The rumors started by the well.
Shen Zhiyi sat at the kitchen door washing rice, her hands submerged in the freezing water until her knuckles turned red.
Next door to the youth residence, a few women sat on the threshold stitching shoe soles, gossiping at the top of their lungs with zero regard for who might hear.
“Did you hear? That Comrade Shen from Beijing has been getting awfully close with the team accountant.”
“Tell me about it! Youde helps her with her farm work every single day. If you ask me, those girls from the city really know how to play men. Innocent on the surface, but behind closed doors… hmph.”
“I even heard someone caught the two of them down by the well late one night. In the pitch black—who knows what they were up to?”
Zhou Xiaohong walked over and set an enamel mug down beside her. “Zhiyi, don’t take it to heart. The villagers just have loose tongues.”
Shen Zhiyi said nothing, pouring the rice straight into the cooking pot.
That afternoon, during the midday rest in the fields.
Shen Zhiyi sat alone under the old locust tree, holding a piece of dried sweet potato that she couldn’t bring herself to swallow.
Not far away, Lin Yanzhou was surrounded by several male educated youth, his voice suddenly rising:
“Shen Zhiyi? She really doesn’t know how to keep a proper distance. She doesn’t draw boundaries with male comrades, and whenever someone lends a hand, she doesn’t know how to turn them down.”
“I told her from the start that she shouldn’t have come. She does nothing but invite trouble. I’ve already cut ties with her.”
A few light chuckles echoed around him.
With her back turned to them, Shen Zhiyi squeezed the dried sweet potato in her hand until it crumpled out of shape.
She didn’t turn around.
She was terrified that if she turned her head, her tears would fall.
When work wrapped up for the day, Shen Zhiyi took the long way back.
As she crossed through the small grove of trees, her steps faltered.
Lin Yanzhou was sitting beneath a massive locust tree, with Li Xiufen pressed up close beside him, helping him mend the cuff of his shirt sleeve.
Their shoulders were almost touching.
Lin Yanzhou looked up and caught sight of her. His eyes darted away in embarrassment before he lowered his head once more, refocusing on the needle and thread.
He didn’t stand up.
He didn’t even call out her name.
Shen Zhiyi stood there for a long time.
Long enough for her legs to go numb, long enough for the setting sun to sink beneath the horizon.
Then she turned and walked away.
Something deep inside her snapped completely in that singular moment.
She wandered aimlessly along the dirt ridge as the daylight slowly ebbed away into darkness.
Footsteps sounded behind her—very faint, deliberately hushed.
Shen Zhiyi spun around abruptly.
At the far end of the ridge stood a dark silhouette bathed in the twilight.
She couldn’t make out his face, but from a dozen paces away, he was trailing her at an unhurried pace.
She quickened her steps; the shadow matched her speed.
She slowed down; the shadow slowed down too.
Fear crept up her spine like a crawling insect.
She broke into a run.
The ridge was uneven and pitted; she stumbled forward awkwardly, her heart hammering frantically in her chest.
The footsteps behind her drew closer and closer in pursuit.
Just as sheer desperation threatened to overwhelm her, a thin silhouette darted out from the side.
Ye Yu swung out from the thicket of silvergrass carrying a hoe, stepping firmly in front of the girl.
She didn’t glance at Shen Zhiyi. She simply raised her eyes and stared at the shadow at the end of the ridge.
Ye Yu’s gaze was icy cold, piercing through the twilight to pin the man right in his tracks.
She pressed down slightly on the handle resting against her shoulder, and the edge of the hoe caught a flash of cold light.
The shadow froze solid.
After a few tense seconds, he took two sheepish steps backward, turned around, and vanished into the tall silvergrass with frantic, disorganized footsteps.
Surrounding silence descended once more.
Shen Zhiyi’s legs gave out, and she nearly fell to her knees.
Tears finally welled over, splashing into the dirt on the ridge.
A faded, coarse cloth handkerchief was held out in front of her.
Its corners were frayed around the edges, carrying a subtle, crisp scent of soap.
Shen Zhiyi raised her head, looking through her blurred, tear-filled eyes to see Ye Yu’s expressionless face. Ye Yu simply nudged the handkerchief a fraction closer.
She took the cloth and squeezed it tight in her palm.
“Thank you,” she choked out through her tears.
Ye Yu pulled her hand back and hoisted the hoe back onto her shoulder.
“Stick to the main road from now on.”
With that, she turned and walked away.
Her thin, upright back dissolved into the twilight, vanishing in short order.
Shen Zhiyi stood rooted to the spot, clutching the coarse handkerchief, gazing toward the direction where that back had disappeared for a long, long time without moving.
What she didn’t know was that from the thicket of silvergrass on the opposite side of the ridge, a pair of eyes was staring dead at her.
The next day, the rumors took a turn for the worse.
“Did you hear? To get away from Ye Youde, Comrade Shen actually sought out Ye Yu—the even worse good-for-nothing!”
“Tsk tsk, one wasn’t enough, so she needs two? Look at that—she’s managed to get tangled up with the worst men in the entire village!”
Shen Zhiyi gripped the handkerchief she hadn’t yet returned, her knuckles turning bone-white.