If there were no Red Guards and no hunger, the farm would actually be quite beautiful.
Of course, this was the Hexi Corridor.
It was Huo Qubing’s battlefield, the granary during Emperor Wu of Han’s southern and northern campaigns.
Looking up, the Qilian Mountains were covered in white snow; looking down, the flat fertile fields stretched out, with corn and sorghum thriving.
Zhao Lingcheng had to catch the train back to the base tonight, time was tight.
He crouched with Lin Yan in a patch of cornfield, sitting on a hoe handle, rubbed clean a handful of oat grains, handed them over, and said, “I’m trying to get the investigation into your case reopened.”
Lin Yan took the oats, popped them into his mouth, chewed and said, “This is military marching rations, really tasty.”
During wartime rapid marches, there was no time to light fires or cook meals; oats were the main ration.
As a high-yield coarse grain, oats were rich in oil content and very filling, and they left a fragrant taste in the mouth.
With some wild vegetables, Lin Yan could survive on that bag for two months.
He chewed especially carefully, especially slowly, savoring its sweetness, and rarely spoke in such a light tone: “Reopen what? I’ve accepted my fate. I have only one wish—to see your mother’s child. I’m even helping her think of names. Besides, the situation is so tense now; if you get implicated, wouldn’t that be trouble?”
But Zhao Lingcheng said, “The real spies have hidden themselves, concealed their presence. Once the Battle of Zhenbao Island breaks out and war flares in the Northeast, they will reconnect with the other side. If the Americans ignore the UN’s opposition, nuclear war is still possible.”
He added, “And you know that enemy spy is hiding in the Northwest, still inside the military industry system.”
There really were spies these days, the kind who passed along military coordinates to the other side.
Lin Yan was branded as the spy leader because shortly after the liberation, he was scheduled for transfer to the Northwest’s gun manufacturing plant in Tingcheng.
But after the spy case broke out, the special case team found a secret code book in his dorm.
It was a large-scale spy roundup investigation, led by an old public security officer who had once helped Chen Mianmian.
His name was Lei Ming, not only an old revolutionary but also excellent at public security investigations.
In the end, even Old Zhao acknowledged and accepted that Lin Yan was a spy.
Many people implicated in that case had already died.
But Zhao Lingcheng knew Lin Yan was framed, and the others were likely framed too.
The ones who framed them were the real spies, but they had gone into hiding.
Now, the atmosphere was too tense for them to show themselves, but what if war broke out in the Northeast?
Lin Yan stopped chewing and muttered, “If that happens, your mother will have died for nothing.”
He had betrayed his own sister to prevent catastrophic war.
But if a nuclear war still broke out in the end and these fertile fields turned to scorched earth, wouldn’t his sister have died in vain?
At this moment, Chen Mianmian was angrily berating two militia members: “Damn your fathers, you two idiots, sooner or later you’ll get shot.”
She kicked a large vat and jabbed one’s forehead: “Lazy cowards, are you going to pick the sauerkraut or what?”
Ma Jiye, bullying others, also cursed: “Damn it, if those old men were your fathers, would you just watch them starve?”
He was actually rather wise: “Revolution is revolution, but we must have conscience.”
The Laogai Farm had water cellars and large vats for storing water.
Chen Mianmian, still heavily pregnant, was patrolling around, looking at this room and then that one, seemingly uncertain about what to do.
A group of old men leaned against the dormitory window—seven or eight heads—watching her eagerly.
One old man stared for a long time and recognized her: “Isn’t that the famous unmarried wild girl from Hongqi Commune’s Team Three? Her skin’s gotten fairer and prettier, but why is she here to help us?”
The locals were afraid of trouble and never dared come to the Laogai Farm.
Chen Mianmian’s sudden arrival made everyone suspicious.
Qi Jiali, who knew the situation best, explained: “Zhao Lingcheng married her to get close to his spy uncle.”
Chen Mianmian was already 22 when she married—considered an old maid these days.
With her shaved head and carrying a homemade gun, she was so fierce that no local young man dared mess with her.
When the commune leaders heard a soldier actually wanted to rape her, they were all smiling broadly, delighted.
A newcomer old man, unaware of the situation, said, “Lingcheng is the grandson of Old Zhao of the Zhao army; how could he marry a rural girl?”
Qi Jiali snorted coldly, “If it weren’t for Old Zhao’s strong backing, Lingcheng would’ve been sent to labor reform, humph!”
Old Zhao had lost five sons and was as solid as a rock; his position was unshakable.
But Zhao Lingcheng didn’t distance himself from his spy uncle; relying on his wife’s family connections, he often came to visit.
If not for his grandfather’s ironclad status, he would have been sent down too.
Qi Jiali was suspicious of Zhao Lingcheng’s loyalty.
These old men used to beat Lin Yan and steal his food, feeling justified in doing so.
One old man pointed to a tractor: “That cartload of bread, that’s for us, right?”
Qi Jiali came to his senses and got angry: “Everyone, be alert! Lingcheng seems to be trying to corrupt us.”
