Chapter 42: The key shines, the torch is passed on forever
# Chapter 42: The key shines, the torch is passed on forever
Three years later, in late autumn, Qingxi Village's old variety base welcomed its bustling harvest season. The branches of the old pear tree were laden with double-kernel walnuts, their greenish-brown shells glistening with gloss. "Star-patterned" tomato vines climbed high along the bamboo trellises, their star-shaped fruits stacked in layers. The pale yellow veins on the leaf margins shone like gold in the sun. Most captivating was the tomato seedling Xiaochen had planted that year. It had now grown to half a man's height, a dozen or so bright red fruits hanging from its branches. The veins on its leaves were clearer than ever, as if hiding countless stories.
Lin Xiaoman stood in the exhibition hall of the science museum, his fingertips running across the map of the "Old Variety Ecological Corridor" on the wall - from the saline-alkali land in Ningxia in the northwest to the heavy metal pollution area in Zhejiang in the southeast, ten green veins spread out on the land of China, with densely packed red dots marked "successful pilot", and handwritten feedback from farmers attached next to them: "After planting tomatoes, the soil in the field became loose, and even the corn grew better than in previous years", "The walnut trees solidified the soil on the slope, and there is no more landslide on rainy days."
The exhibition hall was packed with visitors, including Chinese farmers seeking to learn and a number of international ecologists. Davis, a scholar from Country A who had previously questioned the suitability of the old varieties for Qingxi, was now crouching before a glass display case, concentrating on a replica of his grandfather's "planting log," occasionally snapping photos with his phone of the annotations, "Pine needle and wormwood juice improves the soil," muttering, "It turns out ecological balance is the key. We were too eager for results before."
"Teacher Lin, this is the latest soil report from the Northwest pilot project." The young researcher handed over a tablet. The data on the screen was particularly impressive: salinity had dropped 62% compared to three years ago, and organic matter content had increased 40%. "The herders say that after the old breeds took root, desertification on the grassland edges has stopped, and even the grass is more lush than before."
Lin Xiaoman smiled and nodded, his eyes drifting to Xiaochen in the crowd. The six-year-old wore a light blue jacket, a miniature Ecological Protection Bureau badge pinned to his chest—the same design as his grandfather's, specially reproduced by Chen Wang. He was holding a picture book version of "Stories of Qingxi's Old Varieties" and telling a few foreign children, "This is my great-grandfather. He planted old varieties his whole life. He believed in cultivating friendship with the land and not forcing seedlings to grow too fast."
"Will Miaomiao be your friend?" asked the little blonde girl, pointing at the tomato seedlings in the picture book.
Xiaochen immediately puffed out his chest, pulled her over to the display case, and pointed at the tomato leaf specimen inside. "Yes! I water it and tell it stories every day, and it grows exceptionally well. The patterns on the leaves even change—look, doesn't this yellow pattern look like a little sun? It grew on the day I told it to 'keep working hard!'"
At that moment, Chen Wang hurried over, a document in hand, his eyes filled with excitement. "Xiaoman, good news! Our independently developed testing instrument for cultivating old varieties has passed international certification. It's even more accurate than imported ones. The EU just sent us a purchase request, and they've even lifted restrictions on previously banned reagents!" He paused, then added, "One more thing—Country A's previous research on 'soil regulation technology' completely failed because they didn't understand the symbiotic principles of organic acids in the roots of old varieties. Their ecological envoy just emailed us, hoping to restart academic exchanges and said they'd send a team to Qingxi to study."
These words were like a pebble dropped into a tranquil lake, instantly bringing the villagers to life in the exhibition hall. Uncle Li, fresh from the fields, his trouser legs still stained with mud, clapped his hands in laughter. "You told me we could do this! They blocked our equipment back then, and now they're begging to learn and buy!" Aunt Wang joined in, holding a freshly made "Old Variety Leaf Vein Bookmark" printed with tomato leaf patterns. "Just now, a foreign customer asked if I could sell this. He wanted to take it back as a souvenir. Our cultural and creative products can now go abroad!"
In the evening, a helicopter from the Ecological Protection Bureau landed in an open field beside the base. Major Su stepped down, holding a gold-stamped certificate with the words "National Ecological Treasure" emblazoned on the cover. "This is the title bestowed upon Qingxi's old breed by the CPC. We've also invited you to deliver the keynote address at next month's United Nations Ecological Conference, promoting the 'balanced cultivation method for old breeds'—letting the world witness China's ecological wisdom."
