Chapter Four: The Southern Hamlet and the Northern Garden

The entrance to Lingjing Village was a shaded path, lined closely with towering poplars. Beside the road ran a small canal, its water so clear that one could see the pebbles on the bottom and watch little fish darting about in playful delight.

Most people imagined the waters of the Northwest to be perpetually muddy, but such a notion was misleading; not every stream was clouded. Zhong Di set his luggage aside, crouched carefully by the canal, scooped up a handful of water, and splashed it onto his face.

The coolness of the canal water trickled down his cheeks, and for a moment, his soul felt cleansed and uplifted.

How comforting! This was the feeling he had longed for, the flavor of memories past.

Everywhere he looked, a sense of tranquility pervaded the scene; even the poplars showed no trace of sorrow. Through repeated experiments on his journey home, Zhong Di had discovered that observing the behavioral signals of plants was something he could control, but prolonged attention led to dizziness and, at worst, fainting.

By now, dusk had settled, and the fierce heat of noon had long since faded. The water on Zhong Di’s face had not yet fully evaporated when a gentle breeze swept by, hastening its disappearance. He closed his eyes, savoring this fleeting beauty, took a deep breath, and found that the air of home was indeed sweet.

This village was built within the northeastern forest district of Shache County, with the residential area to the south and the orchards and forest to the north—thus, Lingjing Village.

This arrangement, known as “village to the south, gardens to the north,” described the planning of the entire district: homes in the south, forests and orchards in the north.

At first, this area was nothing more than a forest, left largely unattended. It lay in the path of the fierce winds of Shache County, and despite the quality of the groundwater, the harsh environment left the forest in ruins—trees planted would die, and dead trees replaced anew.

Later, the authorities established the village, relocating impoverished households from across Shache County. Each family was allotted land according to their numbers, adopting a model that combined woodland and orchard cultivation. This increased the income of the poor and finally resolved the problem of neglect.

With a nervous heart, Zhong Di walked toward his home. Not long ago, he had boasted to his mother that he would make something of himself in the world, and yet, within just a few days, he had returned.

When he entered, his mother was preparing dinner while his father sat in the living room watching television.

“Mom... cooking dinner? What are you making?” Zhong Di asked, peering into the pot where steamed dumplings were being prepared. He hadn’t tasted those for ages and found himself yearning for them.

“Zhong Di? Why are you back? Weren’t you at work—did you take leave?” His mother looked at him in confusion, trying to collect herself. How had her son appeared so suddenly?

“Work was fine, so why did you come back? Just to see us? Don’t worry, your mother and I are in good health,” his father said, turning off the television and joining them in the kitchen, a cigarette held between his index and middle fingers, though unlit.

“Calm down, listen to me,” Zhong Di began rapidly, “The company had a medical checkup. They found I have cancer—late stage. So I quit and came home. On the way back, my bus was hit by a semi-trailer—nearly died, but I survived.”

“On the road, I called Wenya to tell her about the cancer; we broke up—I initiated it.”

“Since I don’t have long, and since we broke up, I figured I’d come home and tend our jujube orchard. You don’t want to take care of it anymore, so let me do it!”

He spoke so quickly that his parents barely grasped his meaning before he had finished. At his last words, his father fell into a long, silent contemplation, his eyes betraying a complex mix of emotions. His mother, meanwhile, seemed on the verge of breaking down.

“Alright, I was lying. I don’t have cancer, the bus wasn’t hit, but I did quit my job, and I really did break up with Wenya. I truly want to come back and work the orchard,” he confessed.

The dramatic reversal left his parents feeling as though they’d ridden a rollercoaster. They sat speechless, neither willing to break the silence.

“Fine, you’re back. So what if you broke up, so what if you want to tend the orchard—it’s not a big deal. As long as you’re safe, that’s what matters.” His mother, clearly shaken, muttered as she returned to her cooking.

Zhong Di felt a pang of guilt. To fulfill his dream of returning home, he’d frightened his parents—something he knew was wrong.

“Your grandfather’s surname was Zhong, your grandmother’s was Tian, so they named me Zhong Tian, and I really did spend my whole life tilling the fields...” His father placed the cigarette in his mouth, fished a windproof lighter from his pocket, and, hands trembling, lit up, speaking softly between puffs.

“Dad, your surname is Zhong, Mom’s is Di, so you named me Zhong Di. Who would have thought I’d end up farming too, right?” Zhong Di picked up the thread, already anticipating where his father was headed.

Zhong Tian gazed at his son, momentarily at a loss. Only after a pause did he realize what his son had said.

“You rascal, mocking your father,” he said, giving Zhong Di a light smack on the shoulder.

“If you want to farm, then farm. There’s nothing wrong with honest labor. I’ll find some time to help tidy up the orchard—it ought to look presentable.” With that, his father returned to the living room. Though the television still blared, it was clear his heart was no longer in it.

“Hurry and tidy up. Dinner will be ready in an hour,” his mother said, having come to accept the situation as she continued cooking.

Zhong Di carried his luggage to his room. Upon entering, he saw Wenya’s photos plastered across the wall—snapshots from their second to fourth years of college, capturing every memory.

Wenya’s gentle, sweet smile lingered at the corners of her mouth. He had once thought they would spend a lifetime together, never imagining things would end as they had.

His nose stung; he set down his luggage and methodically removed every trace of Wenya from his room. Then, sitting on his bed, he hugged his knees and stared blankly into space.

The end of a relationship was never as simple as words suggested. It was as though two pieces of clay, once melded together, could never be fully separated without leaving scars.

Suddenly, his phone rang. The caller was Shao Hong, his classmate, roommate, and bunkmate for four years—both of them from the outskirts of Kulun City. Their bond was deeper than with anyone else.

“Zhong Di, do you have a thousand yuan?”

Shao Hong sounded urgent, desperate even, as if that sum was all that mattered. Hearing it was about money, Zhong Di knew immediately what was going on.

“I don’t. Ask someone else,” he replied, his refusal crisp and direct.

“Zhong Di, help me just this once more. Xiaoxin broke up with me. I need a thousand yuan to get her back. I really can’t live without her—without her, I’m nothing.”