Chapter 53: Su Wan’s Unease

Under the large locust tree at the village entrance, a few women were gathered, mending shoe soles. Widow Li’s loud voice carried across two streets: “The space seedlings are recovering! Xingchen measured them yesterday; the new leaves have grown half an inch!” Su Wan, carrying a basket, was walking toward the vegetable garden. Hearing this, her feet stumbled as if caught on a stone, nearly falling on the dirt path.

Two handfuls of wild greens tumbled from her basket, splattering mud onto the blue fabric of her trousers. She had no heart to brush it off; she let it stay dirty.

It was the eighth day since she had dusted the crops with sulfur powder. Ever since secretly switching the seeds, Su Wan hadn’t dared approach the greenhouse, even avoiding the drug factory on her way to the stationery factory. Yet countless rumors kept creeping into her ears—“Zhan Ye got three pounds of sulfur powder from the commune,” “Su Yao and Xingchen have been testing the soil every day,” “The slow-growing seedlings have started sprouting new leaves”—each word pricking her heart like a needle.

She stood outside the vegetable garden’s fence, gazing toward the greenhouse. The canvas flapped full in the wind, faint shadows moving within. Surely, it was Su Yao and Xingchen watering the plants, perhaps even discussing the slow-growing seedlings—would they discover anything? The ten space seeds she had replaced were now in a wooden box beneath her pillow; even through the cloth, their weight was palpable.

“Wan, picking so many wild greens?” Aunt San from next door, carrying an empty basket, passed by and saw her standing still. “I heard the space seedlings survived? Why don’t you go take a look? You were helping sift seeds just the other day.” Su Wan hurriedly lowered her head, cutting a bunch of wild greens with her sickle. “I... I haven’t finished picking yet. I’ll go after I’m done.” But her voice trembled like leaves in the autumn wind.

Aunt San walked far ahead, and Su Wan remained frozen in place.

The sickle burned in her hand; she didn’t notice when its blade cut her finger. Blood dripped onto the wild greens, glaring red against the leaves. Finally, she moved, stepping along the ridgeline toward the greenhouse. Each step felt as light as treading on cotton, unreal and hollow.

At the greenhouse entrance, patched clothes hung on bamboo poles, washed by Su Yao yesterday. A corner of the canvas was lifted, revealing a lush green seedbed inside. Xingchen was crouched on the ground, writing and drawing in a small notebook. Su Wan’s heart suddenly raced; she turned to hide but tripped over a stone. Her basket crashed to the ground with a clatter, scattering wild greens everywhere.

“Aunt Wan?” Xingchen looked up, pencil still poised over his paper. “What are you doing here?” His eyes were bright and clear, like the village well’s water—crystal pure—making Su Wan uneasy. Sunlight filtered through the canvas gap, casting a golden glow on the boy’s tousled hair.

“I—I was just passing by... to see how the seedlings are doing.” Su Wan picked up her basket, her fingers squeezing the rim until it deformed, eyes fixed on the scattered wild greens. “I heard they’re recovering... that’s really good.” She tried to smile, but her mouth stiffened like stone; her smile was more painful than tears.

Xingchen stood and brushed dirt off his pants. “Professor Zhang said in half a month we can transplant them. Aunt Wan, do you want to come in and see? Those slow seedlings are growing pretty well.” He stepped aside to clear a path. The scent of earth mixed with fresh grass drifted from the greenhouse, yet Su Wan felt suffocated, as if someone had gripped her throat.

***

“No, no, I haven’t finished picking yet.” She practically fled, the basket swinging wildly, scattering more wild greens along the path.

At the corner, she looked back. Xingchen still stood there, notebook in hand, brow slightly furrowed—had he noticed something? His earlier gaze carried a hint of doubt.

Back home, Su Wan latched the door behind her and slid down to sit against it. The room was pitch black; the iron pot on the stove was unwashed, and the corn porridge from that morning had formed a hard crust. She groped her way to the bed, pulled out a paulownia wood box from under her pillow—it had come with her mother’s dowry, its red lacquer chipped away.

Opening the box, ten space seeds lay nestled in blue cloth, round and plump like little pearls, glowing faintly yellow in the dim light. She touched them with her fingertips; the coldness crept up her fingers to her heart, sending a shiver through her. When she returned from the county town, a vendor wearing bell-bottom pants had said, “These seeds fetch two pounds of ration tickets each on the black market.” But now, they felt like ten tiny snakes coiled in the box, tongues flicking, ready to bite her.

