Chapter 119: Supporting Xinjiang
“Boom—”
A clap of thunder exploded overhead, followed by a torrential downpour. The sun disappeared without a trace as dense raindrops hammered the scorching ground, sending up clouds of steam.
Only after the ground was fully soaked did the temperature finally drop.
The rushing sound of rain drowned out all other noise, leaving behind a strange sort of tranquility.
“It’s raining!”
Excited shouts echoed from the educated youth spot.
Mu Lantu lounged leisurely on a recliner under the eaves, slippered feet propped on a square stool, savoring the long-missed coolness. The mood even gave him the urge to recite poetry.
“Dark clouds turn to ink but cannot hide the hills; white rain like bouncing pearls pelts the boats. The sweeping wind comes and suddenly scatters them; beneath the pavilion, the lake spreads like the sky. Hm, not quite fitting for the scene. Huazhang, can you think of a better one?”
It was the only poem he could recall at the moment.
A fresh, clean breath suddenly came near, and his body was lifted up.
“What are you doing?” Mu Lantu instinctively hooked his arms around the man’s neck, his body trusting faster than his mind, relaxed as he hung against his chest.
Xu Huazhang carried him inside and set him down on the kang.
“There’s no boat, but there is a bed.”
Summer rains come fast and leave just as quickly.
Two hours later, as the cloudburst within the house settled, the skies outside also cleared, revealing bright, colorful sunshine.
The two, freshly tidied, returned to the eaves. With satisfaction still on their faces, they nestled lazily together on one recliner, watching the drenched ground gradually dry.
The temperature hadn’t risen too fast yet; the breeze on their faces was endlessly pleasant.
Wangcai ran to the gate, calling toward Mu Lantu and Xu Huazhang.
“Woof.”
“Wangcai, you want to go out? The ground’s still wet—don’t track mud all through the house later,” Mu Lantu said.
Wangcai looked at him, pawed at the latch.
“Woof!”
Mu Lantu sighed, “Fine, go on then.”
The dog opened the door himself, slipped out for some unknown adventure, and even closed the door behind him.
Mu Lantu chuckled, “I wonder what he’s up to. Could he be out courting?”
Xu Huazhang considered seriously. “Or maybe going to a fight.”
If it was a fight, Mu Lantu wasn’t worried—there weren’t any dogs in the village who could beat Wangcai.
“Old Du, come quick, so many tomatoes have fallen to the ground! Even lots of unripe ones!”
Miao Jiaze’s voice rang from his backyard, loud enough for Mu Lantu and Xu Huazhang to hear.
“So many fell? Forget it, let’s just stir-fry them these next couple days,” Du Xuewen answered, helpless.
Mu Lantu shook his head. “Still inexperienced. They didn’t think to cover them before the rain.”
“Baby, I’m going to the backyard.”
Their own tomatoes had been covered with straw mats beforehand. Now that the rain was over, it was time to take them down.
Xu Huazhang propped the mats against posts to dry in the sun. A sudden flutter of wings drew his eye—sparrows scattered, startled, from the grape arbor. Several bunches of half-ripe grapes were pecked into tatters, ruined.
“Brother Mu? Brother Xu?” Miao Jiaze called from next door.
“It’s me,” Xu Huazhang replied.
“These damn sparrows,” Miao Jiaze said angrily. “We barely had a few tomatoes ripen, and they pecked them to mush.”
He and Du Xuewen didn’t even have enough for themselves.
That was the downside of living apart. With fewer people around, the sparrows had no fear and came in flocks to steal food. Back at the educated youth spot, people were always coming and going—rarely was there such trouble.
Xu Huazhang frowned too. The vegetables and fruit in their yard were the hard work of him and Lantu. The sparrows weren’t just stealing; they came in swarms.
“Should we make a scarecrow?” Du Xuewen suggested.
“Probably won’t help. These little things are too clever,” Xu Huazhang said.
When Xu Huazhang didn’t return, Mu Lantu came looking.
“What’s wrong?”
“The sparrows.” He pointed to the grapes.
Mu Lantu winced. “So much ruined? Catch one alive, tie it to the tree—kill the chicken to scare the monkeys!”
Miao Jiaze and Du Xuewen both laughed.
“Good idea, but not sure if it’ll work.”
“Only one way to find out,” Xu Huazhang said.
The brigade loudspeaker suddenly blared.
“Zzzt—All educated youth, come to the brigade headquarters for a meeting. All educated youth, report to the brigade headquarters immediately…”
Miao Jiaze and Du Xuewen stiffened. A meeting for educated youth? That was a first.
The three families gathered at the gate and set off together.
The ground was only half-dry. Xu Huazhang picked the firmest spots to step on, keeping his shoes clean. The women followed suit, while the other men tramped carelessly, soon splattering mud on shoes and pant legs.
Mu Lantu amused himself by stepping into Xu Huazhang’s footprints.
