The morning mist hadn't yet dissipated when the creaking of a wheelbarrow echoed along the dirt road of the Hongqi Production Brigade. Lin Wanqiu pushed the cart towards the commune, its contents—freshly made tofu covered with a coarse cloth—and the faint aroma of soybeans wafted through the air. She had deliberately left half an hour earlier than usual, her mind still clouded by the lingering doubts of the previous night—Shen Tingzhou's sudden appearance and his parting words, "Wait until the time is right," like a fine thorn pricking her heart.
As Lin Wanqiu reached the old locust tree at the village entrance, she saw an unfamiliar figure leaning against the trunk. The man was wearing a gray Zhongshan suit, the cuffs worn slightly white, and he held an unlit cigarette between his fingers. His gaze was fixed on the distant field ridges, as if he were waiting for someone. Lin Wanqiu's heart skipped a beat, and she subconsciously slowed her pace—few outsiders had come to the village these past few days; who was this person?
"Comrade, may I ask how to get to the commune?" The stranger turned around when he heard footsteps. He was about thirty years old, with a somewhat travel-worn face, but bright eyes, and spoke with a barely perceptible accent from another region.
Lin Wanqiu stopped and pointed to the road ahead: "Just follow this road, and you'll get there after two dirt slopes." As she answered, she secretly observed the man—his Zhongshan suit, though old, was very clean, and his trouser legs were free of mud, so he didn't seem like someone who came to the countryside to work; his fingers were long and slender, with distinct knuckles, and there were no calluses from years of labor, making him seem like someone who often held a pen.
"Thank you, comrade." The man smiled and nodded, his gaze falling on Lin Wanqiu's wheelbarrow. "Are you going to the commune to sell tofu? It smells delicious."
“Yes, it’s homemade, I’m exchanging it for some food coupons,” Lin Wanqiu replied, but she became even more wary. This man’s seemingly casual remark had precisely targeted her livelihood, suggesting it wasn’t just a chance encounter. She suddenly remembered Shen Tingzhou’s words from last night, “Uncle Wang is my old comrade-in-arms.” Could this man be related to Uncle Wang? Or perhaps, to Shen Tingzhou’s mission?
"Making tofu isn't easy these days, right? It must be hard to buy soybeans, isn't it?" the man asked again, his tone still casual, as if he were chatting with someone.
Lin Wanqiu's heart skipped a beat—beans were indeed a scarce resource, and she had taken them all from her spatial storage, only telling others that she had asked relatives in the city to help her get them. Was this person specifically asking about beans a test?
“Yes, it took a lot of connections to get some,” Lin Wanqiu replied calmly. “Comrade, you’re from the city, right? You don’t look like someone from around here.” She turned the tables on the man, wanting to see how he would respond.
The man smiled but didn't answer directly. Instead, he changed the subject: "I'm here to visit relatives. My relative lives at the east end of the village; his name is Uncle Wang. Do you know him?"
So it really is related to Grandpa Wang! Lin Wanqiu's doubts deepened. She remained expressionless and said naturally, "I know him. Grandpa Wang is a very good person; he often helps people in the village. Are you a distant relative of his?"
"I guess so. It's been years since I've seen him, so I came to visit." The man answered vaguely, glancing at Lin Wanqiu's wheelbarrow. "If you can't sell all your tofu, could you save a piece for me? I'd like to take it back for Grandpa Wang to try."
Lin Wanqiu hesitated for a moment, then picked up a piece of tofu wrapped in oil paper from the car and handed it to him: "It's nothing, you can take it." She wanted to see what this man would do after getting the tofu, and whether she could get more information out of him.
"Thank you very much, comrade. How much is it? I'll pay you." The man quickly took the tofu and pulled out a few small bills from his pocket.
"No need, it's just a small token of my appreciation." Lin Wanqiu waved her hand. "You're a relative of Uncle Wang, which means you're an acquaintance of mine. There's no need to be so polite." She deliberately mentioned "acquaintance" to try and build rapport and make it easier to test the waters later.
The man didn't insist, took the money back, and said with a smile, "Then I won't be polite. By the way, what's your surname, comrade? Maybe we'll meet again someday."
“My surname is Lin,” Lin Wanqiu replied. “And you? What’s your name?”
"My surname is Zhao, you can just call me Lao Zhao." The man answered readily, but did not give his full name, clearly indicating that he was holding back.
Lin Wanqiu looked at Old Zhao, pondering to herself—since he was Old Wang's "relative," he must know something. Perhaps she could take this opportunity to ask him about Shen Tingzhou and see if she could get any clues out of him.
"Comrade Zhao, are you very familiar with Grandpa Wang?" Lin Wanqiu asked casually. "I heard that Grandpa Wang used to be a soldier, is that true?"
Old Zhao nodded, his tone tinged with admiration: "Yes, Grandpa Wang used to be a soldier and he was commended. But he rarely talks about his past with anyone." When he mentioned "soldier," a complex emotion flashed in his eyes, so fleeting it was almost imperceptible.
"Do you know any of Grandpa Wang's former comrades-in-arms?" Lin Wanqiu pressed. "I heard that Grandpa Wang had a comrade-in-arms who used to be from our village, but he was killed in action. His name was Shen Tingzhou. Do you know him?" She stared intently at Old Zhao's face, afraid of missing any of his expressions.
When Old Zhao heard the name "Shen Tingzhou," his eyes flickered almost imperceptibly before he regained his composure and said naturally, "Shen Tingzhou? Never heard of that name. He might be an old comrade-in-arms of Grandpa Wang. I've never talked to him about these things." His answer was flawless, revealing no weakness whatsoever.
Lin Wanqiu felt somewhat disappointed, but she didn't give up. She continued, "Shen Tingzhou was a hero in our village. It's been almost a year since he sacrificed his life. His wife has been raising the child alone, and it hasn't been easy for her. Many people in the village have been helping them." As she spoke, she observed Old Zhao's reaction, wanting to see if he would show any different behavior.
Old Zhao nodded, his tone tinged with sympathy: "Yes, military families have it tough. If there's anything I can do to help in the future, I will do my best." His words were appropriate, without any unnecessary information, leaving no room for criticism.
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