The shared secret bound the educated youth closer together.
They waited anxiously for Xiang Bei’s report, discussing it every morning and evening.
“What do you think? Did Captain Xiang find anything?”
“That kind of stone is all over the bamboo grove. If it really is phosphate rock, imagine how much we could mine.”
“No one should wander near the grove for now. We can’t let the farm headquarters find out.”
“Thank goodness Tao Nanfeng warned us. Otherwise, Director Luo would have stolen the credit.”
Day after day, they murmured and speculated.
On the first day, a farmer named Fan Wufu stopped to rest and drink water. He brought his youngest daughter, Fan Ximei, who bowed deeply to the youth and offered them a basket of bright red mountain berries. The gesture left the educated youth torn between heartache and gratitude.
On the second day, they finished repairing the bamboo fence around the pond, leaving only a single opening for washing clothes and vegetables. They no longer had to worry about anyone accidentally falling in.
On the third day, they caught small fish fry from the mountain stream and released them into the pond, officially upgrading it to a fishpond.
The fourth day passed. Then the fifth, then the sixth…
The educated youth craned their necks until their muscles ached, watching the road. Finally, on the evening of the tenth day, Xiang Bei’s silhouette appeared at the end of the mountain path.
“He’s here! He’s back!”
“Xiang Bei’s home!”
“What’s the word? Did they test it? Why’d it take so long?”
Covered in dust and grime, his face slick with sweat, Xiang Bei ignored the barrage of questions. He strode straight into the kitchen, scooped a ladle of water from the vat, and downed it in one go.
*Gulp. Gulp.*
The youth watched him drink, their expressions taut with anxiety.
Xiang Bei wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and caught his breath. “The expert confirmed it. It’s phosphate rock.”
Chen Zhilu shot the group a triumphant look. “How’s my eye for detail? I spotted those stones in pitch blackness! Heh heh.”
Wei Dong pressed, “Give us the details! What’s the quality of the ore? What’s the process if the state decides to mine it? Do we need to report it to the authorities? Will the farm leadership try to steal the credit?”
Xiang Bei nodded, raising a large hand and pressing it down in the air to signal everyone to calm down. He had rushed the entire way, barely stopping for water, all to spare the youth the anxiety of a long wait.
Xiao Aiyun quickly dragged a chair under the eaves. “Captain Xiang, please, sit down. We can wait.”
Xiang Bei complied, his gaze meeting Tao Nanfeng’s.
She stood at the back of the crowd, leaning lightly against the wall five or six meters away. Her eyes were calm and focused, clearly awaiting the news he had brought.
Tao Nanfeng remained motionless, like a still pool of water or a solitary orchid, detached from the world.
As she had led the youth in building their mud-brick houses, she had shed her raw, cold exterior, gradually revealing a unique independence and composure.
Xiang Bei’s heart gradually steadied.
“It’s phosphate rock,” he announced.
“The experts say it’s a sedimentary metamorphic apatite. The ore is soft and has a high clay content. After simple washing and desliming, it becomes high-grade phosphate concentrate. The production costs will be low, and its industrial value is immense.”
Chen Zhilu’s face lit up at Xiang Bei’s words. “That’s fantastic! We can sell this phosphate ore directly to the fertilizer and chemical plants.”
Xiang Bei nodded and reached into his pocket, producing a sheet of paper. “This is the analysis report from the Provincial Capital Industrial Testing Institute.”
Chen Zhilu took the report, scanned it, and his eyes nearly popped out of his head.
“Grade 38%! High-quality phosphate ore?”
The educated youth crowded around, passing the precious report from hand to hand. Their eyes fixed on the large red official seal in the bottom right corner, their hearts pounding with excitement.
“It’s real! It has the Institute’s official stamp.”
“No wonder it took you so long to get back. You went all the way to the provincial capital—thank you for your hard work!”
“Is a 38% grade considered high?” someone asked.
Chen Zhilu scoffed. “Of course it is! I overheard some technicians at the fertilizer plant chatting. They said phosphate ore is graded by its phosphorus pentoxide content. The higher the percentage, the higher the grade. Anything over 30% is considered a rare, rich ore.”
With his explanation, everyone finally understood the significance of the find.
“This phosphate mine we found… it’s a gold mine! A real treasure trove!”
Wei Min slapped his thigh, his eyes gleaming with excitement. “My god! If Mount Xiufeng has phosphate rock this good, aren’t we about to strike it rich?”
Chen Zhilu’s voice cracked with fervor. “Phosphate rock of this grade sells for a premium—nearly twenty yuan a ton. We’re rich!”
