Shen Zhiyi stood in the courtyard of the educated youth residence, a shiny cowhide trunk resting by her feet, its lower corner chipped and missing a fleck of lacquer.
She lifted her eyes to look at the three tile-roofed cottages.
Wild weeds grew out from the crevices between the tiles, swaying gently in the breeze.
The spark of anticipation she had carried all the way from Beijing leaked away like a punctured balloon, deflating completely into thin air.
“What are you standing there gaping for? Move your luggage,” Lin Yanzhou’s voice came from behind, thick with irritation.
He was carrying two heavy canvas bags, sweat beads glistening on his forehead, his white shirt collar stained yellow from sweat.
“I told you long ago that conditions in the countryside were brutal, but you insisted on tagging along. Now look at us—we don’t even have a decent place to catch our breath.”
Shen Zhiyi bit her lip, bending down to grab the trunk handle. “I just wanted to help you…”
“Help me?” Lin Yanzhou cut her off, a sarcastic sneer twisting his mouth. “You can’t even haul a single bucket of water—how are you supposed to help? Just try not to burst into tears later and make a laughingstock out of both of us. Did you think this was still Beijing, where everyone has to spoil you?”
Shen Zhiyi’s fingers tightened around the handle until her knuckles turned white.
Lin Yanzhou had already turned on his heel to strike up a conversation with Zhao Wenbin, leaving her standing alone in the cluttered, messy yard.
Zhao Wenbin had lived in Ye Village for two years. His skin was tanned dark, and he moved with easy familiarity as he helped assign beds to the newcomers, issuing instructions without pause:
“The dry latrine is in the back yard; don’t head out there alone at night. We fetch water from the well at the west end of the village—go early in the morning when it’s less crowded. When the work bell sounds, you need to be at the field; showing up late means lost work points…”
Inside the women’s quarters, the communal sleeping platform—the kang—had already been cleared off. A few wooden planks rested across an earthen base, layered over with dry straw.
Shen Zhiyi placed her trunk in the innermost corner. Beside her, a girl wearing her hair in two braids wiped down the wooden boards with her sleeve. “I’m Zhou Xiaohong, from Shanghai. You can sleep right next to me.”
Shen Zhiyi thanked her, pulling out her coarse cotton quilt to lay it flat.
The vanishing cream and enamel mug she had brought along looked striking against the rough straw bedding.
“My, look at that—fresh from Beijing, are we? Even brought vanishing cream?” A sour voice echoed from the doorway.
A round-faced girl leaned against the doorframe, her eyes sweeping over the contents of Shen Zhiyi’s open trunk. “Mosquitoes run rampant around here; vanishing cream isn’t half as useful as essential balm. Better tuck it away quick before you draw unwanted attention.”
Shen Zhiyi’s face flushed red, and she hastily shoved the cream deeper into her belongings.
Once everyone was settled, Zhao Wenbin called the new youths to assemble in the courtyard.
The seven or eight newcomers gathered in a loose semi-circle, their faces weary from the grueling journey.
Zhao Wenbin cleared his throat, dropping his voice to a grave, solemn tone—as if passing down life-saving rules:
“I’m going to tell you the single most important rule here. Keep it locked in your minds.”
Everyone turned their eyes toward him.
“Most of the folks in Ye Village are simple and honest, but there’s one person you must never touch, speak to, or interact with under any circumstances.”
“Who’s that?”
Zhao Wenbin pointed a finger toward the west end of the village. “Ye Yu.”
“The village’s most notorious deadbeat. Spends his years loafing around, hanging out with hooligans from neighboring villages, slacking off, and playing dirty tricks. His reputation is completely rotten.”
“Wild temper, shady ways—nobody can handle him. Getting involved with him means endless trouble, so stay as far away from him as you possibly can!”
A wave of unease rippled through the new youths, and they instantly etched the name into their memories: Ye Yu.
Standing in the crowd, Shen Zhiyi remembered the thin, sharp back she had glimpsed on the field ridge when entering the village.
That person had been carrying a hoe, head bowed, silent as a stone.
He didn’t really look like a local thug or a deadbeat…
Yet she kept her thoughts to herself.
Being new to a place, listening more and speaking less was a lesson her father had taught her well.