She suddenly recalled Su Yao’s kindness. Last winter, when her mother was gravely ill, it was Su Yao who carried her to the commune hospital and even advanced five yuan for the medicine; when the stationery factory lacked packaging workers, Su Yao had appealed to the manager, helping her get the job; just a few days ago, Su Yao had placed the seeds she sifted carefully into a separate porcelain bowl, saying, “Wan, you sifted these very carefully.”

Tears surged without warning, splashing onto the seeds, leaving damp patches. Su Wan covered her face, squatting on the floor, her shoulders shaking like a sieve. She wanted to secretly put the seeds back but feared discovery; wanted to confess to Su Yao but felt her mouth sewn shut; wanted to throw the seeds away but considered them ten golden beans, too precious to waste.

Outside, the sky darkened completely. Mice rustled in the kitchen, knocking over an empty oil bottle. Su Wan carefully rewrapped the seeds, slipped the box into a crevice under the bed, and sealed it with mud.

But lying in bed, she felt those ten seeds watching her in the dark. Even in her dreams, she saw Su Yao’s disappointed eyes and heard Xingchen’s words: “Aunt Wan, why are you here?”

When the first rooster crowed, Su Wan could no longer bear it. She fished out a faded blue cloth jacket from the cabinet—one Su Yao had given her last year. The collar was worn through; she had sewn a small chrysanthemum there. While braiding her hair, she noticed a clump had fallen out, tangled in the wooden comb like a messy wad of hemp fibers.

She didn’t go to the vegetable garden but headed straight to the greenhouse. Dawn was just breaking when Su Yao was already sifting wood ash at the greenhouse entrance. Widow Li squatted nearby, boiling water, their smiles surrounded by white steam. “Wan, why so early today?” Widow Li moved aside upon seeing her. “Come on in, Comrade Su says she needs an extra hand watering.”

Su Wan’s feet felt nailed to the ground. She watched as Su Yao poured water from a wooden dipper onto the seedlings, droplets rolling into glistening beads on the new leaves. Xingchen ran over with his notebook, pointing to a patch. “Mom, this patch is growing the fastest—half a centimeter taller than the others.” That was the patch where she had switched the seeds.

***

“Aunt Wan, you came just in time.” Su Yao straightened, a bit of wood ash smudged on her face like a calico cat’s markings. “Help me finish watering this bucket; I’ll check on the isatis seedlings.” She handed over the wooden dipper; their fingers brushed, and the sudden heat made Su Wan jerk her hand away.

“I—I’ll water.” Su Wan took the dipper, her palms sweaty, nearly losing her grip. She tried to avoid the slow-growing patch but couldn’t stop glancing at it. The new leaves were tender and succulent, showing no sign of having wilted before. If these seedlings knew they had almost been replaced, would they hate her?

Xingchen squatted nearby, recording notes. The scratch of his pencil on paper was unusually clear in the quiet morning. As Su Wan watered, her ears perked, fearing he’d suddenly say, “This patch is growing oddly.” Suddenly, she heard a “plop”—Xingchen’s pencil had fallen, rolling to her feet.

“N-no, nothing wrong.” Her voice was quieter than a mosquito’s hum, eyes fixed on her toes. “Maybe someone else dropped it.” Ripples formed in the bucket’s water, reflecting her anxious shadow, like a thief with nowhere to hide.

Xingchen didn’t press further; he picked up his pencil and continued writing. But Su Wan felt his gaze like a searchlight, making her uncomfortable all over. She hurriedly finished watering, threw the dipper onto the bucket’s edge, and almost ran out of the greenhouse.

The sun was already high, warming her back, but inside, Su Wan felt as if she carried a block of ice—cold enough to hurt.

Back home, she retrieved the wooden box from the crevice. The ten seeds gleamed in the sunlight. Su Yao’s smiling face, Xingchen’s gaze, Widow Li’s booming voice—all flashed before her eyes like a revolving lantern. Suddenly, she grabbed the box and ran toward the drug factory, losing one of her cloth shoes and not looking back. She couldn’t go on like this any longer; even if Su Yao scolded or hit her, it would be better than this endless torment.

At the greenhouse entrance, Su Yao was weeding the seed beds with scissors. Su Wan stood three steps away, her voice trembling beyond recognition: “Su, Su Jie, I have something to tell you.” The wooden box in her hand felt like it weighed a thousand pounds, nearly breaking her arm. The breeze lifted her hair, revealing sweat beads on her forehead, sparkling like shattered glass in the sunlight.

Su Yao straightened and saw the box in her hand. Her eyes flickered briefly but she said nothing, just set the scissors on a stone. “Come inside and talk; it’s too hot out here.” As the canvas lifted, the fresh scent of seedlings washed over them. Su Wan’s tears suddenly burst forth, unstoppable.