Twenty yuan a ton!
The rock was dense; a ton would occupy only about 0.4 cubic meters, a volume smaller than the space enclosed by a desk. The bamboo grove at the Zhiqing Settlement covered half a mountainside.
If the ore was this consistent, the yield would be at least a million tons.
The math was staggering: this half-mountain was worth twenty million yuan!
The group stood frozen, their mouths agape at the astronomical figure.
After a long silence, Wei Min sighed. “It really is a gold mine. If only we could mine it ourselves and sell it…”
Xiao Aiyun shot him a glare. “Dream on. What right do we have to mine phosphate? Don’t even think about it.”
“She’s right,” Ye Qin added. “Private mining is illegal.”
Xiang Bei remained silent, but he listened intently to every word the educated youth said.
After a moment’s thought, Qiao Yadong carefully chose his words. “The bamboo grove belongs to the Xiufeng Mountain Farm. If the leadership finds out about the phosphate, they’ll report it up the chain to the Land Reclamation Bureau. After it goes through all the higher-ups, there are only two possible outcomes.”
“First,” he continued, “the Ministry of Industry takes over the mine, and the farm leadership gets a promotion or some other reward.”
“Second, the farm keeps the mine under a mandate from the Ministry. The revenue will officially go into the farm’s accounts, but what really happens to that money… who knows?”
“No matter which way it goes,” Qiao concluded, “we educated youth get nothing. And the villagers living around the farm won’t see a cent of it either.”
“Exactly!” the others chimed in, nodding in agreement.
“The money from the mining would just get pocketed by Director Luo, the one in charge of finance. He wouldn’t spend a dime on improving the farm—you can bet on that!”
“He’s right. Look at how half-assed the construction of the Zhiqing Settlement was. He’s been brutal to us and the other workers. I bet he’s already embezzled a fortune in construction funds.”
“Remember what Weasel said during his breakdown? Director Luo’s face went green when he saw the receipts being thrown around. Luo manages the money, the accounts, and the supplies—he’s definitely crooked.”
The more the others complained, the more furious they became. Their words weighed on Xiang Bei like a crushing burden.
He looked at the young people before him, their spirited faces momentarily merging with the images of his fallen comrades-in-arms.
Such vibrant lives shouldn’t be trampled upon.
A sudden surge of strength coursed through him. He rose slowly, his towering figure casting a long shadow in the setting sun. “You all harbor this much resentment toward the farm leadership?”
Xiang Bei’s features were already sharp and deep-set, but now his face had hardened into a mask. The faint scar on his cheek twitched, lending him an indefinable, intimidating air.
Qiao Yadong nodded gravely. “Yes! Deputy Section Chief Wang Yungui from the Labor Protection Department speaks in nothing but official jargon whenever we try to get tools. Director Luo Xuan from the office nitpicks every single detail when we collect our monthly rations. And whenever we need Chief Liu Bin from the Security Department’s help, he just ignores us.”
He sighed. “Farm Director Jiao might be amiable, but he always protects his subordinates. We came all this way without so much as a word of welcome. Our daily needs are ignored. The Zhiqing Settlement collapsed, yet there’s been no accountability. How can a leader like that claim to serve the people?”
Xiang Bei remained silent, lost in thought. He had only wanted to retire quietly at the farm, willing to turn a blind eye to a few injustices. But now…
Tao Nanfeng could see the struggle in Xiang Bei’s eyes. Recalling the conversation she’d overheard in the bamboo grove, she looked up and spoke softly.
“Mount Xiufeng is too poor,” she said. “This phosphate mine is our only hope.”
Ye Qin’s mind flashed to the image of Ximei and her father kneeling in the dirt, and her heart ached. “The soil here is barren. The crops barely grow, and filling our bellies is a constant struggle. The villagers survive by selling camellia seeds for a few extra coins to buy oil and salt. With this mine, they could all join the workforce—earn work points, get paid wages. It would change everything.”
“Exactly,” Li Huilan chimed in. “Why should those arrogant officials get rich and promoted while the poor suffer and starve?”
Chen Zhilu’s mind was already racing, calculating the twenty million yuan. He was a natural-born businessman; in a different era, that kind of money could buy an entire street.
The thought thrilled him. He stared at Xiang Bei, his gaze burning with a fierce intensity. “Either we keep this a secret and pretend we never found the mine… or we make sure Luo Xuan, that stingy bastard, is the last person to benefit from it.”
