Shaozhen and Shen arrived at the fork in the road. The sun was climbing swiftly towards its peak. Shaozhen could feel his shirt plastered to his back and Shen was wiping sweat from his brow with his handkerchief. Suddenly Shaozhen had an idea.
‘It’s this way to the village, Shugong. Come with me,’ Shaozhen said, pointing. ‘Everyone has been wanting to meet the old man who saved Xiaoping. Then I can help you take the water home.’
Shen bristled, his hunched back straightening as much as it could. ‘What do you take me for? An invalid?’
Shaozhen was taken aback. ‘I – I just meant that I could help you carry it. I didn’t mean to offend you.’
‘You villagers always think you’re better than me.’ Shen was shouting now, his whole demeanour transformed. ‘I didn’t ask for your help, did I? I’ve managed fine on my own for years. Meanwhile, you lot can’t even keep track of a three-year-old boy.’ Shen’s whole body was trembling and his cane wobbled violently as if it was possessed.
‘Great Uncle, please, I didn’t mean anything by it.’ Why is Shen so afraid of the village?
‘Don’t “Great Uncle” me anymore, boy.’ Spit was shooting from Shen’s lips. ‘I’m nobody to you or anyone else and I’m happy that way.’
And before Shaozhen could say anything else, the old man reached out his knobby hand like a claw and snatched the bucket from Shaozhen’s grasp. He stormed away, moving faster than he had their entire walk back.
Shaozhen stood there, the weight of the buckets on the pole digging into his neck, torn between running after Shen and letting him go.
The old man headed up the path towards the mountain. Going after him would mean leaving Shaozhen’s water haul behind: there wasn’t any way he could make the climb with all that weight swinging from his bamboo pole. And Shen was quite clear about not wanting to have anything to do with the village; it was probably best to leave him be.
Shaozhen walked through the village, his mind clouded with questions. What had happened to Shen? The man had talked about his difficult past and his sons’ passing. The story had broken Shaozhen’s heart in two but he was sure there was something else. He’d seen the fear and rage in the man’s eyes at the mere mention of the village.
‘Shaozhen.’ Aunty Wu was sweeping her stoop as he emerged from the tree-lined path. ‘How’s your nainai? Is she still in the hospital?’
Shaozhen placed his buckets on the ground. ‘They wouldn’t let me see her. I’m going to go back this afternoon.’ He rolled his shoulders one at time, relieved to be free of the weight. He took in Aunty Wu’s limp white perm and hunched-over form. She looked drained and tired, a far cry from her usual lively self. The drought had taken its toll on even the most steadfast and resilient villagers. He was suddenly curious. ‘Aunty Wu, how long have you lived in the village?’
She looked up. ‘All my life, child. Would you believe, I was born in this very house? And my hope is that when it’s my time to go, I will pass peacefully within its walls.’
‘What happened during the famine? The Three Bitter Years?’
Aunty Wu narrowed her eyes. ‘What do you know about the Three Bitter Years, Shaozhen?’
He shrugged. ‘Not much. But a lot of people died. There was no food, people were eating bark and wild plants and things. In school, I learned it was because of natural disasters, but old Shen said—’
‘Old Shen?’ Her eyes shot open, wide and round. ‘Where have you been talking to that old kook?’
Shaozhen felt the blood rising to his face. ‘I saw him in Xifeng. He was lining up for water.’
Aunty Wu tsked loudly. ‘First Xiaoping, now you. What garbage has he been filling your mind with?’
‘I – he just mentioned the famine. That things were hard and he lost his sons and wife. I didn’t realise it had been so bad.’
She hesitated before answering. ‘To be honest, I was just a baby then so I don’t remember much. But I know that we all suffered during that time. Even so, Shen was a different kind, cut from a different mould. I was still a child when I heard about the strange man living in the mountains.’
‘Why does he live alone up there?’
‘Let me make one thing clear: he chose to. Nobody drove him out, no matter what he says. But if he didn’t want to be a part of the village, then it’s better that he left.’ Her eyes were fierce and she lifted her chin. ‘And that’s fine by me.’ Aunty Wu picked up her broom and stormed into her house.
Her words left Shaozhen more confused than ever. It was the second time that morning he was left standing on his own, completely befuddled.
Shaozhen emptied his load into the sealed containers they were using for storage, then filled one of the buckets partway with recycled water to take out to the fields. Despite the drought, he and Yangyang were determined to save whatever part of the harvest they could.
Yangyang was already there, digging troughs along the rows of withered corn. She worked quickly and methodically as always, her sharp voice cutting through the whistling of the dry leaves as she dragged the hoe through the lines of crops. ‘Hyah. Hyah. Hyah.’ Today he thought she sounded more like a heroine from an action movie than a banshee. She stopped when she spotted him, using her hand to shield her face from the sun.
‘Nice of you to show up.’ She threw her tools on the ground, taking care not to squash the plants.
Shaozhen smiled. Despite their more tender exchanges lately, her tongue still cracked like a whip. But, more and more, Shaozhen was realising her toughness was a front and inside she was concerned and caring. He held up his bucket as a peace offering.
Her harsh glower relaxed. ‘Did you visit Laobo?’
Shaozhen shook his head, then wiped the sweat from his brow. ‘They wouldn’t let me in. We should try later.’ He set down the bucket and surveyed the crops around him. He struggled to recall the information Nainai had tried to drill into him about farming. ‘I was thinking we should pull out the plants and check the roots. Get rid of the ones that are long dead, focus on the ones worth saving. We might even be able to water them.’
