Chapter 14: The Ancestral Tomb Is Ablaze

Liu Fuqing hurriedly held the letter up in the air, reading it with increasing furrows on his brow. In his youth, he had managed to sneak some lessons at the Han family’s private school, and later, when the army brought them along to suppress bandits, he had attended literacy classes in the military, so he could recognize a few characters.

He understood every word on the letter, and the final “For Liu Yimin” was especially clear. He scratched his head hard and looked at Li Lanyong. “What on earth is going on here?”

“Uncle, you’re asking me? I was about to ask you! Yimin really keeps his mouth shut—he didn’t tell anyone. Now that I think about it, it must have been during the wheat harvest that he went to the commune and mailed out his article.”

Li Lanyong grabbed a water flask from someone nearby and gulped down several mouthfuls. He wiped the water from his mouth with his arm and grinned as he spoke.

“Captain, Lanyong, what does ‘writer’ mean?”

By now, the entire third team had surrounded the two of them, all chattering at once, debating what exactly a writer was.

“A writer is someone who writes things, and their work gets published in magazines, newspapers, even textbooks. Who knows, maybe one day Yimin’s books will be printed in textbooks for children to study from.”

Liu Fuqing tugged at Li Lanyong and said, “Don’t talk so big just yet. What if it’s not true? We’d be so embarrassed.”

Yet, despite his words, Liu Fuqing’s grin nearly reached the sky.

“I always said our Yimin would make something of himself—if he couldn’t be a teacher, he’d do something else.” Yang Xiuyun said proudly, taking the envelope from Liu Fuqing and turning it over and over in her hands.

She couldn’t read, but the envelope just looked pleasing to her.

“The captain’s second son is doing well. When I get home, I’ll have to tell my boy to study hard and learn from Yimin,” one of the members said enviously.

The word “writer” stunned everyone in the third team. They might not have fully grasped what a writer was, but they certainly knew about newspapers and textbooks from what Li Lanyong said.

Magazines, though, were unfamiliar. The brigade office had newspapers, but had never subscribed to magazines.

Everyone realized that the captain’s second son was about to soar—no longer just the brigade teacher about to lose his job, no longer the young man working the fields, harvesting wheat and picking corn alongside them.

It was simply astonishing—who would have thought that a writer, that foreign-sounding thing, could grow from the soil where people lived at the mercy of the heavens!

“Captain, can you open the letter so we can see what’s inside?”

“No, Yimin has to open it himself. If he doesn’t, no one can look.” Liu Fuqing said hastily.

He then sat down at the edge of the field, lighting his pipe with joy and silly laughter. His eyes drifted to the distant ridge, where several earthen mounds stood, with three trees growing behind them—so prominent on the barren ridge.

“Hey, Captain, what are you looking at?”

“The captain’s looking at the Liu family’s ancestral graves. Our Liu family’s ancestral graves are smoking!” said one of the Liu clan.

“Let me see—really, there’s smoke coming out, and it’s rising so high,” another member joked.

Liu Fuqing took a contented puff and said nothing, thinking to himself, “This is more than just a wisp of smoke—our Liu family’s ancestral graves are on fire!”

Soon, the news spread along the ridge and through Li Lanyong’s mouth to the second team. They too were astonished, dropping their hoes and wanting to come over to the third team to see what was happening.

But Li Dashan chased them back with curses, and after sending the members off, dragged Li Lanyong toward the third team, eager to see what this “writer” business was about.

On the way, Li Dashan asked the head of the Poverty Relief Committee, Li Youtian, “Youtian, is becoming a writer in line with the current policies?”

“It is, why wouldn’t it be? Writers have a much higher status now. I heard you can even get paid for it!” Li Youtian replied excitedly, shuffling along in his ever-loose shoes.

“That’s good. Old Liu can finally breathe easy. You don’t know—since the village middle school was going to be shut down, I always felt guilty toward Old Liu. I’ve watched Yimin grow up since he was a child—he’s not like us country folk, more bookish, just right for this kind of work.”

Li Dashan spoke as he ran, but Li Lanyong, already winded from running several laps, lagged far behind, laughing all the while.

A good brother was finally getting his chance to shine!

The first team was working on the hillside and could hear the cheers from the second and third teams. They strained their ears, restless with curiosity, until Han Shaomin, the first team’s captain, finally threw down his hoe and ran over to the third team to find out what was going on.

He most feared that the commune had issued some new directive targeting families like the Hans, who had poor social standing. Though such things had become rare in recent years, the memories still haunted him.

If only he could find out sooner, he’d be better prepared.

The letter passed from hand to hand, the red seal nearly blurred by sweat and the dirt on their hands. Each time it returned to Yang Xiuyun, she’d carefully wipe it clean.

Amid their heavy farm work, aside from the labor at night, this was the only thing that could bring the whole production team a moment of true happiness. Though their clothes were patched in all shapes and places, and their faces dirty, everyone wore bright smiles.

“When it comes to education, our third team is still the best!”

Li Dashan checked the time and waved his arms at the crowd. “It may still be early, but for our Maiji Brigade, it’s a day worth celebrating. So, I order the whole production brigade to stop work early, go home, clean yourselves up, and tonight we’ll watch movies in the threshing yard.

Let me tell you, tonight’s films are ‘Landmine Warfare’ and ‘Chaoyanggou’—both great films and plays. Clean yourselves up; don’t go to the movies covered in dust and make our Maiji Brigade look bad.”

Although it was the Maiji Brigade showing the films, people from neighboring brigades and even the commune would come to watch. Seeing a movie in the countryside was a rare treat, and with nothing else to do at night, people were eager to join the fun, climbing over several ridges without complaint.

Meanwhile, Liu Yimin was pedaling his bicycle hard toward the brigade, unaware that the letter from the editorial office had already spread throughout the production brigade.

He had to stop now and then to wipe his sweat; it was all uphill, and after riding a while, he’d have to push his bike. The roadsides were barren, with few trees. There used to be more, but they’d all been cut down.

As he approached the village entrance, he saw a dense crowd gathered there. Although Li Dashan had told everyone to go home and freshen up, most had followed Liu Fuqing to wait for Liu Yimin at the entrance.

Li Lanyong, perched in a locust tree by the entrance, was the first to spot him. From up in the tree, he shouted, “Look, look! Yimin’s back, Yimin’s back!”