Chapter 59 The Sample Controversy

With the first crow of the rooster, Lu Xingchen slowly woke up.

Outside the window, the sky was still tinged with a pale blue. Groping in the dark, he put on the new cloth shoes his mother had stayed up all night sewing. The thick-soled cloth shoes made no sound against the earthen floor. The sample box rested beside his pillow, the red silk cloth polished smooth to a shine by his touch. Inside, the tomatoes lay quietly, resembling two sleeping fruits.

"Be careful on the road, and call home once you reach the county town." Su Yao tucked a freshly griddled white-flour flatbread into his schoolbag, along with a boiled egg. "Eat it when you're hungry, don't try to save it." Xingchen nodded, his eyes stinging with warmth, too timid to meet his mother's gaze—he knew she hadn't slept well last night, her lamp having stayed lit past midnight.

Lu Zhanying stood at the courtyard gate, wheeling a bicycle with a small wooden stool tied to the back rack. "Get on, let's catch the first tractor."

He hung Xingchen's schoolbag on the handlebars and checked the straps on the sample box. "Tie it tight, don't let it bounce off on the road." Xingchen mounted the bike, holding the sample box tightly against his chest. The plastic casing felt cool, yet pressing it close to his heart brought a sense of steady reassurance.

By the time they reached the commune crossroads, the tractor was already putt-putting as it warmed up. Uncle Wang from the neighboring village was driving. Spotting Xingchen, he shouted, "Isn't this the boy who grew space tomatoes? Heading to the provincial competition?" Xingchen nodded, carefully placing the sample box on the empty seat behind the cab, shielding it with a burlap sack from the direct sun.

Not long after the tractor set off, it hit a stretch of bad road. The bumpy dirt road had been turned into a quagmire by the rains of previous days. As the wheels ground through, the splashed mud flew high enough to strike the cab's windshield.

Xingchen's heart leapt to his throat. With one hand he gripped the side of the truck bed, and with the other he protected the sample box. But a violent lurch of the tractor threw him off balance, and with a sudden crash, he looked back to see that the lid of the sample box had sprung open. Red and green tomatoes rolled out, spinning wildly across the wooden floorboards of the cart.

"My tomatoes!" Xingchen cried out, moving to retrieve them, but the tractor shook so violently he almost tumbled over the moment he stood up. Uncle Wang slammed on the brakes, the tractor groaning to a halt by the roadside, coughing out a plume of black smoke that made everyone choke. When Xingchen scrambled over to salvage them, the two reddest ones were already smashed, their crimson juices mixing with the mud to smear the entire floor of the cart.

"Whatever shall we do?" Uncle Wang squatted on the ground, sighing at the ruined tomatoes. "If I'd known the road was this rough, I would have taken the long way around." Xingchen pinched the deformed green tomato in his hand, sticky juice oozing between his fingers. Tears dripped down onto it in a relentless patter, leaving small craters in the skin. These were the two he had hand-picked over and over again—one was a brilliant, perfectly ripe red, the other a green fruit edged with a blush of crimson, which Professor Zhang had called the "optimal exhibition sample."

"What's the use of crying?" Uncle Wang handed him a rag. "When we get to the county town, see if you can find two more?" Xingchen shook his head, his chest feeling tight and blocked. Where in the county town would one find space tomatoes? Even if ordinary ones were available, they weren't the ones he had grown, and the judges would see through it instantly. As he squatted by the roadside staring blankly at the ruined tomatoes, his mother's words suddenly echoed in his mind: "Scientific research always encounters setbacks; what matters is how you solve them."

Using the rag, he carefully wiped the unblemished small tomatoes, then picked up the deformed green one and wrapped it securely in clean paper. The crack in the lid of the sample box was bound tightly round and round with a length of rope until his fingers turned red from the strain. "Uncle, let's go. Don't let's waste any more time." He clutched the sample box to his chest, never daring to place it on the seat again.

