodded repeatedly. “Yes, Accountant Zhao, Mu Jie is right. Just tell us what to do, and we’ll run the errands.”
Unable to speak through his coughing, Accountant Zhao looked up, his eyes red, first at Mu Yao, then at Xiao Liu. In that gaze were hesitation, concern, and a faint, exhausted relaxation. Finally, he nodded forcefully and, in a hoarse voice, began to instruct them step by step: how to distinguish completely destroyed from salvageable materials, how to estimate residual value based on age and condition, how to document the site (photos preferred, sketches if none), and how to have warehouse keepers and team leaders sign off.
Mu Yao listened intently, jotting every key point in her notebook. Xiao Liu fetched raincoats and a flashlight.
Exhausted, Accountant Zhao collapsed into a chair, coughing violently. Mu Yao refilled his hot water and brewed a cup of the remaining few honeysuckle flowers, placing it within his reach.
“Accountant Zhao, rest first. We’ll be back soon,” she said, and together with Xiao Liu, she donned their raincoats and rushed back into the torrential downpour.
The rain blinded them, ankle-deep water puddled the streets. They waded through to Team Three’s collapsed warehouse. The scene was chaotic: mud and water everywhere. Director Yang and a few others covered the breach with oilcloths while moving out partially soaked sacks. Old Wu, the warehouse keeper, and several team members struggled in the mud, sorting and moving soaked farming tools.
Mu Yao and Xiao Liu joined in. Following Zhao’s instructions, Mu Yao first observed the overall situation, sketching a simple layout of the warehouse and the soaked areas in her notebook. Then she began inventorying: counting fully submerged sacks that had lost their original shape, partially soaked tools that might still be usable once dried, and moving salvageable, muddy tools to a dry spot.
While working, she questioned Old Wu and the team about the approximate purchase date, value, and current use of each item. Old Wu sighed but explained clearly. Xiao Liu recorded the numbers and searched for faint labels or marks.
The work was difficult and slow. Only when darkness fell did the rain ease. The preliminary inventory was finally complete. Mu Yao had Xiao Liu present the records to Director Yang, Old Wu, and the temporary head of Team Three for signature confirmation. Director Yang frowned but nodded in approval, signing after seeing the two muddy, shivering young people working methodically.
Returning to the accounting office late at night, Accountant Zhao was still at work under the dim oil lamp, poring over the account books. Hearing them, he looked up, eyes bloodshot.
Mu Yao and Xiao Liu handed him the soaked records and signature sheets, giving a brief report. Accountant Zhao scrutinized the details, occasionally asking questions. Mu Yao answered them, tired but precise.
After a long silence, he exhaled slowly, looking at Mu Yao with a complex expression. “You did… better than I expected.” His voice was hoarse but steadier. “Everything is clear, key points captured, signatures complete. Tomorrow… we’ll base the formal loss report and accounting on this.”
He hesitated, then waved a hand. “Alright, go change into dry clothes and drink some hot water. Today… you’ve worked hard.”
Only then did Mu Yao and Xiao Liu feel the chill and fatigue, supporting each other to the logistics office to change.
The next day, Accountant Zhao developed a high fever and worsening cough, barely able to speak. Director Yang inspected him and insisted he rest. Unable to continue, Zhao entrusted the subsequent loss accounting verbally to Mu Yao, with Xiao Liu assisting.
It was both immense trust and heavy responsibility. The losses involved numerous materials and considerable sums; accounting had to comply with regulations while considering the farm office’s capacity and impact. Mu Yao focused intensely, referencing Zhao’s prior teachings in Basic Bookkeeping and relevant regulations, combining them with her on-site notes to draft the loss report and accounting entries line by line.
She worked slowly and carefully, reviewing each entry for reasonableness and consistency with Zhao’s style. Uncertain points were clarified with the feverish Zhao, who still offered critical guidance. Xiao Liu ran errands, verified data, and delivered documents.
After two full days, a detailed “Report and Accounting Suggestions on Material Losses Due to Team Three Warehouse Collapse in the Storm” was completed, including the event summary, on-site inventory records (with sketches and signatures), list of lost items with estimated amounts, accounting entry suggestions, and recommendations for future improvements.
