【072】An Unexpected Incident

Fang Lujun soon returned from the fields, his basket heaped with cucumbers, string beans, tomatoes, eggplants, and green peppers, with several ears of corn arranged neatly on top. In his other hand, he carried a large bundle of freshly pulled peanut plants, the roots still clinging with earth and studded with plump peanuts.

Fang Chang’an, somewhat exasperated, said, “Dad, I just wanted to bring a little something as a token of gratitude, not to deliver an entire harvest.”

“Take more, it’s fine,” Fang Lujun replied, setting down both the basket and the peanut plants with unhurried composure. “Whose are all these from?” he asked.

Their family had only just planted corn after pulling out the melon vines, so it hadn’t even tasseled yet. The same went for the peanuts.

“The corn’s from Uncle Min, and the peanuts are from Fourth Grandpa. Only those two families planted early,” Fang Lujun explained.

Fang Chang’an found a bag and, selecting from his father’s pile, took a handful of string beans, a few cucumbers, some tomatoes and green peppers, and two ears of corn.

Both Fang Lujun and Congrong picked more peanuts, urging, “Take a little more.”

“There’s no need. The rest you can eat at home. Teacher Cheng’s family is just two people, and they may not even like these.”

First, Fang Chang’an stopped by Fang Dianqiu’s house. She too had just finished eating—the smell of steamed buns lingered. He snagged one for himself and munched as he watched Fang Dianqiu phone Fang Ying.

Fang Ying was reluctant to leave so early. After hesitating, Fang Dianqiu ultimately let the television drama win out over Fang Chang’an’s persuasion, deciding they’d return to school together a bit later.

“You two girls, be careful on the road,” Fang Chang’an reminded.

“Tsk, you might not even be a match for the two of us,” Fang Dianqiu retorted, rolling her eyes at his concern.

Chang’an laughed, “If you run into trouble, just mention my name—maybe it’ll help.”

Fang Dianqiu only scoffed further.

When Fang Chang’an returned home, his parents had already shelled the peanuts, soaking them in a basin of water, washing them with a brisk splash, then scooping them into a plastic bag.

He pulled out the family’s old bicycle—the “big frame,” as they called it. A crossbar ran along the front, and as a child, he often sat perched there, carried to relatives’ houses by his parents. In later years, such old-fashioned bicycles became rare sights.

He placed the peanuts and corn in the front basket, tied his backpack and vegetables to the rear rack, and, after making sure everything was secure, wheeled the bicycle out of the yard. Fang Lujun trailed behind, reminding him, “Take it slow on the road.”

“Alright.”

Fang Changming and Fang Yanran also came out, their faces full of reluctance to see their brother go. Changming, unable to hide his sadness, called out, “Big brother, when you come back next week, bring us something tasty again!”

“Mm-hmm!” Yanran nodded vigorously beside him.

“All you think about is eating. When I come back next week, I’ll check your homework and quiz you. If you haven’t studied well, no treats for you.”

In his previous life, Yanran’s grades were decent, but Changming had dropped out before finishing middle school to work. In this life, Chang’an was determined not to let his younger siblings follow the same path; he would fulfill his duty as their elder brother.

Waving farewell to his family, he mounted his bicycle and left the village. It had been a long time since he’d ridden the old “big frame,” and at first, it felt unfamiliar, but he quickly found his rhythm. His parents had just oiled the wheels and chain, so the ride was smooth.

Between the back of the village and the fields by the Yellow River stretched a grove of poplars. According to Chang’an’s memory, next year those fields would also be planted with trees as part of the national North China Shelterbelt strategy. Subsidies would be given per acre, but the trees would remain privately owned, and in a few years they could be sold for cash.

Even without trees yet in the riverside fields, the countryside in 2003 was still pristinely beautiful: lush greenery, fields stretching to the horizon, the river’s water gradually clearing as levels dropped, and reeds growing thick along the banks.

Crossing the bridge, Chang’an saw several water birds flapping their wings, darting and hopping among the reeds.

It was a scene almost unimaginable in the littered, polluted future.

Yet, to be honest, if given a choice, Chang’an would still prefer the polluted world of the future. Because in that time, he drove a sedan instead of braving wind, rain, and snow on a bicycle to get to school; his family lived in a new house, everyone had their own room, not squeezed three to half a living room; when Changming was hungry, a meal delivery would arrive in half an hour, and Yanran could order snacks online anytime, cuddling the cat and munching to her heart’s content, instead of waiting for her brother to bring home a few packs of spicy sticks on the weekend. His mother might often complain about them not getting married yet, or grumble about some skincare product or a phone feature she couldn’t find, but at least she no longer had to worry every day about a few yuan for daily necessities...

If only development could proceed while protecting the environment, that would be ideal—but reality, both at home and abroad, rarely allows for such choices.

First, one must solve the problem of basic livelihood before having the luxury to pursue environmental protection.

