Chapter 46: The Return of the Space Seed to Its Homeland

The July sun blazed like a red-hot iron, scorching the cement ground of the pharmaceutical factory’s courtyard until it radiated heat. The foxtail grass by the wall curled its leaves, and even the cicadas fell silent from the oppressive heat. The afternoon was heavier and quieter than usual.

Lu Xingchen squatted in a narrow patch of shadow cast by the eaves, a well-worn experimental notebook resting on his knees. The blue cover, wrinkled from sweat, was densely filled with data on bean sprout growth: “Germination after three days at 3 degrees Celsius water temperature; stems thicker at 25 degrees; on such and such a day, well water was tested, roots grew half an inch longer compared to tap water.” He was circling figures on the “growth curve” page with a pencil when he suddenly paused, recalling a passage from the commune library’s *Plant Physiology* about “environmental stress effects on seed germination.” His brow furrowed—if the temperature rose any higher, would the bean sprouts stop growing altogether?

A bead of sweat slid down his temple and landed with a soft pat on the page, causing the ink to blur slightly. He wiped his face with the back of his hand, sticky with perspiration, just as a distant engine noise broke the stillness.

It wasn’t the rumble of a village tractor but the distinct sound of the commune’s grass-green jeep. Xingchen’s sharp ears recognized it immediately; his pencil clattered to the ground, forgotten as he dashed barefoot toward the door. The scorching cement burned the soles of his feet fiercely at first, then numbed after a few steps, but his mind was full of Professor Zhang’s words from a recent phone call: “In a few days, we’ll send over that batch of space seeds—treasures that have been to the heavens! After exposure to cosmic radiation, they may have mutated. Who knows, they could grow into something completely different.”

Just as he reached the door, the jeep screeched to a halt beneath the old locust tree. Inside was an iron cage housing two fluttering reed chickens, likely brought from the countryside by Professor Zhang. The door bore the inscription “Provincial Agricultural Research Institute.” As the door swung open, Professor Zhang emerged from the passenger seat, sweat pouring down his temples like broken beads, soaking his once-white Dacron shirt. Yet he clutched two bulging paper bags tightly to his chest.

“Slow down! Don’t trip!” Professor Zhang called out as Xingchen hurried over, deliberately holding the paper bags high. Wrinkles formed at the corners of his eyes as he smiled. “These are ‘guests from space,’ precious beyond measure. Be careful not to drop and damage them.”

Xingchen halted sharply, his bare toes digging into the blistering ground. His gaze fixed on the bags tightly tied with bright red string, marked with the words: “Provincial Research Institute—For Aerospace Breeding Use” and a small rocket drawing trailing three curved lines. Swallowing, he reached out tentatively. His fingertips brushed them and then retreated, daring only a gentle touch. The bags were stiff and still warm from Professor Zhang’s hands, containing the seeds that had “drifted in the sky for over half a month.”

“Professor Zhang, you’ve finally arrived!” Su Yao’s voice came from the pharmacy, clutching a cloth used for grinding medicine. She hurried out, her blue jacket fluttering in the breeze.

Her eyes lit up when she saw the paper bags, and she quickly took them, feeling their weight and the stirring emotion within—these seeds were more than just experimental data; they were the hope the entire village had awaited for half a year.

Professor Zhang wiped his sweat and pulled a neatly folded sheet of brown paper from his pocket, handing it to Su Yao. “These are tomato and isatis root seeds, one hundred each. They went up with the ‘Dongfanghong’ satellite in March this year. Space has no gravity and intense cosmic rays; the genes might have changed. You must record daily: germination rates, plant height, number of leaves, even sunlight and rainfall—nothing can be missed. Here’s the record sheet; the grids are already drawn. Just fill them in accordingly.”

Before he finished speaking, the villagers gathered outside the courtyard walls burst into animated chatter. Erzhuzi’s pants were still muddy, and the blade of his hoe caught a leaf of greens as he squeezed to the front, craning his neck to peer into the bags. “Professor Zhang, these seeds really went to space? Will the tomatoes they bear be bigger than my rice bowl?”

Widow Li, carrying a half-basket of freshly dug shepherd’s purse, approached and tugged Su Yao’s sleeve, her worn cuff frayed. Her voice trembled with shy hope. “Comrade Su, my little Shitou loves tomato and scrambled eggs. If these grow, can we save two for him? Let him taste the ‘flavor from the sky.’” Nearby, several women holding infants nodded, their babies gazing wide-eyed and curious at the bags.

Su Yao smiled, patting Widow Li’s hand. “Don’t worry. Once we have results, the village children will be the first to share. Everyone will get some.” Just then, firm footsteps approached behind her. Lu Zhanye, wearing a well-worn army green uniform and carrying several rolls of old canvas stained with oil, appeared. Sweat beaded his temples as if he had hurried all the way back. Seeing the lively scene, a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

“Professor Zhang, thank you for your hard work.” He placed the canvas rolls against the wall with a thud, sending up a small cloud of dust. “These are old tent fabrics from the military depot—both sun and rainproof. We’ll set up a simple shelter to shield the seeds from the midday sun.”