She looked at Chen Wang and Lin Xiaoman, her tone full of admiration: "You are not only protecting the 'ecological key' of the old varieties, but also the original intention of 'non-plundering, common balance'. Now more and more countries understand that ecological protection is not a technological monopoly, but a matter of mutual learning. This is the responsibility of a major country."
On the day of the United Nations Ecological Conference, Qingxi Village's traditional variety base became the focus of a global live broadcast. In the footage, Chen Wang squatted on the edge of a field, gently parting the soil around the roots of tomatoes, demonstrating the symbiotic relationship between the roots and soil microorganisms. Lin Xiaoman, holding her grandfather's diary, recounted the ancient wisdom of "morning dew watering the roots, evening breeze blowing the leaves" to the camera: "Old varieties aren't 'miracle crops'; they simply understand the land better—if you treat the land well, the land will give you back."
After the livestream, over 20 countries sent in applications for collaboration, hoping to import traditional varieties for ecological restoration. Chen Wang and Lin Xiaoman didn't rush into it. Instead, based on their grandfather's theory of ecological balance, they established strict cooperation criteria: local soil testing for at least six months was required to ensure that planting traditional varieties would not damage the original ecology; any research aimed at military or commercial monopoly purposes was prohibited; and during the collaboration period, ecological data must be shared and cultivation techniques must be jointly refined.
"My great-grandfather didn't hide his technology back then, not because he was afraid it might be stolen, but because he knew good ecological technology should be used to help more people." Lin Xiaoman touched the red ribbon on the old pear tree, embroidered with the names of those who have participated in its protection over the years—villagers, researchers, members of the Ecological Protection Bureau, and farmers participating in pilot projects far away. "Now we've finally made it, letting the 'key' to this old variety shine where it should."
Chen Wang held her hand tightly, the silver ring on his fingertip touching the pear wood ring on her palm, warm. "This is the true meaning of 'Eco-Key'—not hiding things, but understanding balance and sharing; not relying on technological monopoly, but on unity of people and a close connection to the land."
That night, Qingxi Village held a bonfire party. Villagers sang around the bonfire, holding small lanterns made from tomato and walnut shells. The flames warmed everyone's face. Major Su joined in singing old Qingxi folk songs. Uncle Li played his homemade bamboo zither, and Aunt Wang distributed freshly brewed walnut candy to everyone. Researchers from distant pilot projects sent videos showing walnut orchards in Ningxia and tomato fields in Zhejiang. Farmers held up their fruits and shouted, "Thank you, Qingxi! Thank you for the old varieties!"
Xiaochen lay in Chen Wang's arms, pointing at the stars in the sky, and whispered, "Dad, the stars and Miaomiao's light are connected together, like a sparkling necklace."
Chen Wang looked up. In the night, the shimmering light of the old varieties intertwined with the starlight, truly like a gentle necklace, circling Qingxi Village. He pulled out his phone and edited the last of his "Orchard Diary," a letter to all those who protect the old varieties:
"From the time my grandfather planted the first old pear tree to the time we guarded our fields against wind and rain; from the small orchard in Qingxi Village to the ecological corridor that spans the vast land of China. What we guard is never a 'secret' but the heart of the land - it bears fruit, and we protect its vitality. What we pass on is never 'technology' but the original aspiration of generations - to coexist with nature, without greed, predatory behavior, or haste.
Today, the key to this ancient variety has finally been revealed, shining in the saline-alkali lands of the northwest, in the polluted areas of the southeast, and before the eyes of the world. It tells us all: the greatest ecological wisdom is balance; the best legacy is sharing the sweetness of the land with more people.
In the future, more people will take up this guardianship, and more old varieties will take root in the land. And this old pear tree in Qingxi will always be here, witnessing every harvest, listening to the stories of each generation, accompanying us and spreading this sweetness further and longer.
In the photo, a family of three holds hands by a bonfire, the branches of an old pear tree stretching out behind them, the veins on its leaves reflecting the firelight, as if smiling. The night breeze blows through the backyard, carrying the fragrance of walnuts, the sweetness of tomatoes, and the rustling of old pear leaves, quietly telling a story: This story, which began with the land and ends with inheritance, will never end.
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