By the time they arrived at the county town, the sun had climbed directly overhead. Following the address, Xingchen located the hotel designated by the organizing committee—a modest two-story building whose wooden stairs creaked loudly with every step. The proprietress, catching sight of the sample box in his arms, asked out of curiosity, "What's this? Looks mighty precious." Xingchen remained silent, lowering his head as he walked toward his room, feeling a heavy weight in his chest.

The room contained only a bed, a table, and a chipped enamel washbasin stand in the corner. Xingchen placed the sample box on the table and opened it. His heart sank another notch: the remaining two small tomatoes had also suffered bruises and dents, the leaf specimens were pressed completely wrinkled, and—most heartbreakingly—the growth chart drawn by Yuxuan had been soaked by a large ring of tomato juice, blurring the little figure's face beyond recognition.

He sat on the edge of the bed, shedding tears over the ruined tomatoes. The white-flour flatbread in his schoolbag was still warm, but he had lost all appetite. Remembering his mother staying up late to help him organize his data, his father earnestly tying down the sample box, and Aunt Suwan retroactively filling in the missing records, an overwhelming sense of guilt washed over him—he couldn't even protect a simple sample.

After crying for who knows how long, he caught sight of the corner of his experimental logbook sticking out of his schoolbag, and recalled his mother's words: "Reality is more important than perfection." Wiping away his tears, he pulled the notebook and pen from his bag, borrowed a sheet of paper from the proprietress, and leaned over the table to write: "Respected Judges, my samples were damaged en route due to rough road conditions. These are the remaining intact and damaged samples..." He detailed the entire sequence of events, even including Uncle Wang's name so the judges wouldn't suspect he had wrecked them on purpose.

When he finished, he tucked the note carefully inside the sample box, placing it right on top. He arranged the two bruised small tomatoes neatly, propping them up with miniature supports Yuxuan had made to keep them as upright as possible. Though the leaf specimens were crumpled, he laid them out individually and secured them to a piece of cardboard with map pins. By the time he finished, dusk had fallen.

Fishing out the money his mother had given him, he bought a bowl of wontons at the small food stall downstairs. The steaming bowl was set before him, but he barely touched it, his thoughts consumed by tomorrow's competition. Would the judges think he was careless? Would they eliminate him straight away because of the damaged sample? Pulling the family photograph from his pocket, he looked at his mother and father smiling happily in the picture. Gritting his teeth, he whispered to himself: I cannot let them down.

Early the next morning, Xingchen slung his schoolbag over his shoulder and walked toward the Provincial Science and Technology Museum. The early autumn breeze carried a slight chill, rustling the leaves along the roadside. He walked slowly, planting each step firmly, the sample box in his arms feeling as heavy as a thousand pounds. Nearing the museum, he saw many children of similar age, all dressed cleanly and carrying brand-new sample boxes, causing his heart to flutter with anxiety once more.

"Little fellow, here for the science competition?" a staff member at the entrance asked with a smile. Xingchen nodded, holding the sample box tighter. Stepping into the hall, the interior was dazzlingly bright, the polished floors reflecting his figure. Involuntarily, he drew his feet back, afraid of soiling the ground—his cloth shoes were still caked with dried mud from the road.

Locating his designated exhibition booth, he found the boy at the neighboring table had already set up his display. It was a robot model with gleaming metal parts, looking extremely high-tech. The boy glanced at Xingchen's sample box, then down at his mud-stained shoes, curling the corner of his mouth in silence. Xingchen's heart sank a little lower. He placed his sample box on the table and slowly opened it—he knew the samples didn't look presentable, but this was the absolute best he could manage.

Just as he reached for his experimental logbook, an elderly gentleman in a white lab coat wearing reading glasses approached, looking at the sample box with a warm smile. "Are these space tomatoes?" the old man asked, pointing to the bruised green tomato in a gentle voice. Xingchen hurried to nod. "Yes, Grandfather, but they got smashed along the way..." He handed over the note, his hand trembling slightly.