Mu Yao brought the draft to Zhao’s bedside. Despite his illness, he forced himself to sit and, wearing reading glasses, read it carefully. He marked or corrected a few words with a pencil.
After finishing, he removed his glasses, rubbed his brow, and showed a rare, faint expression of approval. “Good,” he said, his hoarse voice barely audible. “Submit this to Director Yang and the Party branch. And… write a brief statement, on behalf of the accounting office… as my proxy.”
Writing a statement on Zhao’s behalf meant formally linking her name to the handling of this incident. Mu Yao’s heart raced. She understood his intent: to further establish her role and value in the accounting office and farm operations, and to give her tangible experience.
“Yes, Accountant Zhao,” she said solemnly.
Back in the accounting office, she carefully drafted a concise, objective one-page “Report on Team Three Warehouse Storm Losses and Accounting Office Preliminary Handling Opinions,” outlining the event, the accounting office’s involvement in inventory and estimation, the basis of the report, and finally stating: “Reviewed by Accountant Zhao XX, submitted to farm office leadership for review. Accounting Office: Mu Yao (proxy).”
The report and attachments were delivered to Director Yang’s desk. He reviewed them, convened a meeting, and asked Mu Yao, representing the accounting office, to give a brief report. Despite her nerves, she presented clearly, logically, and accurately, answering questions with solid reasoning.
Ultimately, the farm office accepted the accounting office’s loss recognition and handling proposal, adopting some of their improvement suggestions. Captain Sun remained silent, observing coldly.
Afterward, Director Yang singled Mu Yao out. “Comrade Mu, you handled this well. Old Zhao was ill—thankfully for you. Keep it up.”
It was clear recognition from the farm office’s highest leadership.
Word spread quickly. The “female educated youth borrowed by the accounting office” could not only handle accounts and teach but also manage sudden incidents independently, handling everything efficiently. People’s gaze toward her carried a new, deeper respect.
Accountant Zhao’s illness lasted more than half a month. During that time, Mu Yao assumed most of the office’s daily work under his remote guidance, without major errors. When Zhao returned, his attitude toward her was more relaxed and direct, no longer laced with constant scrutiny.
One day after work, when everyone else had left, Zhao called out to Mu Yao as she was tidying her desk. “Here, take this.” He handed her a thin, small booklet wrapped in old newspaper.
Curious, she opened it. It was a neatly handwritten booklet (not Zhao’s handwriting) titled Practical Accounting for Farm Infrastructure (Draft).
“This is from an old friend… they summarized it while doing infrastructure accounting at another farm. I copied it,” Zhao said calmly. “As the farm grows, there may be more infrastructure projects. It’ll help to have a look beforehand.”
Mu Yao held the booklet, aware it was deliberately prepared for her, possibly even copied late into the night by Zhao. Her heart surged. It wasn’t just knowledge—it was trust and expectation.
“Thank you, Accountant Zhao! I’ll study it carefully!” Her voice choked slightly.
Zhao waved her off, saying nothing further, staring out the window.
Outside, the plains post-storm were washed clean, showing a weary but fresh clarity. Some low areas still held puddles, reflecting the brightening sky.
Storms pass, leaving traces—some need clearing, others may become opportunities.
Mu Yao clutched the booklet, also touching the worn text message from Gu Jingci in her pocket.
Account books, abacus, night school, torrential rain, loss report, proxy statement, and now this new study material—all these pieces, like uneven bricks, were quietly paving a path beneath her feet—narrow, yet increasingly clear and solid.
This path held wind and dust, torrential rain, invisible reefs, and hostility.
But it also held the crisp clicks of abacus beads, neat chalk strokes, rainy-night inventory work, hot water and medicine passed to the sick, silent care across mountains and rivers, and this booklet filled with effort and hope.
She was no longer the weak one who needed to be “arranged” or “taken care of.”
She was becoming someone on these plains who could use her mind and hands to record, calculate, respond to, and even influence events.
The wind rustled the window frame, carrying the faint yet vigorous scent of new seedlings growing in the distant fields.
Mu Yao lifted her gaze, looking past the plains toward the unseen, faintly green mountains to the southeast.
Her lips curved into a faint but resolute smile.
The road ahead was still long.
But she was already on it.