“Alright, don’t be nervous,” Zhao Wenbin said, relaxing his tone into a warm smile. “Most people in the village are great. For example, the production brigade accountant, Ye Youde—Brother De—is exceptionally warm-hearted. If you run into any trouble, you can count on him…”
Before he could finish, a warm, honest voice sounded from the courtyard gate: “Wenbin, what are you saying behind my back this time?”
Everyone turned to look.
A man around twenty-eight or twenty-nine stood at the entrance. Medium build, square-jawed with thick eyebrows, he wore a faded blue work uniform. Though the cuffs were frayed at the edges, he looked neat and tidy.
He held a bundle of freshly chopped firewood in his hands, a smile plastered across his face, revealing teeth slightly yellowed from pipe smoke.
“Brother De!”
“Heard the new educated youths arrived, so I dropped by to check in and bring a bundle of firewood.”
Ye Youde set the wood down by the kitchen door, slapped the dust off his hands, and swept a gentle glance across the group. “Tough journey, wasn’t it? If you’re short on anything, just let me know. I’ve lived in this village a long time, so I know every nook and cranny.”
His gaze lingered for a brief second on the female youths before finally landing on Shen Zhiyi.
Shen Zhiyi wore a light-colored lapel shirt, her trousers pressed neat and clean, her delicate features radiating a quiet grace. Standing among the dust-covered youths, she looked like an orchid newly transplanted from a warm greenhouse.
Ye Youde’s eyes lingered on her face a second longer than necessary before he smoothed his expression back into a broad smile, as if it had been nothing more than a casual glance.
“This comrade is from Beijing, isn’t she? You can tell she’s well-educated at a glance.” He rubbed his hands together, his tone laced with just the right mix of admiration and modest reserve. “If you ever need help with anything, just ask me.”
Shen Zhiyi nodded politely. “Thank you, Brother De.”
“No need to be polite—we’re all part of the same collective.”
Ye Youde waved his hand dismissively. Noticing a loose window frame nearby, he pulled half a rusty nail from his pocket and hammered it into place with a few solid thuds. Finishing up, he let out another friendly chuckle. “There, that should keep the wind out tonight. You folks rest up; I’m heading back.”
“Take care, Brother De!” Zhao Wenbin escorted him warmly to the gate.
Ye Youde offered a final wave before turning around and vanishing into the evening mist.
Back in the courtyard, the new youths began chatting lively.
“That Brother De seems like a really good guy.”
“Yeah, way more hospitable than I imagined.”
Shen Zhiyi didn’t join in.
She stood at the kitchen door, gazing at the bundle of firewood—every log was chopped uniformly, tied up in a neat, orderly bundle.
A sudden wave of exhaustion washed over her—not physical fatigue, but a deep, heavy weariness seeping out from the marrow of her bones.
That night, the female youths squeezed onto the shared kang, tossing and turning in the dark.
Lying on the hard wooden platform, Shen Zhiyi listened to the chirping of insects outside and the snoring from the men’s quarters next door, unable to sleep.
She remembered Lin Yanzhou’s sharp remark from earlier—Try not to burst into tears later—and recalled her father’s hesitant, heavy gaze when he saw her off at the train station.
Silent tears slipped down her cheeks, soaking into the pillow.
She turned onto her side to face the wall, pulling the rough bedsheet over her face.
Outside the window, pale moonlight flooded the yard.
Beyond the courtyard wall, the shadow of an old locust tree swayed rhythmically on the ground. Beneath its branches, a dark figure crouched in the shade, the glow of a pipe bowl flickering on and off.
Ye Youde puffed slowly on his pipe, his gaze cutting through the mud wall to land squarely on the female youths’ dormitory, where a dim oil lamp still flickered.
The honest, friendly smile from earlier had vanished completely from his face, replaced by a slimy, ravenous stare.
He thought back to the female educated youth whom Old Liu from the neighboring village had married.
A city girl—fair-skinned, tender-fleshed, soft-spoken.
Old Liu was nothing more than a cripple, yet he had managed to make her his own.
He, Ye Youde, was the brigade accountant—he had work points, standing in the community, and a healthy body. In what way was he not ten times better than Old Liu?