Chapter 47: Myself, the Experimental Field, and the Cornfield

At the break of dawn, with the roosters crowing, Lu Xingchen awoke. Outside, the sky was still tinged with dark blue. He quietly dressed, careful not to wake his younger siblings. The space seeds Professor Zhang had given him yesterday still lay covered with a red cloth in a porcelain bowl. Preoccupied with selecting the test field, he grabbed a dry corn cake and hurried to the backyard, skipping breakfast altogether.

The backyard behind the medicine factory had once been wasteland. Last year’s corn crop had been poor. Xingchen squatted down, breaking apart clumps of soil to find the corn stalk stubs still embedded beneath. He cupped them in his hands.

He pulled out a homemade notebook from his pocket—cut from leftover homework sheets—and a stub of pencil. Using these tools, he measured the ground, intending to mark out exactly two acres: just enough to plant tomatoes and isatis root.

“Xingchen, what are you up to so early?” came a voice behind him. Xingchen turned to see Old Zhou approaching, hoisting a hoe. Zhou had farmed the village fields his whole life and knew which soil was fertile and which was alkaline.

Zhou crouched beside him, squeezing some soil in his palm, then brought it to his nose. His brows furrowed deeply. “This soil won’t do,” he said gravely, scattering the dirt on the ground. “See this? It clumps in your hand but crumbles when dropped. The alkalinity is heavy. I helped plant corn here last year; the yield was only three hundred jin per mu, half of what others got. Those space seeds are precious—planting them here might be a gamble.”

Xingchen said nothing, carefully jotting down Zhou’s words in his notebook, marking a question beside “soil?” He knew Zhou was right, but this was the only suitable open land available in the village. “Grandpa Zhou, I’ll try first. If it doesn’t work, I’ll find a way to improve the soil.” His eyes burned with determination, mirroring the resolute spirit of Lu Zhanye.

Seeing his earnestness, Old Zhou softened and patted his shoulder. “Alright, if you need help, tell me. I can turn the soil and apply fertilizer.” Hoisting his hoe, he headed toward his own field, glancing back to remind, “Measure carefully—don’t mark the boundaries wrong.”

Xingchen nodded and resumed pacing the ground, counting each step meticulously, fearing any miscalculation. The sun slowly rose, casting golden light over the field and stretching his shadow long. The corn cake had long since cooled; he bit into the dry, choking morsel and swallowed it down with a sip of cool water from his pocket, then returned to work.

Before long, the backyard buzzed with activity. Lu Zhanye had returned from the army, accompanied by Erzhuzi and Old Wang. The three carried bamboo poles and old canvas, their footsteps echoing across the clearing. “Xingchen, have you marked the boundaries?” Zhanye called from afar, a smile tugging at his lips as he spotted his son crouched on the ground.

“Dad, it’s done!” Xingchen stood quickly, pointing to the lime line on the earth. “Tomatoes here, isatis root there—exactly two acres.”

Zhanye inspected the lines and crouched to feel the soil, forming a plan. “Erzhuzi, Old Wang, let’s set up the bamboo frame for the greenhouse first.” He laid the canvas on the ground; faintly printed on it was the emblem “August 1,” worn at the edges but sturdy and waterproof.

Erzhuzi, strong and burly, thrust the bamboo poles deep into the earth, pressing each firmly with his foot. “The poles must go deep, or strong winds will topple them, and that would be trouble for the seeds.” Old Wang steadied the poles, adjusting angles to ensure the frame was square. Zhanye deftly tied the tops together with rope—a practiced skill honed in the military.

Xingchen helped by passing ropes and picking up broken bamboo. Watching the frame rise bit by bit, his hope swelled. Once the canvas was stretched over, this would be the home for the space seeds—safe from wind and rain.

“Xingchen, time to eat!” came a gentle voice from afar. Lu Shihan appeared, cradling the newborn Lu Suisui, and carrying a cloth bag filled with food. Suisui, wrapped snugly in a quilt, gazed around with curious, bright eyes.

Shihan’s eyes lit up when she saw the large canvas. “Wow, this is huge! Brother, can I draw a rocket on it? Like the one on Professor Zhang’s paper bag!” She waved a crayon—a prized item exchanged by Lu Yuxuan from leftover stationery scraps—rarely used except on special occasions.

Xingchen smiled at his sister’s hopeful look. “You can, but only on the edges, so you don’t block the seedlings from the sun.”