Professor Zhang stepped forward, running his fingers over the thick cloth and nodding. “This is sturdy, better than plastic sheets. It won’t seep when it rains. Zhanye’s thought of everything.” He turned to see Xingchen still staring at the paper bags and handed one over. “Here, take a look. See how it differs from ordinary seeds.”

Xingchen took the bag with trembling hands. Bringing it close, he sniffed—a faint scent of wheat straw, much like the seeds stored in their grain barn at home. He gently shook it, hearing a rustling inside, as if countless tiny lives stirred. “Professor Zhang, do you think the seeds were scared up there in space?” he suddenly asked, eyes earnest.

Professor Zhang paused, then laughed. “Good question! Seeds can’t talk, but maybe they ‘remember’ what it was like in the sky. Take good care of them, and they might grow into something extraordinary.”

This sparked more conversation among the villagers. Old Mr. Wang leaned on his cane and said slowly, “I’ve lived sixty years, never seen seeds that have been to the sky. If these isatis roots grow bigger, it’ll be a blessing for the village’s health.” Uncle Chen, the old pharmacist, joined in. “That’s right. Last winter, several children had colds and fevers. We boiled three pots of isatis root, and it was gone. If these space seeds yield more, it’ll be a great deed.”

Su Yao carefully placed the seeds in the glass cabinet of the pharmacy and covered them with a red cloth, treating them like treasures. “Professor Zhang, rest assured, we’ll record everything daily, leaving no detail behind.” She turned and took a new notebook from the cabinet, red ink on the cover spelling out “Space Breeding Observation Log.” “Look, the notebook is ready.”

Professor Zhang leaned in to see the neat tables inside, with columns titled “Date, Temperature, Humidity, Growth Status” in fine handwriting. He nodded. “Comrade Su is thorough. By the way, tomato seeds should be soaked in warm water to encourage germination. Isatis root prefers shade, so plant it beside a tree. I checked the soil here—your courtyard is slightly alkaline. Remember to mix in some humus. I brought some for you.” He pulled some from his bag and handed it over.

At the mention of work, Erzhuzi dropped his hoe by the wall. “Leave the soil turning to me! I’ve been tilling my two acres every year. I guarantee the soil will be finer than sesame seeds!” Widow Li, carrying her basket, hurried home. “I’m going to get a sieve to sift the soil—can’t have stones hurting the seeds!”

Soon, the courtyard bustled. Some fetched tools from home, others went to the nearby hills to dig humus. Even old Grandma Liu, usually sedentary, brought a small stool to sit at the door, offering to “watch over the seeds so the chickens don’t peck them.”

Lu Xingchen hugged the bag of tomato seeds and squatted on the pharmacy doorstep, fingers tracing the little rocket printed on the sack. He recalled a book he had borrowed from the commune library days ago, *An Introduction to Space Breeding*, which mentioned that space seeds might “grow oversized,” “mature early,” or even “become more disease-resistant.” He had even drawn a huge tomato in his notebook with the note: “If it grows this big, it would be enough for the whole village to share.”

“What are you thinking about?” Lu Zhanye came over, placing a pair of cloth shoes by his feet. “The ground’s hot—put your shoes on.”

Xingchen looked up, eyes shining. “Dad, do you think these seeds will grow tomatoes with a taste of the stars?”

Lu Zhanye laughed and ruffled his hair. “Maybe they will. But you have to take good care of them, be as patient as if you were looking after a little brother.” Watching the villagers busy at work—Su Yao and Professor Zhang turning the soil, Erzhuzi swinging his hoe shirtless, sweat dropping into the earth and kicking up fine dust—his heart suddenly felt light. Life, like these space seeds, seemed ordinary now, but who knew? Someday they might sprout a hope nobody had imagined.

The sun began to tilt westward, stretching the shadow of the old locust tree longer. Professor Zhang checked his watch and pulled a glass jar from his canvas bag. “This is gibberellin. If germination is slow, dilute and lightly spray it. I must return to the county before dark—the mountain roads get dangerous at night.”

Su Yao hurriedly stuffed two packets of freshly dried honeysuckle into his bag. “Drink this on the way—it cools the heat. Once the seeds bear fruit, we’ll be sure to bring you the first taste.”

Xingchen held out the bag of tomato seeds to Professor Zhang. “Professor, can I have this? I want to stick the little rocket on my notebook.”

Professor Zhang chuckled heartily. “Take it! When these seeds grow into good crops, you must send me detailed records. I’m counting on your data to write the report.”

The jeep rumbled away, dust swirling behind it, and Professor Zhang’s voice called out from the window: “Remember to water them thoroughly!” Xingchen stood at the gate, watching the vehicle vanish at the road’s end, clutching the paper bag tightly.

Back in the courtyard, Erzhuzi continued turning the soil, breaking clods into fine, moist earth that smelled richly of soil. Su Yao mixed humus with the native soil while Uncle Chen crouched nearby, carefully inspecting for impurities. Widow Li brought out freshly boiled mung bean soup, handing bowls to everyone.

Xingchen approached the freshly turned earth, crouched down, and gently brushed aside a small patch of soil with his fingers. The golden light of sunset bathed his face as he remembered Professor Zhang’s words about the seeds “remembering the sky.” Whispering softly to the earth, he said, “Grow well. Grow big tomatoes, and let all our neighbors live better days.”