Wei Min started to speak, but Qiao Yadong pressed a hand onto the back of his hand and shook his head, signaling him to listen.
“Or…” Chen Zhilu’s eyes gleamed. “We do it ourselves. In secret! This place is so remote, the roads are terrible. As they say, the mountain is high and the emperor is far away. Even if we mine it ourselves, who’s going to know? We’ll just keep the money and stay out of sight!”
Xiao Aiyun and Ye Qin exchanged a glance before snapping in unison, “You must have some nerve! How dare you even suggest doing something so illegal!”
Wei Min, however, grinned and slapped Chen Zhilu on the back. “Good man! I was thinking the exact same thing. This is an open-pit mine—we can dig it out with hoes. Just two or three rocks weigh a ton, and that’s twenty yuan in our pockets. How’s that for a plan?”
The other educated youth stirred, their voices growing more animated. They were practically ready to grab their hoes, rush into the bamboo grove, and start hauling rocks out to sell. They could already taste the meat they’d buy with the money, envisioning a better life.
Tao Nanfeng couldn’t listen to the nonsense any longer.
“How,” she asked, her voice cutting through their excitement, “do you plan to get a ton of rock down the mountain?”
A heavy silence fell.
Chen Zhilu and Wei Min stared at each other, the flaw in their plan suddenly and glaringly obvious. They had forgotten that the very isolation that shielded them from the law also made transportation impossible.
There were no roads—only paths they had to walk. Every single rock would have to be carried down by hand.
Even if the rocks were broken down, a single youth could carry at most a hundred jin per trip. Moving one ton of ore down the mountain would require ten people. By the time they reached the nearest fertilizer factory—not to mention the exhaustion—the twenty yuan they’d earn wouldn’t even cover their meals and lodging.
Qiao Yadong had been terrified when Chen Zhilu first suggested mining the ore illegally. Wei Min’s agreement could have been taken as a joke, but Chen Zhilu was different; he was known for his rebellious streaks and was just as likely to act on his words as he was to speak them.
The mountain is high and the emperor is far away. No one will know. The money goes in our pockets, so why worry?
Listen to that! Listen to it all! It was the very definition of liberal individualism, a bourgeois-class consciousness that put money above all else. If such words were spoken outside this circle, they would surely be reported to the masses.
Fortunately, Tao Nanfeng had intervened, nipping Chen Zhilu’s dangerous idea in the bud. Otherwise… as the settlement’s class monitor, Qiao Yadong would have been held accountable for any fallout.
Before he could even catch his breath, Chen Zhilu’s eyes gleamed as he grabbed Xiang Bei’s hand. “Captain Xiang, let me join the road construction team!”
Wei Min sprang to his feet, his eyes alight. “Count me in too! If we all work together to finish the road, we can sell the phosphate ore and strike it rich!”
Clear roads, clear fortunes, clear paths to success.
The other youth, who had just been clamoring to mine the rock, joined in the excitement. “Me too! I’m in!”
Xiang Bei clamped his hand over Chen Zhilu’s wrist. “Welcome to the road construction team.”
Chen Zhilu struggled, but the grip was like iron. His face stiffened. “Captain Xiang, you’re squeezing too hard. Let go!”
Xiang Bei’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Sent-down Youth Chen, you’ve got a lot of nerve, but not much strength.”
The jab landed. Chen Zhilu’s face flushed as he continued to strain against the hold. “Fortune favors the bold, Captain. The timid starve. How can you achieve anything great if you’re always tiptoeing around?”
Xiang Bei yanked him closer with a single, effortless pull before finally releasing his grip.
“If you want to achieve something great,” Xiang Bei said, “you should first weigh your own worth. Acting on impulse without a single thought isn’t bravery—it’s recklessness.”
Chen Zhilu seethed with frustration, but he didn’t dare step away from Xiang Bei. “This isn’t allowed, that’s forbidden,” he muttered under his breath. “Are we just supposed to stand here drooling over this phosphate mine?”
Qiao Yadong breathed a sigh of relief, grateful that Xiang Bei had put Chen Zhilu in his place. “This is a serious matter. We need to be patient and think this through carefully.”
Xiang Bei scanned the faces of the other educated youth, feeling the heavy weight of responsibility settle on his shoulders.
There were twenty of them, all high school graduates from Jiangcheng. They were a mixed bag—earnest, eager, intelligent, and brave. Some were impulsive; others were composed. Some were boisterous; some were quiet.
Molding them into a cohesive unit capable of building the farm from the ground up would be no easy task.