Yangyang snorted. ‘Oh, the big basketball star thinks he’s a farmer now.’
‘It’s a good idea and you know it.’ Shaozhen was rewarded with a sly smirk. He stooped over and dug around the roots of one of the plants with his fingers. He felt something snapping as he tried to wedge his hand under to extract the plant from the earth.
‘It’s not looking good,’ Yangyang said, peering over his shoulder at the scraggly tangle of skinny roots that he’d pulled out. She knelt down and pulled out another plant. It was just as sickly. They drew up plant after plant, their hopes cast aside with the growing pile of lifeless vegetation.
Shaozhen peered down at yet another snarl of parched roots, ready to cast it to the ground. But then something caught his eye. He squinted. ‘Wait! Look, this one’s still alive.’ He pulled out a single white strand and grinned in triumph.
Yangyang examined the plant. Sure enough, that one white root was thick and glossy, a healthy specimen among its ghastly neighbours. She nodded and Shaozhen caught the wisp of a smile.
‘It’s so tiny and delicate,’ Yangyang said. ‘Like the roots of chrysanthemums.’
Shaozhen snorted. ‘Wah, listen to the peasant girl trying to speak poetry.’
‘Hmmph.’ She twirled the end of her plait between her fingers. ‘I just like chrysanthemums. They’re sweet-smelling and can be used for tea.’
Shaozhen smiled and the pair went to work, pulling away the dead fibres to save that single root that tied the plant to life. ‘It’s not all bad. We find enough of these, then move them to a smaller patch and care for that. If we’re lucky, we might even save a quarter of the harvest.’ His spirits lifted and he felt better than he had in days. He flashed Yangyang a cocky grin. He was surprised that the two of them made a good team.
They were halfway up the field when they heard a strange whirring from the road. ‘What’s that?’ Yangyang stood up, using her hand to block the sun.
Shaozhen recognised the sound straightaway. An engine. But it was too weak and tinny to be a car or even the Secretary’s trike. The object approaching them was lumpy and small. As it came into view and he realised who it was, Shaozhen let out a whoop and a holler.
The little moped sounded more like a mosquito than one of the fancy Japanese Kawasakis in the movies, but to Shaozhen it made no difference.
‘The motorcycle! You fixed it!’
Chun pulled the moped to a stop beside them. ‘What do you think?’ he said with a grin.
Shaozhen could feel his lips pulling apart into the biggest smile. He trailed his hands over the handlebars and stooped down to peer at the engine. ‘Amazing!’ he said, not trying to hide his awe. ‘Can I drive it?’
Chun frowned. ‘I don’t know if that’s a good idea. I mean, it’s a bit finicky…’
Shaozhen was embarrassed he’d asked, realising just how much the bike would mean to his friend. It would be like giving away a prized possession. ‘Well, can you give me a ride then?’
Chun smiled and nodded. Yangyang scoffed loudly, but she was staring at the bike, her eyes wide and round. Shaozhen climbed onto the back of the bike and put his arms around the other boy’s waist. ‘Hang on tight.’
The bike took off. Shaozhen whooped again. It felt different to riding Xian’s trike when he had felt at first in fear for his life, and so worried for Nainai. They wouldn’t have been going any faster than ten or maybe fifteen kilometres per hour according to the little speedometer that Chun pointed out to him but he felt like they were racing the F1. He spread his arms out like wings, tilting his face to the sky. The sun beamed down on him while their movement through the air formed a cool breeze, pushing against his short-cropped hair.
A sudden, sharp turn made Shaozhen cry out in surprise and clutch at the seat behind him. Chun laughed, tilting the bike towards the dirt as he leant in. Shaozhen was amazed at how expertly Chun handled the machine, like he’d been riding motorcycles all his life, instead of just tinkering with the broken scrap heap that had only roared to life this morning.
Finally, Chun turned the bike around and they headed back to the fields. Chun idled the bike and let Shaozhen hop off.
‘What do you think?’ Chun asked.
Shaozhen couldn’t stop smiling. ‘That was incredible. I can’t believe you got it to work. You’re a genius!’
Chun shrugged and stared at the ground, trying to deflect his friend’s gushing praise.
Yangyang was working near the edge of the field, when Chun suddenly called, ‘Yangyang! Do you want a ride?’
She glanced behind her, as if looking for someone else, then turned back to Chun. ‘Me?’ Chun nodded and motioned for her to hop on. Shaozhen was amused that she had no spiteful words for them. After everything they’d been through with Nainai in the hospital and working side by side these past few days, they’d grown much closer. He would almost call her his friend.
Yangyang hurried over. She was taller than Chun, so she had to hunch down quite a bit as she awkwardly put her arms around the boy. When she was finally seated, Chun took off again.
All through her ride, Shaozhen could tell that Yangyang was laughing, her plait undone, her cheeks rosy and flushed and her eyes shining.
‘Thank you, Chun!’ Yangyang said as she climbed off the back of the bike. She beamed at Shaozhen. ‘Wow. That was so fun!’
Shaozhen was certain he had never heard Yangyang say the word fun before. She smiled again and, for a second, Shaozhen thought she might even pass for pretty but he quickly pushed that thought out of his head.