In Chang’an’s eyes, the untouched beauty before him rivaled or surpassed many famous scenic spots he’d visited later in life. Yet, for the villagers who passed by every day, how many truly felt happiness or contentment?

Chang’an stopped his bike at the edge of the Hebei fields and plucked a few wild grasses whose names he didn’t know from the roadside. He wove them into a grasshopper.

He’d learned this trick in college, when money was tight and he wanted to impress girls. The first time, he’d struggled to weave a little pouch, but it was useless; the girl ended up with someone who gave her an LV bag. He had plenty of tricks, though, and when one didn’t work, he’d try another. Later, he switched to weaving little grasshoppers and such—quicker, easier, and surprisingly more effective. This little craft had helped him earn quite a few admiring glances.

Examining his handiwork, he found it not particularly exquisite but unique enough. He tucked it carefully into the bag in his front basket, mounted his bicycle, and pedaled away, reflecting and somewhat disdaining the old, feckless version of himself.

After cycling to and from his grandmother’s house yesterday, his legs still ached a bit, so he didn’t push himself. Aside from a rough stretch at the Ma family’s stream, the main road was smooth enough.

While Chang’an was on the road, he was unaware that only minutes after he’d left, the telephone at Fang Dianqiu’s house began to ring.

Dianqiu thought it might be Fang Ying, but when she answered, a sweet, youthful voice asked, “Hello, are you Fang Chang’an’s neighbor?”

She froze for a second before realizing it must be the person Chang’an had just called about. Though nosy with Chang’an himself, she felt a bit shy answering a stranger’s call. “Yes, I am. Do you need something from him?”

“Could you please tell Fang Chang’an that my aunt—no, I mean, Teacher Cheng—is in the city right now and probably won’t be back until after four?”

Dianqiu was a little confused but repeated, “So you just want me to tell Fang Chang’an that Teacher Cheng is in the city and won’t be back until after four, right?”

“Mhm.”

“Alright, I’ll go let him know.”

The sweet voice hesitated, sounding slightly embarrassed. “Could you call me back after you tell him?”

“Sure, I’ll let him know first.”

Afraid Chang’an might have already left, Dianqiu hung up and hurried to his house. Pushing open the gate, she found Congrong about to head to the fields.

“Grandma, has Chang’an left?”

“He just left. When are you and Yingying heading out? Do you need to talk to him?”

“We’ll leave in a bit.” Hearing Chang’an had just left, Dianqiu didn’t linger. “It’s nothing, Grandma—I’m heading back home.”

She ran back and quickly dialed the number. It rang once before the sweet voice answered, “Hello?”

“Uh…” Dianqiu hesitated, unsure how to introduce herself, but then realized the other must recognize her voice. She got straight to the point, “Fang Chang’an has already left.”

“Ah?” The other girl sounded surprised and a little frustrated. “When did he leave?”

Dianqiu thought for a moment. “Just a little while ago.”

There was a pause, and Dianqiu, a bit embarrassed, added, “I don’t know exactly how long, but it can’t have been long—he just left my house, so he can’t have been on the road more than fifteen minutes. Should I go check for you?”

“No need, thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Dianqiu hesitated, then asked, “So how are you going to let Fang Chang’an know?”

After a moment, the other replied, “It’s alright. I’ll just wait for him. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“I’m hanging up now, bye.”

“Mm.”

Their conversation ended uneventfully. Dianqiu thought about it for a moment and realized there was nothing more she could do; she wouldn’t be able to catch up even if she tried.

At worst, Chang’an would just have to wait a while at Teacher Cheng’s house. It wasn’t a big deal—watching TV was more important.

With her thoughts sorted, she quickly returned to her spot in front of the television, determined to savor every last minute before leaving home.

Meanwhile, Shen Mo hung up the phone, slipped on a T-shirt, shorts, and sandals, and dashed outside. She hadn’t even reached the door when her grandmother called out, “Where are you going?”

“Fang Chang’an has already set out. I’m going to my aunt’s house to wait for him.”

“He can’t fly, you know. He just left home—how could he be there already?” Peng Shuyu looked at her anxious granddaughter with a hint of reproach, then her tone softened, “How long ago did he leave?”

Peng Shuyu, wife of Shen Baoguo, was just past fifty, her hair already touched with white. Her skin, however, remained fair and smooth, her bearing scholarly and refined, with a calm and composure honed by the years. Her presence was striking, making her appear much younger than her actual age.

Shen Mo glanced at her grandmother, twisting her fingers. “Just a little while.”

Peng Shuyu couldn’t help but laugh. “How long is a little while?”

Shen Mo grumbled, annoyed, “That’s just what his neighbor said.”

Peng Shuyu sighed with a smile and beckoned her over. Shen Mo pouted but came closer. The old woman tapped her granddaughter’s smooth forehead, still smiling, “Your uncle and aunt aren’t home, but the housekeeper is there. Your classmate isn’t going to be locked out, is he? No need to be so anxious.”

“Tell Grandma, what’s the story with this classmate of yours?”