The little frustration from dinner was like a small stone thrown into water—the ripples wavered briefly and then faded. Life still had to go on.
Night fell quickly on the farm. As soon as it grew dark, kerosene lamps lit up in every household. The dim yellow light spilled through the windows like scattered soybeans on black velvet—sparse, yet oddly calming. But there were always places where peace didn’t last, spots where idle gossip gathered like mosquitoes.
At the grain-drying yard on the eastern edge of the village, a few women who had just finished work didn’t rush home. They huddled together, enjoying the cool evening breeze while gossiping wildly. In the middle of it all stood Li Cuifen, looking every bit the star of the evening’s chatter.
Pouting, she exaggerated the grievance she had suffered at dinner, twisting the story to make it Su Wanning’s fault: “You didn’t see it, but it was just a few drops of oil, and she acted like someone owed her eight hundred bucks—making faces at everyone!”
A woman nicknamed Wang Dazui, crunching on sunflower seeds, chimed in: “City folks, you know—so precious, can’t handle a little spill.”
“Precious?” Li Cuifen sneered, loud enough for those around to hear. “I say she’s all show and no substance! Don’t be fooled by that Shanghai girl, looking all clean and delicate like a porcelain doll. I’ll tell you, one gust of wind and she’d topple!”
She gestured wildly as she spoke, waving her arms: “Her shoulders are skinny, arms thin, can’t lift, can’t carry—what good is she? Coming to the farm, she’s just another mouth to feed! We work ourselves to the bone, and she just waits for handouts!”
As soon as she finished, someone nodded in agreement: “Exactly! I heard it was Zhanxiao’s mom who agreed to keep her. I don’t know what Xiulian was thinking, letting such a useless ‘ancestor’ into the house.”
“Thinking? She’s clearly been hypnotized!” Li Cuifen slapped her thigh, speaking even more energetically, spittle flying. “I’m telling you, these kinds of people are jinxes! Looks good but does nothing. If trouble comes, she’d be the first one crying and running off!”
Her words drew low, approving chuckles from the surrounding women. One after another, they joined in, all belittling Su Wanning. In their eyes, a woman’s value lay in working the fields and raising a family; a delicate city girl like Su Wanning was utterly useless.
Li Cuifen felt a surge of satisfaction seeing everyone agree with her—her lost face from dinner seemed partially regained. But before she could even savor her triumph, a sudden, piercing cry split the evening air, accompanied by frantic banging on a door—“Bang! Bang! Bang!”—shattering the farm’s calm in an instant.
Then came a woman’s heart-wrenching scream: “Help! Someone, please! Save my child!”
The idle chatter at the grain yard ceased immediately. Everyone stood up, craning their necks toward the sound. “It’s… it’s from Aunt Zhang’s place!” someone recognized, their voice trembling.
Li Cuifen felt her stomach drop. She forgot all about Su Wanning and, swept up by the crowd, ran toward Aunt Zhang’s house—this was the kind of commotion she didn’t want to miss.
Meanwhile, in the Lu household courtyard, Su Wanning had just helped Chen Xiulian clear the dishes and was about to return to the west room. Lu Zhanxiao sat on a small stool, examining the bandage on his leg in the dim light coming from the house, brow furrowed as his fingers lightly pressed the wound.
Suddenly, “Bang! Bang! Bang!”—the sound of someone violently pounding on the Lu family gate. Then came a voice, strained with crying, almost breaking pitch: “Open the door! Quickly! Xiulian! Zhanxiao! Help my Huzi!”
Chen Xiulian’s expression changed instantly. She ran to the gate, fumbling with the latch. As soon as the door opened, Aunt Zhang came in like a tattered cloth blown by the wind, tumbling forward and grabbing Chen Xiulian’s arm, her whole body trembling.
“What’s wrong, Aunt Zhang? Don’t panic, tell me slowly!” Chen Xiulian, hurt by the grip but too alarmed to pull away, looked at Aunt Zhang’s pale, terrified face and felt a wave of anxiety herself.
“My… my grandson, Huzi… he…” Aunt Zhang gasped, words stumbling as tears streamed down like broken beads. “He’s convulsing all over, foaming at the mouth… just now… just now he… he’s gone! Wuuu… my Huzi!”
With that, Aunt Zhang’s legs gave out. Chen Xiulian quickly caught her, her voice trembling: “Gone? What do you mean? Huzi’s gone?”
“Quick! Guoqiang! Go get Doctor Sun!” Chen Xiulian reacted first, her voice shaking as she called to Lu Guoqiang, who had just come out of the house. Panicked, Lu Guoqiang responded, “Ah!” and ran toward the village doctor, Old Sun, nearly losing his shoes in his haste.