Wei Min, ever the impatient one, couldn’t stand the phrase
“think this through carefully.” He stared intently at Xiang Bei. “Captain Xiang, you must have a plan. Tell us what it is!”
Chen Zhilu’s eyes lit up with hope. “Captain, you were gone for ten days. You couldn’t have gone all that way just to bring back a single appraisal report, could you? Whatever your plan is, tell us. We’ll follow your lead!”
Only then did Xiang Bei slowly reach into his jacket and pull out a document, pressing it into Chen Zhilu’s hand.
Chen Zhilu glanced down at it and let out a sudden, sharp cry of disbelief and ecstatic joy. “No way! You actually got this? Captain Xiang, you’re unbelievable!”
His shout echoed through the air, startling Wei Min into action. He lunged forward and clamped a hand over Chen Zhilu’s mouth. “Quiet! You’ll alert the ghosts at the farm headquarters!”
Chen Zhilu shook his head violently until he finally threw Wei Min’s hand off. He shot him a fierce glare before triumphantly raising the stamped document high, his voice now a strained, deliberate whisper.
“What do you know about? Look at the seal! It’s from the Ministry of Industry!”
The mention of the Ministry of Industry struck the other educated youth dumb. How could Xiang Bei have such connections? To secure a stamped document from a central ministry was an incredible feat.
Wait… a document from the Ministry of Industry? What kind of document?
Qiao Yadong’s heart pounded. He leaned in close to Chen Zhilu, gripping the hand that held the paper. His eyes fixed on the header, and he froze.
“A mining permit? My God!”
Chen Zhilu’s voice was distorted with excitement. “Captain Xiang, how did you get a mining permit for this phosphate deposit? You need an insane amount of influence to pull this off. You were only in the provincial capital for a few days—how did you manage to secure a permit? Who… who are you?”
“I have my ways,” Xiang Bei replied, his face a mask of impassivity. He took the document back from Chen Zhilu and carefully stowed it away.
Tao Nanfeng watched him, her clear eyes fixed on his every move.
The man before her was shrouded in mystery. A demobilized soldier, a road construction team captain at Xiufeng Mountain Farm—how could he possibly have the clout to obtain a mining permit that only the Ministry of Industry could issue?
Seeing Xiang Bei’s refusal to share the details, Chen Zhilu stopped pressing and beamed with joy. “With this permit, our mining operation isn’t illegal anymore. It’s legitimate! This is incredible!”
Xiang Bei nodded and gestured for the others to gather around. The educated youth, now completely devoted to him and eager for his guidance, immediately huddled closer, looking up at him and waiting for him to speak.
“The mining permit was issued to Xiufeng Mountain Farm,” Xiang Bei explained, “not to me personally. Therefore, we must keep this a secret. Don’t say a word to anyone.”
The educated youth nodded in unison, their heads bobbing like chickens pecking at grain.
“Right, right,” one muttered. “If Director Luo finds out, he’ll definitely try to screw us over.”
“The farm director is Jiao Liang, not Captain Xiang,” another added.
“Besides, what’s the point of a permit if the road isn’t open? We can’t exactly carry the ore down the mountain in baskets, can we?”
Xiang Bei’s voice was low and resolute. “Tomorrow, I’m going to get a position in the administration.”
Yang Xianyong was right, he thought. How can I protect everyone without power? I need to secure key authority for myself to truly be at peace.
The group erupted in cheers. “A government post! A government post! Captain Xiang should have been an official long ago. If you’re the director, our lives will be so much better!”
Qiao Yadong watched Xiang Bei, his gaze tinged with awe. Who wouldn’t want power? But could Xiang Bei really just become an official?
Thinking of Farm Director Jiao’s perpetually smiling face, Qiao felt a sudden, inexplicable chill. “Captain Xiang, is it really that easy to get into the farm’s leadership?”
Xiang Bei nodded. “It is. I’ll start as Deputy Farm Director.”
Deputy Farm Director?
The educated youth knew nothing of bureaucracy, but they knew Xiang Bei was capable. If he could secure a mining permit, a deputy director’s post at Xiufeng Mountain Farm should be child’s play.
They were eager to celebrate, but Xiang Bei kept them grounded. “Don’t get ahead of yourselves. Wait until I actually have the position.”
Qiao Yadong nodded emphatically. “Exactly! Hope is finally within our reach. Everyone, we must keep this a secret.”
“Let’s focus on getting the road finished,” Wei Min urged. “Once it’s open, we can start selling the phosphate ore.”
Chen Zhilu picked up the thread. “With the ore sold, we’ll have money. The farm can use it for improvements—stringing power lines, installing electric lights…”
“Braised pork every day!” someone shouted.
