Chapter 031: The Vast and Beautiful Plains

This story is purely a work of fiction.

Under Wu Zhengzhe's arrangement, Zhao Ming, Wu Zhengzhe, and Dujuan returned to their hometown together.

Ever since his transfer from the military, Zhao Ming had rarely gone back home due to the demands of his job. Wu Zhengzhe, on the other hand, had many opportunities to return, but with both his parents gone and no other close relatives left in the family, even when his work took him past his childhood home, all he felt was a sense of homelessness. Occasionally, he would gather a few friends from his elementary and high school days to share a meal and some drinks.

Most of their classmates had already left the countryside to make their mark in the wider world. Only a handful, too deeply attached to their roots, chose to remain behind. In the past, when Wu Zhengzhe returned, their conversations would revolve around life after their parting. They lived freely, thriving in the rural expanse, carrying on the traditions of their forebears, enjoying a kind of contentment rarely found among city dwellers.

The hometown remained much as it had always been—perhaps not wealthy, but the air in the countryside was as fresh as ever. What Zhao Ming enjoyed most about going home was walking through the fields, as if the scenes of his youth were forever etched in his memory.

The countryside on the plains held a unique, grand beauty. Looking out, the sky stretched high and clear, the earth broad and level. Wandering along the open fields, all one saw was an endless expanse of green, as if a gentle spring breeze had swept through, leaving the buckwheat lush and vibrant.

Zhao Ming remembered that, as a child, when summer arrived, the treetops and forests echoed with cicadas and birdsong, and the wheat ripened in the wind. Autumn brought golden waves of grain, the joy of harvest painted on every face, the sound of falling leaves filling the dusk as homes grew golden in the slanting light. In winter, the elderly busied themselves preparing for the New Year—making clothes, stitching shoes, curing fish and meat, braising dishes and making rice cakes, lacking for nothing.

At those times, whenever he returned to the village and heard elders call him by his childhood nickname, he felt an overwhelming warmth, as if he had stepped back into that carefree boyhood.

As a young boy, Zhao Ming found his mother's temper a bit fierce, but whenever she lost her patience, his grandmother would shield him. Looking back, he wondered why he had so often upset his mother—perhaps he had simply caused her too much worry.

After failing his first college entrance exam, he left home to attend high school at his uncle’s, some twenty kilometers away.

His uncle Chi Kun and aunt treated him with the utmost care. When he came home from school, steaming hot meals awaited him, kept warm in a straw-insulated pot. The taste of those meals, infused with his uncle and aunt’s meticulous love, would stay with him for life.

The pressure of his studies was immense—almost unbearable. He dreaded disappointing the uncle and aunt who placed so much hope in him. When the weight became too much, he would sometimes spend a weekend at home.

Sometimes, returning from school, his mother would hurry in from the fields to fuss over him, asking about his needs. In those brief reunions, all his mother’s nagging was forgotten, replaced only by memories of her asking what he wanted to eat or drink. If she knew in advance he was coming, she would rise early and walk three miles to the market to buy pork belly and liver—the taste of her steamed pork and liver soup lingered in his memory still.

He didn't have much time at home—only a few visits each year.

This trip home was Wu Zhengzhe’s idea. Using Zhao Ming’s promotion as a pretext, Wu invited childhood friends to gather, joking that Zhao Ming was returning in glory and hoping everyone could come.

But Zhao Ming knew he was far from returning in glory. He was not a high-ranking official, merely a junior cadre. He understood Wu Zhengzhe’s true intention: with Qingming approaching, Wu wanted to visit his parents’ graves and ease the ache of longing for them.

Wu Zhengzhe drove his Hummer, whistling as they sped along the national highway toward their hometown.

This highway had a long history. Zhao Ming remembered that, during his first year in the army, he had returned home via this road. Because of repairs, traffic had been at a standstill for seven or eight hours. Now, things had changed; the highway to Xiaohe was wide and smooth.

Watching the scenery recede in the rearview mirror, Zhao Ming recalled his first year in the army and his journey home.

That first year, longing for home weighed heavily on him. Perhaps the director of the political office saw through his homesickness. By chance, there was a work trip, and the director offered him the assignment.

The night before he left, the director said, "You've been away from home for a year now. You must miss it."

