take care of
The next morning, before dawn, Lin Xueyin woke with a sharp backache. The hard bed made her uncomfortable, and the thin quilt couldn't fully protect her from the chill of the northern autumn night. She was curled up, clinging to the warmth of the quilt, when a clear whistle and Zhao Jianguo's gruff voice rang out from the window: "Wake up! All educated youth, gather at the threshing ground in ten minutes!"
The dormitory was suddenly in a state of chaos. Liu Xiaoling quickly jumped out of bed and started dressing while urging the still-dazed Zhang Zhaodi to hurry. Wang Lina had already gone out with a basin of water. Only Lin Xueyin stared blankly at the dusty, coarse work clothes at the foot of the bed for a long moment before resignedly beginning to dress.
She buttoned her clothes clumsily, the rough touch of the fabric causing discomfort on her delicate skin. When she finally dressed properly, she couldn't comb her hair properly, and a few strands of hair hung playfully on her cheeks, which only made her look more pitiful.
As she hurriedly rushed out of the dormitory, she immediately saw Song Zhiyuan waiting under an old locust tree not far away. In the dim light of dawn, he stood tall and straight like a pine tree, holding two objects wrapped in oil paper in his hands.
"Here," seeing her coming over, Song Zhiyuan handed her an oil-paper bag. His voice was still calm, but with a hint of subtle concern, "Tortillas, eat on the way. Time is running out."
Lin Xueyin took it, and her fingertips accidentally touched his. The warm feeling made her heart skip a beat, and she whispered, "Thank you, Comrade Song."
"Let's go." Song Zhiyuan turned around and walked in front, but he deliberately slowed down his pace to make sure she could keep up.
A number of people and educated youth were already standing in the threshing ground. Zhao Jianguo, with a stern face, saw Song Zhiyuan and Lin Xueyin arrive one after another. His gaze lingered on Song Zhiyuan for a moment, and without saying anything, he began to assign tasks.
"Lin Xueyin, the new one," Zhao Jianguo looked at the list and then at her dazzlingly white hands. "You go to the threshing ground with Aunt Wang, the women's team leader, and be responsible for turning the grain. It's a lighter job."
A few faint chuckles echoed around them, especially from Li Hongmei, who unabashedly curled her lips. Lin Xueyin's cheeks flushed, and she lowered her head, following the dark-faced, stocky Aunt Wang. Song Zhiyuan, observing her slender figure, frowned slightly, while he himself was assigned to harvest beans on the further slope.
The threshing ground was a flat expanse of land, compacted by stone rollers, and covered in golden grain. Aunt Wang handed Lin Xueyin a wooden hoe and demonstrated: "Just like this, turn the grain at the bottom up to dry evenly. Be careful not to blow the grain outside."
It certainly didn't look difficult. Lin Xueyin imitated Aunt Wang, picked up the wooden hoe, and began turning the grain. It was fine at first, but within half an hour, the seemingly light hoe felt incredibly heavy. While autumn wasn't as scorching as midsummer, toiling bent over in the sun for long hours was pure torture for a young girl who had never experienced physical labor.
Sweat quickly soaked her temples, and her back was damp. Worst of all, waves of searing pain shot through her palms. She put down the wooden hoe and opened her hands, her heart suddenly chilled. Her once fair and tender palms were now covered in shiny blisters. One had already broken, oozing blood and sticking to the hoe handle, causing excruciating pain every time she moved.
The grievance instantly flooded her heart, and her eyes immediately turned red. She was the apple of her parents' eyes at home. She had never done any heavy work, not even washed dishes many times. How could she have suffered such hardship?
"Oh, girls from the city are so spoiled," a village woman who was also turning over the grain to dry nearby muttered loudly. "It's only been a short while, and your hands are already worn out? Look at us, who doesn't have calloused hands from working?"
"That's right. I heard her parents are officials. She has the airs of a young lady." Another woman echoed, her tone filled with obvious sourness and xenophobia.
These blunt comments pierced Lin Xueyin's heart like needles. She bit her lower lip, fighting back tears. She picked up the wooden hoe again and, despite the pain, continued to work, her movements becoming increasingly slow and clumsy. Aunt Wang glanced at her, sighed, and said nothing more.
After finally making it to the noon whistle, Lin Xueyin was practically exhausted. She followed the crowd to the commune cafeteria. Looking at the large pot of food before her—boiled cabbage with a few drops of oil floating in it, and the hard-looking mixed-wheat steamed bread—she lost all appetite.
She took her own portion but did not pick up her chopsticks. She walked silently to the corner of the cafeteria and sat down. She took out the biscuits and egg cakes prepared by her mother Su Yuzhen from her army green shoulder bag and began to eat them in small bites.
The sweet snacks temporarily soothed her bruised stomach and heart, but they also attracted more stares, both overt and covert. Li Hongmei's table was particularly criticized.
Returning to the threshing ground that afternoon, Lin Xueyin felt a wave of despair as she looked at the grain still largely unturned. The blisters on her palms grew more painful, her arms ached to the point of being unable to lift them, and her waist felt as if it were breaking. She mechanically swung the wooden hoe, her efficiency extremely low. At this rate, she wouldn't be finished by nightfall.
At this moment, a cold voice sounded behind her: "You go and rest under the shade of the tree, I'll come."
Lin Xueyin turned around in surprise, only to see Song Zhiyuan standing behind her. Beads of sweat still clung to his forehead, and the shoulders of his blue work shirt were soaked. He had obviously just finished his work and rushed over.
"Comrade Song? This...how can this be..." Lin Xueyin waved her hands in panic. She didn't want to be gossiped about anymore.
"It's okay, I'm quick." Song Zhiyuan took the wooden hoe from her hand without hesitation. When he touched her worn palm, he paused and his eyes darkened. "Don't force yourself if your hand is broken."
His tone was filled with an unquestionable determination. Lin Xueyin looked at the concern that flashed across his deep eyes, her nose sore, and she almost cried again.
Song Zhiyuan said no more, picking up the wooden hoe and setting to work. His movements were deft and powerful, the hoe seeming to come alive in his hands. With each shovel and flick, the golden grains were evenly turned, his efficiency countless times faster than Lin Xueyin's. The sun fell on his focused profile, and beads of sweat trickled down his angular jawline, creating a powerful beauty.
Lin Xueyin obediently walked over to the old locust tree nearby and sat down. Watching Song Zhiyuan busying himself for her, she felt a mixture of emotions: gratitude, grievance, shyness, and an indescribable sense of security.
Just as he said, in less than noon, he had turned over and dried the remaining millet and put it away neatly.
Song Zhiyuan put away the tools, walked to the shade of the tree, took out a small paper bag from his trouser pocket and handed it to Lin Xueyin: "A clean cloth and a little lard. Apply it to the blisters at night. It will heal faster."
Lin Xueyin took the small paper package that still carried his body temperature in a daze, raised her head, tears welling up in her eyes: "Comrade Song, thank you... Thank you so much..."
Seeing her, so pitiful and almost tearful, Song Zhiyuan felt a gentle nudge in his heart. He looked away, his tone still calm, but much slower: "It's been like this since you first arrived. You'll get used to it. From now on...if you have any difficulties, just speak up."
After saying that, he turned and left the threshing ground, his back as straight as before, as if the person who had helped others work for a whole afternoon was not him.
Lin Xueyin clutched the small paper bag tightly, staring at the direction he was leaving, and remained motionless for a long time. In this unfamiliar place where she had no relatives, Song Zhiyuan's silent concern was like a warm current that quietly poured into her cold and uneasy heart.
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