Shihan jumped up, handing Suisui to Old Wang, and began drawing a crooked rocket on the canvas edge. The chimney was thicker than the body, with several small circles at the tail for flames—clumsy but utterly charming. Several village children passing by gathered around, offering suggestions: “Add a star! And a tomato!”

Delighted, Shihan promptly drew a round tomato beside the rocket and added a few strokes for “tomato leaves.” The children burst into laughter, filling the backyard with joy. Even the adults working on the frame chuckled, their spirits lifted as they worked harder.

Su Yao and Widow Li arrived, carrying baskets containing seed sifters and porcelain bowls. “Xingchen, don’t just play—come help sift the seeds,” Su Yao called, setting the sifter on the ground and pouring in the seeds Professor Zhang had given them.

Widow Li crouched to assist, holding a bowl of saltwater—prepared according to Su Yao’s instructions. Seeds soaked in saltwater: plump ones sank, shriveled ones floated, allowing them to select the best. “We must be careful,” she said. “These are space seeds—not to be wasted.” She poured the seeds into the saltwater; white foam surfaced as several shriveled seeds floated up.

Xingchen hurried over and squatted to watch. The plump seeds at the bottom gleamed like tiny pearls, filling him with joy. “Mom, what do we do with the ones that float?” he asked.

Su Yao scooped the floating seeds into another porcelain bowl. “Don’t throw them away. We’ll plant two plots—one with the selected seeds, one with these shriveled ones—to compare yields and gain more planting experience.”

Widow Li smiled approvingly. “Comrade Su really thought this through. Now we’ll know exactly what makes good seeds good.” She gently lifted the sinking seeds onto gauze to dry, handling them as tenderly as if caring for a baby.

By afternoon, the sun had shifted westward as the greenhouse frame was completed. Zhanye, Erzhuzi, and Old Wang stretched the canvas over the frame, tying ropes tightly in circles and weighing down the edges with stones. The canvas rippled slightly in the wind but held firm and steady.

Shihan’s colorful rocket on the canvas edge shone vividly under the sun. The children gathered around, touching it gently and whispering, “Do you think the rocket will fly?” “Can the seeds grow all the way to the sky?” Suisui slept soundly in Old Wang’s arms, her lips parted slightly in peaceful slumber.

Su Yao looked over the finished greenhouse and the drying seeds with a sense of satisfaction. She touched the thick canvas, imagining the seeds growing strong inside. “In a few days, when we plant the seeds, we’ll watch them every day. They’ll surely grow well,” she said with hopeful eyes.

Zhanye stood beside her, gazing at the greenhouse and test fields, his heart full of emotion. Since Su Yao arrived to plant watermelons and now space seeds, life had steadily improved—a testament to the collective effort of family and village. “This will be our village’s field of hope,” he said, looking at Xingchen and Shihan, then at the villagers in the distance. “When the seeds grow, the whole village will benefit.”

Xingchen knelt by the test field’s edge, gently touching the soil as if sensing the strength hidden within. He recalled Professor Zhang’s words to record data daily and care for the seeds diligently. Pulling out his notebook, he wrote: “Test field marked, greenhouse fully built, sowing tomorrow.” Beside it, he drew a small smiley face to encourage himself.

As the sun set, golden light bathed the greenhouse, turning the canvas a warm yellow. The villagers slowly dispersed. Erzhuzi hummed a tune as he carried his hoe home. Old Wang walked slowly with Suisui in his arms. Widow Li tidied the sifters and bowls. Su Yao held Shihan’s hand, Zhanye held Xingchen’s, and the family strolled homeward together.

“Mom, can I be the first to scatter the seeds tomorrow?” Xingchen looked up at Su Yao, eyes bright with anticipation.

Su Yao smiled and nodded. “Of course. You chose the test field; the first seeds are yours to sow.”

Shihan quickly added, “Mom, I want to help too! I’ll pass the seeds to brother!”

Zhanye laughed, watching the children. “Good. Everyone will help. Our family will plant the seeds well and wait for them to sprout and bear fruit.”

A gentle evening breeze passed by, carrying the scent of earth. Smoke curled from chimneys. The sounds of chickens, dogs, and children’s laughter drifted through the village. The greenhouse stood quietly in the clearing, awaiting tomorrow’s sowing. Day by day, life in Lu Family Village moved steadily toward a new hope.