“Two meters of cloth coupons a month!”
“A post office! We can have mail delivered up the mountain!”
“A bigger supply cooperative! They could sell candy, snacks, clothes—”
The group’s excitement grew, their voices rising as they listed their dreams. Before they knew it, all eyes had turned to Tao Nanfeng.
“Tao Nanfeng, lead us in building the road.”
They all assumed that since she knew enough about construction to help them build their brick-and-tile houses, she could surely guide them in building a proper road.
“I… I’ll try!” Tao Nanfeng stammered, feeling the immense weight of their expectations.
She knew a bit about house construction from the few technical books she’d read, but road building? That was a completely different story.
At Jiangcheng University of Architecture, where her father taught, Road and Bridge Engineering was one major, Industrial and Civil Architecture another, and Architecture itself a third.
Tao Shouxin was a professor of architecture, focusing on design from the perspectives of utility and aesthetics. The disciplines were distinct, their boundaries too rigid to easily bridge.
That night, Tao Nanfeng dreamed again.
She was back in the apocalypse. Zombies roamed the streets, food and water were contaminated, and humanity’s living space had shrunk to a few fortified “bases” where they struggled to rebuild society.
The base commander taught them to cultivate their abilities using the crystal cores harvested from zombie brains. Everyone had to complete missions to earn food, water, and shelter.
This time, Tao Nanfeng didn’t feel the same panic she had before.
The extreme hardship had awakened a dormant ruthlessness within her. Gritting her teeth and fighting through her nausea, she slaughtered zombies, each blow of her club crushing a skull and spraying gray matter.
She and her team ventured out of the base, scavenging the ruins for anything edible or useful.
It was a brutal existence, but she fought to survive. Until one day…
The ruins, bathed in the glow of the setting sun, felt chillingly desolate. Countless human skeletons lay buried beneath the rubble, and a thick, suffocating stench of decay hung over the world, drowning it in despair.
Caw… caw…
Crows circled in the distant sky.
A chill crept through Tao Nanfeng, and the ground beneath her feet began to shudder.
From every direction, a tide of massive, gray-furred rats surged forth. Their eyes glowed blood-red as they shrieked, biting and tearing at anyone they could reach.
I thought I wasn’t afraid anymore, she told herself. After killing so many zombies, she believed she had conquered her fear. But the sheer scale of the mutant rat swarm overwhelmed her, a fresh wave of terror washing through her entire body.
A sudden, searing pain shot through her foot. She kicked a rat away and looked down, her heart sinking to see the blood slowly spreading.
A moment of clarity pierced through the panic.
This is a dream, she realized.
Go back! she pleaded silently. I need to go back! I never want to see this hellscape again!
The nightmare receded.
Tao Nanfeng’s eyes snapped open. The first thing she saw was the blue fabric curtain she’d just installed a few days ago. A sliver of light filtered into the room. Dawn.
No apocalypse. No zombies. No ruins. No mutant rats.
She exhaled slowly, trying to steady her racing heart. But as she moved, a burning pain shot through her foot.
She bolted upright, lifting her leg. There, stark against her pale skin, was a fresh, blackened bite mark.
Drawing on her previous experience with such dreams, Tao Nanfeng this time managed to keep her panic in check.
She sighed softly, grabbed a pair of nylon stockings, and pulled them on. After her hand had been bitten by a zombie in her last dream, the black mark had faded over time. She figured this rodent’s bite would behave the same way.
She got up and washed, then sat on the edge of the bed to braid her hair, focusing on the sensations within her body. There were no abnormalities. With no time to dwell on it, she ate breakfast and headed out with Xiao Aiyun, only to be stopped by Wei Min.
“We’re going together today,” he said. “Captain Xiang said the Zhiqing Settlement’s top priority is road construction. Anyone who can go, goes.”
Sixteen of the male educated youth from Jiangcheng—Wei Min, Qiao Yadong, Chen Zhilu, Hu Huanxin, and others—all joined the road construction team.
Seeing so many educated youth enlisting in the construction crew, Luo Xuan’s face hardened as he confronted Xiang Bei. “What’s the meaning of this? Have you forgotten all about organizational discipline? The zhiqing work schedule was set by the office long ago. Even if the road construction team needs more manpower, you should have cleared it with me first.”
Xiang Bei produced a document and slapped it down in front of Luo Xuan. “Here. Read this.”