Who would believe that in a time of nationwide grain shortages, someone hauled in a whole cartload of bread?
If the bread hadn’t gone bad, they could have eaten from it until June, when the wheat ripened.
These old revolutionaries averaged over fifty years old; they were among the group sent to the May Seventh Cadre Schools.
If they passed the test, they would become great leaders someday, but it depended on their endurance.
They did labor reform while training, remaining vigilant and fighting against enemy spies.
Because this revolution began with cracking down on spies and purging corrupt elements and rightists within the party.
And Lin Yan was a convicted spy—the notorious leader of spies.
One old man, starving, asked Qi Jiali: “Can I steal a few pieces of bread?”
Qi Jiali sighed: “You can, but if she’s giving us bread, we should refuse it anyway. The bread will spoil eventually, right?”
The old men sighed in unison: “So hungry…really hungry.”
While they were talking, the door suddenly banged open, and Chen Mianmian came in.
The large room had a kang bed-stove, filled with the smell of smoke and the stale sweat of people who hadn’t bathed in days.
Some old men still sat up; the quicker ones lay down, closing their eyes pretending to be dead.
But Chen Mianmian said, “Everyone who can move, get down from the kang and carry bricks, quick!”
She used to be a female militia member here; her presence was imposing.
The old men all got down from the kang.
Storing bread was more troublesome than storing grain because it required absolute dryness and protection from insects and rats.
After inspecting, Chen Mianmian decided on this room to store the bread.
The old men slept here at night; if mice came to steal the bread, they could chase them away immediately.
Ma Jiye and two other militia men brought in bricks.
Chen Mianmian laid down the foundation and arranged a pattern; one militia man was clumsy and didn’t know what to do, but Ma Jiye, although dull-witted, was a skilled worker, and soon the base was set.
The old men moved bricks while secretly stuffing bread into their pockets.
Ma Jiguang carried something back and happened to see their sneaky behavior, which made him laugh.
What he was carrying was a wheat storage container woven from wheat stalks.
Fitting it into the brick basket, they could store bread fully protected from moisture and pests.
Chen Mianmian ignored the old men and instructed the Ma brothers: “When the sun comes out, open the doors and windows; otherwise, the bread will absorb moisture and mold. After taking bread out, clean up properly to avoid attracting rats and ants.”
Seeing a militia man standing dumbfounded by the water vat, she shouted, “Go shovel wild vegetables! Artemisia capillaris is too old; don’t bother with that.”
Just then, another militia man arrived carrying a basket: “Sister, I brought the wild vegetables.”
Chen Mianmian kicked him: “Damn you! Don’t you wash the sauerkraut at home? Ma Jiye, go boil some water!”
The old men disliked the militia members because they either liked to hit people or were just plain stupid.
But strangely, despite her frequent cursing and kicking, Chen Mianmian could make them jump through hoops and run fast.
Seeing she cooked a big pot of noodle soup, Qi Jiali drooled: “She’s going to pickle sauerkraut.”
Another old man said, “Wild vegetables pickled are delicious. Sour soup with bread soaked in it—I’m drooling, I want to surrender.”
One old man said, “Why bother with revolution? I’m about to starve to death; I just want bread.”
Qi Jiali sighed again: “She must be here to plead for Lin Yan and be good to us. Maybe she wants to extract information from us. When she asks questions later, keep your mouths shut, understand?”
People from the future can’t understand the madness of this revolution or the stubbornness of these people.
But if anything was scarier than hunger, it was war—the big bombings.
Ripe, heavy wheat stalks and grain heads set on fire by warfare, plunging people into another round of starvation.
So when Old Chiang said to ally with the Americans to counterattack, people started suspecting and reporting each other.
They would even go crazy enough to turn on their own family.
The harshness of the Northwest was something the old men only realized after arriving.
The fields were filled with wild vegetables; if not pickled into sauerkraut, they were inedible, but the old men didn’t know how to pickle.
The militia could go home to eat, but didn’t help them.
They were not only hungry but also bitter, eating bitterness.
But if a pot of hot sauerkraut soup was made and the dried bread soaked in it, the bread would absorb all the soup, and biting into it would be delicious—just thinking about it made the old men drool.
Suddenly, Qi Jiali coughed, and the old men all stood at attention because Chen Mianmian was walking toward him.
The old men were unsteady on their feet but all looked defiant.
But strangely, Chen Mianmian didn’t argue with them; instead, she grabbed two militia men by the ears and led them outside.
She wasn’t here to plead for Lin Yan, nor to get close. Why?
The old men whispered and tiptoed, sneaking over to eavesdrop.
In the cornfield, Chen Mianmian pointed at the two militia men’s noses and scolded: “You know why everyone else got transferred to other farms, but you two dumbbells stayed? Because if rightists died, the higher-ups would investigate and execute the militia.”
She made a gun shape with her hand: “You two will get shot.”
One scratched his head: “Captain Xu said their crimes are so grave, no one would check up if they died.