When the geese return
After Chen Bozhou left, Linya Village seemed to have lost some of its vitality.
The summer is still hot and the cicadas are still noisy, but the energy that was filled by the two young men working side by side has quietly subsided.
Yunwu's life seemed to have been fast-forwarded, or as if he had been encased in a heavy, silent shell. He operated in an almost mechanical, self-defeating manner.
He got up before dawn, took care of his grandmother's daily life and medicine, then carried the farm tools left by Chen Bozhou and walked silently towards the large medicinal field that he now had to take care of alone.
Weeding, fertilizing, watering, pest control...all the work that was once shared by two people now falls on his thin shoulders.
Sweat soaked his moon-white new clothes, which were made for him by Chen Bozhou with the cloth he insisted on wearing. But now he only wore them when he was working, as if he could feel the lingering warmth and breath of that person by wearing them.
His movements were still meticulous, even more focused than before, as if only by completely immersing himself in these trivial and arduous tasks could he temporarily numb his heart, which was constantly tightened by longing and worry.
In addition to the medicine fields, he also quietly took over some of the Shen family's work.
Today he would help fill the Shen family's water jars, tomorrow he would neatly place the chopped firewood in the corner of the Shen family's courtyard, and the day after that he would check whether the ditches in the Shen family's fields were clear. He did this quietly, never taking credit for it, and tried to avoid seeing the Shen family, especially Village Chief Shen, who still had mixed feelings about him.
Mother Shen saw all of this. At first she was surprised, and then she was touched with a complex and indescribable feeling.
She watched the thin boy silently carrying the burden that did not belong to him, looked at his cheeks red and peeling from the scorching sun and his palms with thick calluses, and the sadness in her heart caused by her son's departure was gradually replaced by a mixture of heartache and gratitude.
She began to quietly bring him a bowl of dried mung bean soup when the fog came, or put a few still warm eggs in his basket when he left.
One day, during a busy break, Yunwu squatted under the window to check on the evening primrose seedlings.
They had grown considerably taller, their slender vines beginning to extend tentacles, searching for support to cling to. The thin bamboos that Chen Bozhou had cut were still neatly stacked against the wall, waiting for their owner to return and personally build a framework for their growth.
Yunwu stretched out his finger and touched the tender leaves very lightly. The cold touch made his fingertips tremble slightly.
He remembered the joy on Chen Bozhou's face when he talked about setting up the scaffolding, and he remembered his description of his longing to watch the stars side by side when the flowers bloomed... A familiar, subtle pain came from his heart.
He returned to the house, and by the light of the oil lamp, he spread out the rough paper and ground the ink.
The tip of the pen hovered over the paper, unable to fall for a long time. Thousands of words were stuck in my chest, but I didn't know where to start.
Finally, he lowered his eyelashes and wrote carefully, stroke by stroke:
"My friend Mooring the boat: Seeing your letter is like seeing you in person.
The medicinal fields are in good condition, and the seedlings in the newly reclaimed land are growing very well.
Grandma is fine, eating as usual, don't worry.
I am fine too.
Just waiting for you to come back."
There was no mention of the hardships of labor, no recounting of the bitterness of longing, and no trace of fear or anxiety. There was only the most plain report of safety and the most restrained waiting.
He contained all the turbulence within these few short, neat, and calm lines. After writing, he carefully dried the ink, folded it, put it in an envelope, and entrusted it to a caravan that would soon be heading to the county and potentially deliver the letter to the border.
He knew the hope was slim, but this was the only way he could maintain contact with the person far away.
After the letter was sent, the days of waiting seemed longer and longer. Every time the caravan returned, he would subconsciously look back the way they had come. Every disappointment deepened the shadow in his heart.
Until one autumn evening when the air was getting cooler, the only literate teacher in the village came to the Yun family courtyard in person, leaning on a cane, and handed a letter with worn edges and a smell of dust to Yunwu.
"That kid Bozhou brought it back," Mr. Shu sighed as he looked at his eyes, which lit up instantly and then forced themselves to remain calm. "It took a lot of effort to get it."
Yunwu almost held his breath as he took the letter with trembling fingertips. The envelope was written in his familiar, slightly sloppy but powerful handwriting.
He thanked the teacher, quickly returned to his room, closed the door, leaned his back against the door panel, and then carefully opened it.
The letter paper was very thin, and the handwriting was more sloppy than ever before, even with a hint of haste and fatigue, as if it was hastily written in the dim light of a fire during a break in battle.
The content is also very brief, mostly reporting safety, briefly describing the hardships of the march, and urging his family and Yunwu to take care of their health. The man's tenacity and restraint are revealed between the lines.
However, at the very end of the letter, after all the instructions, a new line, written in an even darker ink stroke, almost penetrating the paper, contained a sentence that was completely different from the previous one, a sentence so blunt and almost scalding:
"Wait until I come back and marry you."
There was no detour, no tentativeness, not even any embellishment. Just these six words, like thunder, exploded in the misty and silent lake of my heart.
His pupils suddenly contracted, and the hand holding the letter began to tremble violently, causing the paper to rustle.
A huge torrent of shock, embarrassment, sadness and uncontrollable ecstasy instantly washed away all the calmness he had pretended to maintain for days.
Tears burst out without warning, rolling down his pale cheeks, one drop, two drops, hitting the letter paper, blurring the thick black ink and burning his fingertips.
He suddenly raised his hand to cover his mouth to stop the sob that was about to burst out. His body slowly slid down the door panel and finally curled up on the cold ground, pressing the thin piece of letter tightly against his heart, as if it was the most precious treasure in the world and all his courage and hope to live.
Outside the window, the autumn wind blew, stirring the withered leaves. Inside the house, the thin figure trembled in silent tears, but in his heart, the most straightforward promise made thousands of miles away rekindled a blazing fire of hope that was strong enough to withstand any cold.
He read the letter over and over again until the outline of every word was deeply engraved in his mind. Then he put it away with great care and placed it together with the bag of evening primrose seeds that Shen Bozhou had given him.
Since then, the wait no longer seemed so difficult. He continued to work hard every day, silently caring for his two elders and tending to the medicinal fields.
But when looking into the distance, in those quiet eyes, in addition to worry, there is a firm, glimmering expectation.
He knew that there was someone in a distant place where war was raging, who had promised to spend the rest of his life with him.
The only thing he has to do is to make everything "fine" here, and then use all his strength and luck to wait for the person who fulfilled his promise to return safely.
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