Luo Xuan snatched the paper, scanned it quickly, and his pupils constricted. He began to read aloud: “The Provincial Government hereby approves… ordering the farm headquarters to resolve the post-and-duty issue of War Hero Comrade Xiang Bei…”
His hands trembled as he looked up at Xiang Bei. “You’re the one who didn’t want the position in the first place! How does that make this a failure of the farm headquarters to make arrangements?”
Xiang Bei’s gaze was fierce, all traces of his usual lethargy gone. “I am taking my post now. Any problem?”
The farm headquarters convened an emergency meeting. With the red-headered government document paving the way, no one dared to object. Xiang Bei was smoothly promoted to Deputy Director of Xiufeng Mountain Farm.
Meanwhile, the educated youth met up with the road construction team.
Following Engineer Yang’s blueprints, they began surveying, digging, and quarrying. Amidst the bustling work, they couldn’t help but discuss Xiang Bei’s power play.
“A soldier through and through, that one. Swift and decisive.”
“Director Xiang spent ten days off the mountain and came back with three documents—each one more powerful than the last.”
“You said it! When the red-headered document from the Provincial Government came down, Director Jiao and Director Luo turned pale as ghosts. Hahaha!”
A single step up in rank could terrify someone. People like Director Jiao only submitted to red-headered documents. Upon seeing the official seal of the General Office of the Provincial Government, he was scared senseless.
He wouldn’t dare utter a word of dissent, immediately changing his tune and treating Xiang Bei with deferential respect, never daring to underestimate him again.
The educated youth, naturally drawn to power, were delighted by Xiang Bei’s takeover.
Tao Nanfeng, however, was completely uninterested in their chatter. Her entire focus was captured by the waist-high rock before her.
All sound vanished. The rest of the world receded, leaving only the massive rock before her.
Hard, gray-black, and caked in yellow mud, it should have been just an ordinary stone. Yet it held her gaze, and a strange voice kept whispering in her mind—
Dig a hole. Dig a hole.
Tao Nanfeng yielded to the voice. Instead of using her tools to break the rock and push it off the cliff as she usually would, she reached out.
Her slender index finger moved slowly, inching closer.
The moment she touched the stone, a warm current surged from her fingertips. The rock softened like tofu, and her finger sank into it.
She nearly cried out in shock. But she suppressed the thrill as a network of strange lines suddenly appeared before her eyes.
The lines were irregular and unknown, yet they seemed to guide her fingers.
Index, middle, and ring fingers—three fingers pressed together, following the lines deeper and deeper.
When she struck a hard rock wall, the lines vanished. The stone, which had been soft as tofu just a moment ago, instantly returned to its original hardness.
A deep hole, seven or eight centimeters in diameter, now stared back at her.
Tao Nanfeng shook her head, bewildered by what she’d done. Only then did she notice a crowd had gathered, all staring curiously at the hole she’d just dug.
Xiao Aiyun poked a finger into the opening and giggled. “Oh my, this hole is the size of a fist! How did it just appear in the rock? This is amazing.”
Wei Min laughed so hard he could barely breathe. “Tao Nanfeng, what the hell are you doing? We thought you were just spacing out in front of this rock for ages, but you were digging a hole? Is the stone really that soft?”
Qiao Yadong circled the rock, his eyes filled with confusion. “Why didn’t you dig all the way through?”
“If I dug all the way through,” Tao Nanfeng blurted out, “how would I hide inside?”
The other educated youth erupted in laughter.
“Hahaha… Tao Nanfeng knows how to dig holes!”
“You dug a hole in rock this hard with your bare fingers? Your strength is incredible!”
“Digging a hole to hide in? Tao Nanfeng, are you part rat?”
The last comment struck a chord. She remembered the mutated rat that had bitten her in her dream last night. Had she gained the abilities of a rat?
Digging holes.
Tao Nanfeng pressed her lips together and lowered her gaze, speechless. Whether gaining this ability was a blessing or a curse for a girl, she couldn’t say.
Mao Peng, seeing the chattering crowd gathered around, frowned.
“Is no one working? What are you all doing here!” he roared.
The newer educated youth, hearing his thunderous voice for the first time, scattered in a panic.
Xiao Aiyun, however, was long accustomed to Mao Peng’s outbursts in the road construction team. She didn’t flinch, pointing instead to the rock. “Report, Deputy Captain Mao! Tao Nanfeng dug a hole here.”
Mao Peng strode over to Tao Nanfeng, bent down, and leaned in to inspect the rock closely. When he straightened up, his eyes were filled with doubt. “You dug this?”
“Yes,” Tao Nanfeng nodded.
