By evening, the sun had slanted down to the rooftops at the western end of the village, dyeing even the cooking smoke a warm orange.
Wen Ya had finally come to inspect their progress.
She lowered her head and looked at the small pile of firewood on the ground. The pieces leaned crookedly against one another—some thick, some thin, all of them varying in length.
Then she looked at the children, who were exhausted enough to be swaying where they stood.
Shen Yi had simply sat down on the ground, stretching both legs straight out and leaning her back against a half-chopped log.
“You…” Wen Ya drew out the word. “You’ve been chopping wood all afternoon?”
Shen Yi nodded, her face full of anticipation as she waited for praise.
Who would have thought that disdain would arrive before compliments? Wen Ya reached over and ruffled Shen Yi’s hair. “You’re all completely useless. Your Second Grandma chops wood much faster than you.”
“All right, get up. Let’s go home and eat.”
Like a mother duck, Wen Ya led the flock of children home, walking leisurely at the front.
People along the road greeted her enthusiastically.
A middle-aged woman sitting by her doorway picking vegetables raised her head, dirt still clinging to her hands, and called out, “Xiaoya, you’re back?”
An old man squatting by the wall smoking nodded at her, tapping his pipe against the corner of his mouth.
Everything people said, directly or indirectly, carried the same meaning: So you’ve finally come back from outside.
Wen Ya smiled and nodded, responding to each of them in turn.
As they passed one small courtyard, the elderly man next door hurried out at the sound of them and called for help.
“Xiaoya, come take a look! Who used such exquisite knife work to carve my table up like this?”
A square table stood in the courtyard. Its dark tabletop had clear wood grain and looked rather old.
There were indeed several deep scratches across it, running diagonally from the center of the tabletop to the edge. The cracks branched in all directions, and their edges were smooth, with an even application of force.
Wen Ya leaned closer to examine the direction of the cracks and frowned. “You want me to look?”
“Of course! You’re the best with a knife in the whole village. Come on, see who did this.” The old man prattled on, tapping the scratches on the tabletop with his finger. “Look at this cut, the angle, the force behind it. Whoever did this must have practiced.”
“Take a look and tell me who’s responsible.”
Shen Xun stood behind Wen Ya and tilted his head. “This wasn’t done with a knife.”
The old man froze for a moment, then turned to look at him. “What do you mean?”
Shen Xun ignored him. He took half a step forward and extended his index finger, holding it about an inch above the tabletop as he traced the direction of the crack in the air.
“If this had been made by a knife tip, there should be an obvious point of entry at the beginning, like this…” He lightly pinched the back of his own hand with a fingernail, leaving behind a faint white mark. As his fingertip pressed down, the skin sank into a small dent. “There would be a concentrated point of force. But the beginning of this crack shows no sign of penetration. It transitions gradually.”
“When a knife tip cuts across wood, it leaves a V-shaped groove. The fibers on both sides would be severed and curl up into rough edges. But the cross-section of this crack is flat.”
He withdrew his hand and gently tapped the edge of the tabletop twice. The sound was dull and heavy.
“So?” The old man clearly didn’t understand a word of his explanation.
“So your table simply split open on its own. Most likely because of changes in the weather, not because someone did it.”
The old man obviously refused to accept that explanation.
His expression changed on the spot. The veins on his neck rose beneath his slack skin, and his voice shot up several notches.
“How could that be? How could my table just split open? Clearly, someone has a grudge against me and deliberately vandalized it!”
“Where did you come from, you little brat? Do you even know what holding a grudge means?” He took a step forward, his finger nearly poking Shen Xun in the nose.
His voice was loud and grating.
Shen Yi covered her ears and twitched the corners of her mouth, as if she had finally figured out where her mother’s short fuse and volatile temperament came from.
The people in this village were remarkably modern in their mental states.
It practically specialized in producing dramatic personalities.
“Oh?” Wen Ya was displeased now that he was speaking about her son like that. She first feigned surprise, covering her lips with one hand. Her eyes curved into a smile, and the slight arc at their corners carried the familiar sarcasm she had learned from Shen Sixing.
By now, she had fully mastered the essence of Shen Sixing’s particular brand of mockery.
The old man remained where he was, so furious that his beard seemed to bristle. After a long while, he finally muttered an insult.
“You little wretch. That troublesome son of yours is exactly like you were when you were young! You’re going to be the death of me.”
*
The facilities in this village were rather backward. The faucet in the corner of the courtyard had already rusted. When it was turned on, it squealed, and flakes of rust dripped down with the water. The water was so cold that it made one flinch; the instant a finger was dipped into it, it felt as though it had been pricked by needles.
It was Shen Wenta’s third day here, and there was already no color left in his eyes.
He squatted beside the faucet, curled into a ball, his chin resting on his knees as he stared blankly at the leafless tree in the courtyard.
Shen Yi had never seen him in such a state of utter hopelessness before.
After washing her face, she took up a towel and reached over to pat his little curls. She asked kindly, “Third Brother, are you all right?”
Shen Wenta said, “No.”
His fingers dug into his palm as he muttered to himself, “Why does a godforsaken place like this exist? How did Mom ever manage to live here?”
“This is just an ordinary village. It’s not bad enough to call it godforsaken.”
Taking advantage of the fact that he was too dispirited to argue with her, Shen Yi quickly ruffled his hair a few more times. “Besides, it’s already quite well developed. At least there are roads to walk on. Stop being so picky.”
“A place like this…” He lowered his head. The upward curve at the corners of his eyes could not be called a smile; it was more like a mocking slash. His brows and eyes were filled with irritation. “If I had everything here demolished, all I’d have to do was say I was sorry.”
Shen Wenta’s manners had always been especially poor. His usual politeness extended only to maintaining his image in social situations.
In private, when he was with his family, his true nature surfaced easily.
At that moment, the young man squatted expressionlessly beside the faucet, radiating resentment from head to toe.
Shen Yi: “…”