Xu Huazhang noticed and moved closer to the roadside, so they wouldn’t block others.
“Brother Zhang, do you know what this is about?” Miao Jiaze asked Zhang Guodong.
“Not sure. We’ll find out when we get there,” Zhang said.
Lin Shuzhen spoke in a trembling voice, “It’s not a struggle session, is it?”
Everyone tensed, hoping not.
“Don’t scare yourself,” Jiang Qiaohui said brightly. “The brigade leader didn’t sound angry. Probably not bad news.”
At the brigade office, only the brigade leader was inside, looking deeply worried.
The sight made the youths even more nervous.
To avoid suspicion, Xu Huazhang waited outside.
Zhang Guodong stepped up uneasily. “Brigade leader.”
“Oh… you’re here.” The leader looked up, softened when he saw their anxious faces. “No need to be nervous. For you all, it should be good news.”
Bai Ningning’s eyes lit up. “Do we have a chance to return to the city?”
The others stirred restlessly.
“Really?”
The leader waved his hand firmly. “Quiet, let me explain.”
Everyone hushed.
The leader spoke quickly and directly.
“It has nothing to do with returning to the city—or perhaps a little. Here’s the situation: I went to a commune meeting today. They conveyed the latest directive from above—all educated youth must go to Xinjiang to help.
This year Xinjiang’s cotton has had a rare bumper harvest. The locals can’t manage the workload, so extra hands are needed to pick cotton. The assignment will last at least half a month, at most a month.
In principle, all educated youth must go. Only those seriously ill are exempt.
Of course, the state recognizes your hardships. Over there, female comrades will receive 12 work points per day, males 14. The local brigade will coordinate with ours, and the grain will be distributed to you at year’s end.”
Everyone understood. The grain had to come out of the brigade’s share—no wonder the leader looked sour.
“As for the connection to returning to the city: this is a political task. In future applications to return, this will be taken into account. If your performance is poor, you’ll be at a disadvantage.
The state will cover train tickets and rations. Tomorrow at 10:08 a.m., the train departs. The brigade tractor will take you to the county in the morning.
You must bring your own bedding—though since it’s summer, just a mat will do. Not troublesome.
That’s all. Think about it yourselves. Come back before dark to get your introduction letters.”
Since it was called a political task, no one dared say they wouldn’t go. The leader began writing introduction letters immediately.
“Keep these letters safe,” he warned. “They serve as your train tickets and meal tickets. You’ll need them to board and to eat on the train. Once you arrive, food will be provided—you won’t have to pay.”
Mu Lantu slipped his letter into his pocket—actually into his spatial storage, where it couldn’t possibly be lost.
“Huazhang, I’ll have to go to Xinjiang.”
Xu Huazhang, hearing from outside, caught every word.
“We’ll talk at home.”
When the youths had gone, the party secretary came out with a tea mug.
“This is too sudden. It’s never happened before. If they needed support in Xinjiang, it’d make more sense to send youth from Haicheng or Gansu—closer. What do you think?”
“Here’s why.” The leader handed him a copy of the Danjiang Daily. “I asked around. It’s only the Chaoyang commune’s brigades sending people. This article mentions a youth who wrote to the paper. Must be one of ours—but who, I don’t know.”
The headline read: Educated Youth Sent to the Countryside: Supporting Xinjiang Cotton Harvest to Promote National Unity.
Exactly the kind of story higher-ups liked to see.
Back home, Xu Huazhang wheeled out his bicycle.
“Baby, pack at home. I’ll go to the machinery factory and pick up an assignment to buy cotton in Xinjiang.”
“Will that work?” Mu Lantu knew Xu Huazhang wouldn’t rest easy letting him travel alone so far. He didn’t question further.
Xu Huazhang, calm and confident, said, “Cotton is in short supply everywhere. Even if our factory isn’t short, we can trade with others. They’ll be glad to have someone take such a task.”
“Alright. Will you be back tonight?”
“Yes.”
The answer was expected, and Mu Lantu couldn’t help but smile.
Xu Huazhang cupped the back of his head and kissed his lips. “I’m off. Whatever you can’t finish packing, we’ll do together when I return.”
“Got it.”
After Xu Huazhang left, Mu Lantu went to the backyard. Except for the jujube and pear trees, he pulled up all the vegetables and fruits, storing them in his spatial space.
He left just a few plants of each type, a single grapevine for show, but clipped off every fruit and flower—big or small.
Otherwise, once the fruits grew, if someone sneaked in to steal vegetables, they might notice something unusual.
Once the yard was handled, he went back inside and put away anything that shouldn’t be left out—precaution against theft.
Only then did he begin packing for himself and Xu Huazhang.
Toiletries, a change of clothes, water bottles, soap, laundry powder—all essential. Then dry rations.
The leader had said food and drink would be provided, but he and Huazhang both had big appetites. The rations might not be enough, so bringing extra dry food would be convenient. Pickled vegetables and preserves too—those would go a long way.