“With what?”
“My fingers.” She slowly raised her right hand and flexed her fingers.
Xiang Bei had just returned to the construction team from a meeting at the farm headquarters. He arrived just in time to see Tao Nanfeng standing before Mao Peng, her slender fingers slightly raised. Her hand was fair and delicate, her fingers long and tapering like spring onions.
An old saying from the village echoed in his mind: Ten slender fingertips—a scholar’s hand.
This was the hand of someone who had read books, a cultured young woman who knew about architecture. Yet here she was, performing the grueling labor of building roads and constructing houses on the farm.
Xiang Bei had always held intellectuals in high regard. For some reason, a faint, prickling ache blossomed in his chest, softening the usual sharpness of his features.
Mao Peng pressed on, “How did you do it?”
“I’m not sure,” Tao Nanfeng replied, her voice flat. “Maybe I’m just naturally strong?”
After countless dreams of fighting zombies, nothing in the real world could rattle her anymore.
Naturally strong? And good at digging holes? Mao Peng didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.
The road construction team was constantly carving paths through mountains, building bridges over water, and blasting tunnels through rock. If she truly had some secret talent for digging… He looked again at the small, perfectly round hole in the stone, his mouth hanging open.
Xiang Bei strode over and intervened, stepping between them. “Don’t get bogged down in this. Let’s get back to work.”
Mao Peng had been about to ask Tao Nanfeng to demonstrate her skill again, but Xiang Bei’s words cut him off.
Right, he thought, she’s probably just strong. Maybe she can carve some little flowers and trinkets. But expecting her to blast through mountains and dig tunnels? That would be pure fantasy.
With Xiang Bei back, the team immediately regained its focus. With the ten new educated youth now helping, the pace of construction doubled.
Tao Nanfeng and Xiao Aiyun were assigned to clear rocks and vines. The other youth, under Xiang Bei’s direction, began by staking out lines from the blueprints, then settled into the endless rhythm of digging dirt, and more dirt, and then more dirt.
Tao Nanfeng had developed a new habit: an irresistible urge to bore holes into whatever hard surface she encountered.
The moment the thought took hold, a warm current surged through her hand, and strange, glowing lines materialized before her eyes. At first, she had tried to resist, but with each attempt, her movements grew more practiced. Eventually, she stopped hiding it altogether, simply pressing her finger into the stone—
A drill, a twist, a push.
Another deep hole appeared.
Standing beside her, Xiao Aiyun covered her mouth to stifle a laugh. “Tao Nanfeng, do you have so much strength you don’t know what to do with it? Just one poke and you’ve got a hole. Is it fun?”
Tao Nanfeng’s lips curved into a slight smile. “It’s fun.”
Very fun. Maybe it was because of the mutated rat’s bite; she had somehow acquired a rodent’s instinct.
Each time she bored a hole through rock or earth, a profound sense of accomplishment washed over her, a bubbling joy that threatened to overflow like hot tea from a pot.
As she savored the process, Tao Nanfeng gradually discerned a pattern to the lines.
They were composed of countless white dots. Following the lines was effortless, cutting through the material with no resistance. This suggested they marked the optimal path for drilling, the white dots pinpointing the weaknesses in the stone or soil.
One single rock could be riddled with countless holes, all connected in a complex yet orderly web.
Tao Nanfeng was lost in the activity when Xiang Bei’s voice broke her concentration. “There’s a cave here. Go get Engineer Yang and have him come take a look.”
A cave!
The bite mark on the top of her foot began to glow with a faint heat. Just hearing the word filled her with an irresistible urge to start digging.
She approached the cave and examined it closely. It lay just beyond the road’s extension, its stone walls looming and grim. The roof was overgrown with weeds, and countless green vines trailed down, concealing the entrance, which was tall enough for two people.
As she stepped toward the opening, a sudden, bone-chilling gust of wind swept out from within, sending a shiver down her spine.
Qiao Yadong yanked her back and warned, “We don’t know what’s inside. Don’t get too close.”
Tao Nanfeng took a half-step back, then pressed her hand against the cave’s stone wall. She held her breath and concentrated, channeling the warm current through her fingertips and into the rock.
Minutes later, her hand fell away. Her face was pale, her expression defeated.
Her current ability was too shallow, enough only to manage a stone weighing a few hundred pounds. This cave was far too vast. Even if she spent every last ounce of her strength, she could never hope to perceive its entire structure.
Xiao Aiyun noticed Tao Nanfeng’s paleness and rushed to her side, supporting her arm.