"Of course," Zhao Ming replied. "I’d never left my hometown or my parents before, and now it’s been a year since I’ve seen them and my siblings—I miss them very much."

"This trip is not far from your home. I’ll give you five days—go and visit your family."

"Thank you for your kindness, Director!" Zhao Ming was deeply grateful.

On the second day after his long-awaited return home, a rare and heavy snowstorm struck, blanketing the ground nearly a meter deep and sealing all the roads.

The long-distance buses to Dahe resumed the day after the snow stopped, their tires chained for traction. But after Zhao Ming’s five-day leave, not a single bus was running.

At that time, he was a freshly trained recruit, and his leaders had made it clear that he should not return late. Determined to report back on time, Zhao Ming’s parents didn’t try to dissuade him.

With no other choice, the three of them walked to Shuizhen, where there was a boat to Dahe. His father and youngest uncle accompanied him. Since there were no boats that day, they spent the night in a small inn.

After boarding the boat, Zhao Ming keenly felt the sorrow of leaving home. He later heard that his father and uncle, after seeing him off, slipped and struggled through the icy roads well into the night before reaching home. That winter, on the night his father returned from Shuizhen, he developed rheumatic arthritis, a chronic illness that plagued him ever after—a source of guilt Zhao Ming could never quite let go.

As the years passed, Zhao Ming’s father grew accustomed to his son’s life away from home. His mother, however, never stopped lamenting her husband’s hard heart.

Every time Zhao Ming returned home, his father spoke little.

When they met, his father’s face was always wreathed in smiles.

His father’s cough never ceased. Ever since Zhao Ming was in elementary school, before dawn broke, his father would rise early to work the fields.

Zhao Ming often heard his grandmother recount stories about his father. When his father was young, he had worked as a messenger at the commune, delivering newspapers and documents. One day, caught in a downpour while delivering mail, he fell gravely ill and was bedridden for days. After that, he was unwilling to endure the hardship of being a messenger any longer.

Zhao Ming’s grandmother often asked her son, Chi Qian, if he regretted leaving the messenger job for the heavy labor of farming. He always answered, "It was fate." Especially since those who took over his position later became commune secretaries, county heads, even provincial governors, Chi Qian never said much, but a trace of regret lingered in his heart.

Chi Qian smoked heavily, which aggravated his chronic bronchitis and persistent cough. Whenever Zhao Ming heard his father’s coughing fits, his heart ached. To feed his children, Chi Qian worked tirelessly in the fields. At night, he would search for swamp eels in the ditches to sell at market.

In those days, the eels surfaced in the shallow water at night. The tool for catching them was simple—a row of nails fixed to the end of a wooden handle about seventy centimeters long.

At night, the countryside was dotted with firefly-like specks—the beams of flashlights wielded by eel catchers.

The eels would lie motionless in the fields, unaware of the impending threat. The catchers would easily scoop them into baskets.

On a good night, they could catch nearly ten pounds of eels, fetching a good price at the market in the morning. With the money, they could buy pork to supplement the children’s meals.

Zhao Ming often dreamed of eating a bowl of lean pork soup his father had bought him at a market restaurant, smacking his lips contentedly in his sleep.

Wu Zhengzhe, glancing at Zhao Ming as he drove, saw that he was dreaming sweetly and decided not to wake him, stopping the car steadily in front of Zhao Ming’s house.

Wu Zhengzhe saw an elder passing by and, out of courtesy, called out, "We’re home, brother. Uncle Han is greeting you."

Half-awake, Zhao Ming heard Wu Zhengzhe calling and opened his eyes, greeting Uncle Han who stood outside the car.

"So soon?" Zhao Ming asked.

"We’ve been driving for nearly an hour! If we weren’t here by now, what would that say about my off-roader?" Wu Zhengzhe replied, proud of his vehicle.

He jumped down to retrieve the gifts from the trunk.

Zhao Ming took them, one by one, but as the load grew heavy, he said, "You can handle the rest."

"Sure, I’ll get the rest. You go on inside," Wu Zhengzhe urged. "But it looks like there’s no one home—maybe they went to your uncle’s place?"

"I doubt it. They know I’m coming," Zhao Ming replied.

(Continued)