Rumors spread faster than weeds in a field.
When Shen Zhiyi went to draw water at dawn, the women chatting by the well instantly fell silent. Exchanging looks, they picked up their wooden tubs and dispersed with sour expressions.
She went to the kitchen to heat her breakfast, only to find her enamel mug shoved into the farthest corner, right next to a pile of filthy rags.
The facial cream she had brought from home was missing, too. She searched every inch of her bedside table, but it was nowhere to be found.
When she returned to the communal sleeping quarters, a dirty strip of cloth caked with mud was stuffed under her pillow, reeking of mildew.
She had become the plague of the youth point.
No one spoke to her, and no one would sit at the same table to eat with her. Zhou Xiaohong occasionally glanced at her with pity, but did not dare draw close. Sun Hongmei went so far as to shove Zhiyi’s bedroll aside, scowling, “Keep your distance. Don’t go ruining the atmosphere for the rest of us.”
Zhiyi pulled her knees to her chest, sitting in the innermost spot with her back turned to everyone. Her tears had run dry days ago, leaving behind only a dull, numb emptiness.
Why did I ever come to this godforsaken place? Everyone here is revolting.
On the afternoon of the third day, a messenger from the brigade leader arrived, telling her to report to the brigade office.
The brigade leader sat behind a desk of peeling paint, spinning a fountain pen between his fingers. Seeing her come in, he gestured toward the wooden bench across from him.
“Comrade Shen, you’ve been in our village for a little while now. By rights, you kids from the city have education and political awareness, so we welcome you.” He paused, setting his tea mug onto the desk with an uncomfortably loud clatter. “But a young woman’s reputation is precious. Look at the things being whispered around the village these past few days—what does that look like? Getting too close to this person, tangled up with that person, sneaking out alone at night…”
He shook his head, his eyes casually flicking toward the window. “It reflects terribly on us. When it comes to evaluating candidates for the return-to-city slots at the end of the year, the brigade has to consider everything carefully. Given your situation… I’m afraid we’ll have to think twice.”
“Still,” he added, “if you really have no other way, it’s not like the village lacks warm-hearted people willing to step up and look out for you. It all depends on how you choose.”
Zhiyi snapped her head up, her face drained of color. “Brigade Leader, those rumors are all false! There’s nothing between Accountant Ye and me, and as for Ye Yu—”
“That’s enough,” the brigade leader interrupted, raising a hand. “Whether there is or isn’t isn’t up to you alone to say. The masses have sharp eyes. Go back and reflect on yourself. Don’t walk yourself into a corner.”
Zhiyi opened her mouth, but her throat felt choked, as if stuffed with cotton.
The masses have sharp eyes? They’re all blind.
She pushed herself up and turned to leave, her footsteps so hollow and unsteady it felt like she was walking on air.
Just outside the brigade office, she ran straight into Ye Youde.
It was as if he had been waiting for her. Holding a string mesh bag with two bright yellow pears inside, he gave her a hearty, honest-looking smile. “Comrade Shen, what a coincidence. I just came to drop off the ledger and heard you were here. Here, have a taste—they’re from my own tree.”
Zhiyi reflexively took a step back, her spine pressing against the cold dirt wall. “Brother De… there’s no need.”
“Don’t be so distant,” Ye Youde said, leaning half a step closer. “I heard the brigade leader talked to you? Don’t take it to heart. People in the village have loose tongues, and we can’t stop them. But if you have someone to rely on here, no one will dare bully you.”
He stared into her eyes, his gaze sticky and lingering. “I’ve saved up plenty of work points over the years, so my life isn’t bad. If you’re… willing, I’ll protect you. Not a single soul will dare say a word against you.”
Zhiyi froze entirely.
She shook her head violently, her voice trembling. “Brother De, I don’t need… I really don’t need anything…”
“What are you afraid of?” Ye Youde took another step forward, closing in until he was almost touching her. The stale stench of pipe tobacco on his breath made her dizzy. “It’s not like I’m a nobody. I’m the brigade accountant. I have work points, I have standing. If you follow me, you won’t have to do as much heavy field work. Isn’t that better than blindly fumbling around in this village?”
His tone was still warm and simple, but the look in his eyes could no longer be hidden.
Zhiyi ducked sharply beneath his arm and practically ran for her life. Behind her, she heard him chuckle—a low, soft sound that pierced her ears like a needle.
It was utterly sickening.
That night, an uproar erupted at the youth point.
News from the neighboring village landed like a crack of thunder.
A female educated youth, returning late from a meeting at the commune, had been dragged into a patch of silvergrass. She wasn’t found until daybreak—her clothes torn to shreds, her body covered in bruises. By the time they rushed her to the hospital, she had already lost her mind.
The commune sent people to hush it up, forbidding anyone to spread the word. But how could a thing like that ever be contained?
Zhiyi lay on her hard wooden bed, her whole body ice-cold.
Closing her eyes, all she could picture was that pitch-black field of silvergrass, the tall stalks standing like an impassable wall. She thought of the way Ye Youde had looked at her outside the office, his soft promise that Brother De will protect you, and his endless “accidental” run-ins with her over the past few weeks.
Would she be next?
She sat up abruptly, cold sweat drenching her back. Outside the window, there was no moonlight—only pitch-black darkness as far as the eye could see.
The next day, Zhiyi didn’t report for work.
She sat alone on the ridge at the western edge of the village, hugging her knees as she stared out over the endless fields. The wind rustled through the crops, sending green waves across the dirt, while wisps of cooking smoke rose softly from the distant village. Everything was so peaceful, as though nothing terrible had ever happened.
Yet inside, her world had completely collapsed.
Her spot for returning to the city at the end of the year was gone. Her reputation was ruined. Lin Yanzhou no longer wanted her. And Ye Youde was coiled around her like a venomous snake.
She had no idea how long she sat there, until the sun began to dip in the west and twilight crept across the land.
From a distance came the rhythmic thud of a hoe striking dirt.
Looking up, she saw Ye Yu working in a nearby plot. He swung his hoe stroke after stroke, unhurried and steady, as if the rumors, the conflict, and the life-and-death drama of the world had nothing to do with him.
Staring at him, Zhiyi suddenly remembered that coarse cloth handkerchief.
She remembered the thin, rigid back that had stood in front of her on the dirt path. She remembered his words: Take the main road from now on.
The signal bell for the end of the workday rang out.
Ye Yu shouldered his hoe, slapped the dust from his trousers, and started walking toward the ridge. As he passed by her, his footsteps paused for a brief fraction of a second.
Zhiyi hurriedly lowered her head, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand, unwilling to let anyone see her looking so miserable.
There was no conversation.
Ye Yu simply pulled an item from his pocket, bent down, and gently set it on the dirt ridge beside her feet. Then, shouldering his hoe, he walked away.
Zhiyi stared down in disbelief.
Resting at her feet was a faded, washed-out piece of coarse cloth—identical to the one before. The edges were slightly frayed, but it was clean, carrying the faint, fresh scent of soapberry.
Only one corner of the fabric was smudged with a bit of fresh earth.
She picked up the handkerchief and slowly tightened her grip until her knuckles turned white.
In the fading dusk, that slender, upright figure walked farther and farther away, slowly dissolving into the golden light of the setting sun.
Holding the handkerchief tight, Shen Zhiyi suddenly buried her face in it. The scent of soapberry rushed into her nose, choking her so hard she could barely catch her breath.