Autumn nights come early; just past 7 PM, the Hongqi Production Brigade was shrouded in a thick, inky darkness. Only a kerosene lamp remained lit in the Shen family's main room, its dim yellow light filtering through the windowpanes covered with old newspapers, casting a flickering silhouette on the courtyard's blue bricks, like a crumpled piece of gold leaf. A cool breeze, carrying the scent of withered grass, seeped through the window cracks, causing the lamp wick to crackle softly, and stirring the steaming corn porridge on the table, its white vapor swirling erratically.
Lin Wanqiu was sitting on the edge of the kang (a heated brick bed) sewing buttons onto Shen Nian'an's cotton-padded jacket. The silver thimble gleamed coldly at her fingertips, and the fine stitches followed the grain of the cotton fabric, each stitch showing meticulous care. Nian'an had already fallen asleep on her lap, her little face rubbing against her coarse cloth trousers, her breathing as even as a spring breeze blowing through a wheat field. There was still a bit of corn porridge residue on the corner of her mouth—it was from when she laughed out loud while drinking the porridge earlier. Ever since Shen Tingzhou "came back," the child's face had never stopped smiling, and even in her dreams at night, she would occasionally mumble, "Daddy, catch grasshoppers with me."
Shen Tingzhou sat on the wooden stool opposite, an unlit cigarette between his fingers, his gaze fixed on Lin Wanqiu's drooping eyelashes. Those eyelashes were long, casting faint shadows beneath her eyes, trembling gently with her sewing movements, like a still butterfly. His Adam's apple bobbed, and he stuffed the cigarette back into his pocket—the last time he smoked, Nian'an coughed twice, and Wanqiu said nothing, only silently opening the window; since then, he hadn't smoked indoors.
“Today the team was recording work points, and Accountant Wang said that starting next month, the cabbages we planted will count towards our sideline work points,” Lin Wanqiu suddenly spoke, her voice very soft so as not to wake the child in her arms. “After we harvest the cabbages, I’m thinking of pickling some sauerkraut and making some spicy cabbage to try at the commune market. Maybe we can exchange them for some cloth coupons. The cuffs of your blue cloth shirt are all worn out; you should get a new one.”
As she spoke, she sewed the last button, bit off the thread with her teeth, and gently touched Nian'an's hair. The child's hair was soft and had a milky scent, which warmed her heart like a cozy stove. She thought Shen Tingzhou would either say "I'll listen to you" or laugh and say "My shirt is still wearable," as usual, but after waiting for a long time, there was no sound from the other end.
Lin Wanqiu looked up and met Shen Tingzhou's gaze. His gaze was different from usual; it lacked its usual gentleness and instead held a gravity she had never seen before, like a frozen river surface concealing unseen undercurrents. Her heart skipped a beat, and she almost dropped the needle and thread from her hand onto the bed: "What's wrong? Is... there some progress in the investigation?"
These days, Shen Tingzhou would occasionally come home late, sometimes with a bit of mud or grass on him. She never asked any questions—she knew he had his own secrets, just like her own private space; pressing him would only make things difficult for each other if he didn't tell her the truth sooner rather than later. But right now, his gaze made her inexplicably uneasy, as if something important was about to happen.
Shen Tingzhou stood up, walked to the edge of the kang (a heated brick bed), and carefully picked Nian'an up from Lin Wanqiu's arms. The child was fast asleep; even when moved, he only frowned slightly, his little hands still unconsciously clutching the hem of Lin Wanqiu's clothes. He placed Nian'an on the kang in the inner room, covered him with a thin quilt, and gently tucked the corners of the quilt in, his movements as slow as if handling a rare treasure. When he returned to the main room, the light from the kerosene lamp fell directly on his face, and Lin Wanqiu saw the bloodshot eyes—it turned out that his late returns these past few days were not only for investigation, but also because he was carrying such a heavy burden on his mind.
“Late Autumn,” Shen Tingzhou sat down opposite her, his hands on his knees, his knuckles white from the pressure, “There’s something I’ve kept from you for a long time. Today… I should tell you.”
Lin Wanqiu tightened her grip on the needle and thread, the cotton thread leaving a red mark on her fingertips. She didn't speak, just quietly looked at him, waiting for him to continue. The only sounds in the air were the hissing of the lamp wick and the occasional barking of a dog outside the window, each sound like a hammer blow to her heart.
Shen Tingzhou took a deep breath, as if to inhale all the heaviness in his chest, and then slowly exhaled: "I didn't... come back from vacation. My 'sacrifice' back then was fake."
The word "fake" struck Lin Wanqiu's heart like two red-hot irons. Her eyes widened abruptly, the needle and thread in her hand falling to the floor with a clatter. The silver thimble rolled to the edge of the table, its crisp sound particularly jarring in the quiet night. Almost instinctively, she shook her head, her voice trembling without her even realizing it: "What did you say? Fake? How could that be… Back then, the commune cadres came to our house, they even brought a pension, and they even had a martyr's certificate…"
She remembered the day she first heard the news of his "sacrifice." The sky was so dark it felt like it was about to collapse. Old Mrs. Shen sat in the courtyard, wailing and lamenting, not because she had lost her son, but because "no one will send money home anymore." She held her two-year-old son, Nian'an, standing in the empty house, looking at the "Family of Honor" certificate on the wall, feeling dizzy and without the strength to go on living. Later, her in-laws tormented her, withholding her pension and making her work like a slave. She gritted her teeth and endured it all for Nian'an—she thought that even if her child lost his father, she would let him live a good life. But now, he said that "sacrifice" was fake?
Seeing her shocked expression, Shen Tingzhou felt a sharp pain in his heart, as if it were being cut by a knife. He reached out to take her hand, but she abruptly pulled away. Her eyes were filled with disbelief, and a hint of the unfamiliarity he feared most—the defensiveness that followed being deceived, like sharp thorns that could pierce him even through the air.
“The martyr certificate was arranged by the organization, as was the pension,” Shen Tingzhou’s voice was low and hoarse, every word carrying a heavy sense of guilt. “At the time, I was carrying out a secret mission, targeting a spy organization that was lurking on the border. In order to avoid exposing my identity and to protect you and your child, the organization decided to let me ‘sacrifice’ so that the enemy would not notice my family and I could complete my mission with peace of mind.”
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