The old gentleman read the note, then flipped through his experimental logbook, suddenly pointing to a page. "Your soil improvement records are very detailed, and the sulfur powder dosage is clearly marked." Xingchen blinked in surprise, not expecting the old man to look at this first. "The samples are damaged, but the records are authentic. That is far more important than a pristine sample." The old man patted his shoulder. "Scientific research inevitably encounters accidents; what matters is how you record and respond to them."

Looking into the old gentleman's kind face, Xingchen suddenly felt his tension melt away. Pointing to the leaf specimens in the box, he explained, "This curled leaf was from when the seedlings were struggling. After we applied sulfur powder, new leaves grew, and I recorded every bit of it in this book." As he spoke, he grew more fluent, recounting the process from sowing to harvest, even mentioning how Aunt Suwan had helped him record the data.

Gradually, a crowd gathered around—some were judges, others fellow contestants. The boy with the robot model also edged closer, the disdain in his eyes replaced by curiosity.

"Did these tomatoes really grow from space seeds?" someone asked. Xingchen nodded, pointing to the unblemished small tomato. "When this one ripens, it will be much sweeter than ordinary tomatoes."

When it was Xingchen's turn to take the stage and present, he took a deep breath and walked up. The spotlight felt slightly warm against his skin. Looking out at the judges in the audience, he recalled his mother's advice: "Just say clearly what you need to say." He spoke from germination to fruiting, from the struggling seedlings to soil improvement, detailing the difficulties he encountered and the solutions he applied. Finally, pointing to his sample box, he concluded, "Although my samples are damaged, the true conditions have all been accurately recorded. This is my experimental result."

The audience fell silent for a few seconds before a wave of applause suddenly erupted. The elderly gentleman with the reading glasses was the first to clap, his eyes crinkling into narrow lines of amusement. Xingchen bowed and stepped off the stage. His legs still felt a bit weak, but his heart felt remarkably light—regardless of the outcome, he had said everything he needed to say and done everything he possibly could.

During lunch in the museum cafeteria, the boy with the robot model came over, holding a piece of bread. "Here, have some. My mom made it, it's pretty good." Xingchen was momentarily startled, then accepted it with a word of thanks. The boy scratched his head. "The tomatoes you grew are pretty impressive. More interesting than my robot, actually."

Xingchen took a bite of the bread, the sweet flavor spreading in his mouth. Looking out the window at the sunlight, he suddenly felt that even if he didn't win an award, it wouldn't matter. He had brought the story of the space tomatoes all the way to the provincial capital, letting so many people know about Lu Village's tomatoes; that was enough. Those crushed tomatoes, just as his mother had said, were simply a part of the experiment. What mattered was what he learned from the experience.

Toward evening, he went to the post office to call home.

The moment the connection went through, hearing the sound of his mother's tearful voice, he quickly spoke up: "Mom, I'm fine. The samples got a bit damaged, but my presentation went really well, and the judge grandfather even praised me." On the other end of the line, Su Yao's voice instantly brightened. "Our Xingchen is the best. Mother knew you could do it."

Hanging up the phone, Xingchen gently touched the sample box in his arms. The tomatoes inside were far from perfect, but in his heart, they were more precious than any flawless specimen—they carried the wind and rain of the journey, his own sweat, and the hopes of the entire village. Tomorrow at the awards ceremony, no matter the result, he would face it with a smile.

Returning to the hotel, he carefully placed his experimental logbook back into his schoolbag and neatly arranged the sample box. Outside the window, the moon rose, casting a soft glow upon the red silk of the box. As Xingchen lay in bed, thinking of the greenhouse back home and the tomatoes hanging from the vines, the corners of his mouth curled upward in a smile—when he got back, he would surely record their growth diligently and never be lazy again.

As the night grew deeper, the lights in the county town extinguished one by one, save for the single lamp still burning brightly in Xingchen's room.

He wrote in his notebook: "September fourteenth. Samples damaged; I have learned how to face adversity."

With that, he slipped the notebook beneath his pillow, cradled the sample box in his arms, and closed his eyes.

In his dream, he seemed to see those crushed tomatoes growing back anew, glowing as bright red as little lanterns, hanging from the branches and smiling down at him.