“You look awful,” she fretted. “Did you overexert yourself? You need to rest.”
Tao Nanfeng, tired?
At the mention of her exhaustion, the other educated youth crowded around with offers of water and improvised fans to cool her down. Their chorus of concern warmed her heart.
She looked up and smiled. “I’m fine, really.”
Her smile was like a white chrysanthemum—gentle, pure, and understated.
Qiao Yadong reached into his pocket and placed a piece of fruit candy in her palm. “Here, Tao Nanfeng. Have this. You need to get your strength back.”
The candy was wrapped in bright red foil, striking against the snow-white skin of her hand. It gave off a sweet, syrupy aroma laced with the crisp scent of apple, an enticing fragrance that made Xiao Aiyun’s eyes linger with envy.
But Tao Nanfeng’s brow furrowed.
Her upbringing had always forbidden her from accepting gifts. Normally, she would never have let Qiao Yadong place the candy in her hand, let alone keep it. Yet today, for some reason, she couldn’t resist the lure of the treat.
A hand seemed to reach out from her very throat, aching to tear open the foil and pop the glistening candy into her mouth.
Rats are always greedy, she thought. It must be a lingering effect from that mutated rat’s bite.
Tao Nanfeng fought to suppress the “rat-like” urges clawing at her insides. She glanced up at Qiao Yadong and handed the candy back, her voice cool and detached.
“Thank you, but I don’t want it.”
Her eyes, clear and shimmering, held his gaze. In that moment, Qiao Yadong’s mind went blank, a single line of poetry echoing in his head:
The most tender of all gestures is that lowered head, like a water lily blushing in the cool breeze.
He stood rooted to the spot, his mind adrift in a cloud of bewilderment.
The other educated youth, sensing the romantic tension, began to nudge and wink among themselves. Xiao Aiyun poked Tao Nanfeng and whispered in her ear, “The class monitor is completely smitten.”
Annoyed by the boy’s staring, Tao Nanfeng turned and walked away, leaving Qiao Yadong to his daze.
From a distance, Engineer Yang hurried toward them, calling out before he even reached the group. “Don’t panic! Don’t panic! We can use this cave!”
The workers, who had been preparing to dig a path around the cavern, paused and lowered their hoes, waiting for his instructions.
Engineer Yang studied the topographic map for a long moment before lighting a torch and disappearing into the cave. When he finally emerged, his face was alight with excitement.
“The cave is a natural formation,” he announced. “It stretches about three hundred meters. The ceiling is nearly three meters high, but it’s not wide enough for two lanes. If we widen the passage and dig through the far wall, we can shave five kilometers off the original route.”
Chen Zhilu practically leaped to his feet. “Then let’s get digging! Five kilometers is a huge chunk of time saved on the ascent and descent!”
Xiang Bei frowned, his brow furrowed in concern. “Engineer Yang, can we guarantee the cave’s stability? A cave-in would be fatal.”
Yang laughed. “Don’t worry. The walls are solid gray limestone—very hard, with high load-bearing capacity. We only need to widen it slightly. It will be perfectly safe.”
With the expert’s assurance, the road construction team was ready to obey.
Wei Min spat into his cupped palm, hoisted his hoe, and started toward the cave entrance. “It’s only three hundred meters! Let’s get to work!”
Engineer Yang grabbed him, unable to stifle a laugh. “Slow down, kid! What’s the rush? The cave is all rock. A hoe won’t do a thing—we need different tools for this.”
Tao Nanfeng followed the others into the cave.
A chilling wind gusted through the tunnel, carrying a bone-deep cold. Beams from their flashlights sliced through the darkness, revealing the jagged, wet walls. The rock glistened with moisture, a clear sign of a seepage layer.
As Tao Nanfeng scanned her surroundings, a network of unknown lines materialized in her vision. White dots marked weak points, while the lines indicated structural supports.
If I follow this, she realized, I can carve this tunnel out in no time.
A confident smile touched her lips. She owed it all to that strange dream—the mutant rat’s bite had gifted her a new skill: Cave Digging.
Engineer Yang led the way, the rest of the crew trailing behind him.
“Right here. Dig one meter to the left,” he instructed. “Try to keep the line straight. Survey captain, come over here and mark this spot.”
He paused, inspecting the stone. “The rock is hard and has high load-bearing capacity, so we won’t need heavy timber shoring. Assign someone to watch this section and report any issues immediately.”
One meter to the left?
Tao Nanfeng’s eyelashes fluttered. In her vision, the white lines extended to the right. That meant digging to the left would be far more difficult.