“Go! Go check on him!” Chen Xiulian steadied the nearly fainting Aunt Zhang and called to Su Wanning and Lu Zhanxiao: “Wanning, Zhanxiao, let’s go too!” Aunt Zhang’s house had already become chaotic. Neighbors had crowded inside, the child’s cries, adult sobs, and frantic murmurs mixing into a suffocating buzz. The air smelled faintly of kerosene, mingled with the herbal scent clinging to Aunt Zhang’s wife—unpleasant and oppressive.
In the middle of the earthen kang lay a three-year-old boy, Aunt Zhang’s grandson Huzi. His small face was bluish-purple, lips dark, eyes tightly shut, chest unmoving—lifeless. His grandmother and mother leaned over him, crying their hearts out, voices hoarse: “Huzi! My Huzi! Open your eyes for Grandma!” “My son! You can’t leave! How will Mom live without you!”
The atmosphere was like a massive stone pressing down on everyone, making it hard to breathe.
At that moment, the village doctor, Old Sun, was dragged along by Lu Guoqiang, the medicine box on his back clanging loudly. “Clear the way! Clear the way!” Lu Guoqiang shouted, and the crowd parted immediately.
Old Sun, over sixty, half-white-haired, with decades of experience and village-wide respect, quickly reached the kang. He first checked Huzi’s face, then his breathing, finally lifting the eyelids to examine the pupils.
After only a few seconds, Old Sun shook his head gravely at the gathered Zhang family. The sobbing ceased immediately; the room grew so silent that the kerosene lamp’s “sss” was audible. Everyone held their breath, clinging to the last thread of hope.
Old Sun sighed, his voice full of sympathy but heavy with helplessness: “It’s febrile convulsion… it came too fast. Too late… it’s already too late.” He paused, steeling himself to deliver the cruel truth: “The child has passed. Prepare for the funeral. Even a deity couldn’t save him now.”
His words struck like a final judgment, shattering the Zhang family’s hope. Huzi’s mother went black before her eyes and collapsed. Others rushed to catch her. Aunt Zhang sank to the floor, utterly drained, pounding her thighs and wailing in despair: “My Huzi! How could you leave! Grandma didn’t even get you any candy yet!”
The neighbors echoed her lament, offering words of comfort that sounded hollow in the face of such loss. Li Cuifen, in the crowd, clicked her tongue and whispered to someone nearby, showing no sympathy—her expression cold, detached, simply spectating: “Poor kid… just gone just like that.”
Amidst the chaos and despair, a clear, sharp voice suddenly cut through the crying—not loud, but piercing, like a knife slicing the noise: “Stop crying!”
Everyone froze, turning to see—Su Wanning had pushed through the crowd and was at the kang. Her expression was calm, but her eyes were resolute. Ignoring everyone’s gaze, she bent down and quickly began assessing Huzi.
She first checked his carotid pulse, pressed lightly with her fingers, opened his mouth, and examined his throat for obstructions. Every motion was professional, precise, and calm. Then she straightened, scanning the roomful of crying family members, and said in a firm voice: “The child can still be saved. Everyone, step back—don’t crowd him!”
The entire room fell into deadly silence. All eyes were fixed on Su Wanning, watching as if she were insane. Save him? Doctor Sun had said even a deity couldn’t save him. And this young city girl, barely in her twenties, thinks she can do it? Preposterous.
Aunt Zhang lifted her tear-streaked eyes, bewildered: “You… you said what? Huzi can still be saved?”
The first to voice doubt was Old Sun himself, feeling his authority challenged. His face darkened as he scolded Su Wanning: “You little girl, what do you know? Stop talking nonsense! The child is already gone. Do you want to toy with him? If this gets out, can you take responsibility?”
Hearing this, Li Cuifen immediately seized the opportunity, shouting shrill and loud: “Exactly! She knows nothing! She’s just trying to show off! Maybe she wants to practice on a dead child! How vile! Get her out of here!”
“Pull her away! Don’t let her touch Huzi! The child is gone—let him rest!”
“Yes, yes! Doctor Sun already said so! What’s she doing here messing around?”
“A city girl, what could she know about medicine? Probably trying to harm him!”
For a moment, the room was awash with doubt, accusation, and suspicion, all directed at Su Wanning. Aunt Zhang hesitated, looking at Su Wanning with uncertainty—she wanted to believe, but Doctor Sun’s words weighed on her like a stone.