Chapter 17: Straw Sandals Before the Rain

Before dawn broke, the wick of the kerosene lamp in the main room had already crusted over with black soot. Lin Chen opened his eyes on the hard plank bed but didn't get up immediately. First, he flexed his toes, confirming the hardened scabs on the soles of his feet hadn't split. The muscles along his shoulder blades and waist felt like they'd been roughened by coarse sandpaper; every breath pulled at a dull ache. He turned on his side and fished the ledger out from under his pillow. The edges of the pages were curled, and the pencil marks were slightly blurred by sweat.

Balance: 3.80 yuan. Deficit: 1.20 yuan. Time: 3 days.

He closed the ledger and put it back. Outside, the sky was lead-gray, clouds pressing low, almost grazing the distant ridgeline. There was no wind, but the humidity was heavy, carrying the smell of damp earth and rotting vegetation into his lungs. A harbinger of autumn rain. He sat up and swung his feet over the edge of the bed. The packed-earth floor was icy. He walked to the water vat, scooped up half a gourd of cold water, and splashed it on his face. Droplets ran down his jawline, washing away the last traces of sleep.

A rustling sound came from the main room. His father was already up. Lin Chen pushed the door open and saw Lin Jianguo sitting on the threshold, holding an old hemp twister and several strands of soaked rice straw. Half-finished straw sandals were scattered on the ground. His father's knuckles were thick, black dirt permanently wedged under his nails. He was folding the straw in half, twisting it tight with the hemp twister. The movements were slow, but every strand was wound rock-solid.

"Awake." Lin Jianguo didn't look up, his voice raspy. "The rain's heavy. The county road will be a mess tomorrow. Wear these."

Lin Chen walked over and crouched down. The soles of the sandals were already woven, hemp rope wrapped three times around the edges and tied off with a dead knot. The uppers were a crosshatch of rice straw—breathable, but grippy. He extended his foot. His father set down his work, picked up a soft measuring tape, and measured his foot length and instep height. Without a word, he took a half-length of hemp rope from the side, wrapped it twice more around the heel of the sandal, and pulled it tight.

"Try them." His father handed the sandal over.

Lin Chen slipped his foot in. The straw rubbed against his skin, slightly prickly, but the fit was snug. He stood up and took two steps across the blue-brick floor of the main room. His center of gravity dropped; as his foot landed, the tread of the sandal bit into the brick without slipping. He stepped out into the wet mud of the courtyard and pressed down. Mud squeezed out through the gaps in the weave, but his sole didn't sink. The grip held.

"Tie the laces tight. When crossing ditches, shift your weight forward. Don't step on the edges." Lin Jianguo picked up the hemp twister again and resumed weaving the second pair. It was for Xiaoman. His younger brother's feet were smaller, but his condition was unstable. If he had to carry him, the sandals would save energy.

Lin Chen nodded. He returned to the inner room, pulled out an enamel mug and a medicine bottle from under the bed. The white phenobarbital tablets clinked softly against the glass. Dr. Wang said to add half a tablet. He unscrewed the cap, poured out two whole ones onto a small saucer, then carefully used his thumbnail to split a third. The tablet was brittle; a little powder fell off the moment it cracked. He didn't waste it, scraping the dust into the saucer. He added warm water. The tablets dissolved slowly, turning the water a cloudy, milky white.

He carried the saucer to the bedside. Xiaoman was still asleep, his breathing shallow and rapid. His fingers curled slightly outside the blanket, red marks from yesterday's scratching visible along his nail beds. Lin Chen propped his brother's upper body up against the pillow. Xiaoman's eyes were half-open, his gaze unfocused.

"Take your medicine." Lin Chen's voice was soft.

He brought the saucer to Xiaoman's lips. The warm water mixed with the powder flowed in. Xiaoman swallowed, his brow furrowing, but he didn't spit it out. Lin Chen wiped the moisture from the corner of his mouth with a towel, laid him flat, and pulled the blanket up. The convulsions were slightly less severe than yesterday, but the frequency remained. He stood by the bed for ten seconds. Breathing steady. He turned back to the main room and wrote on the back of the ledger in pencil: Dosage +0.5 tablet. Monitor seizure frequency. If no reduction after three consecutive days, follow-up visit required.

The pencil tip paused. He crossed out "follow-up visit" and changed it to "stockpile medicine." A follow-up cost money and time. He couldn't stop now. He'd have to suppress it with dosage alone.

His mother brought out two bowls of thin porridge from the kitchen. There were few grains; it was mostly rice water, with a few slices of pickled radish floating on top. She set the bowls on the table, her eyes sweeping over the straw sandals on Lin Chen's feet and the medicine saucer on the table. She said nothing, just handed him chopsticks. Lin Chen sat down. The porridge was hot; he blew on it and took a sip. The rice water slid down his throat, bringing a faint warmth to his stomach. He ate slowly, chewing thoroughly. Every mouthful was replenishing his strength.

After eating, he returned to the inner room and pulled the neatly copied 420-character essay from his schoolbag. The paper was smooth, the handwriting neat. He leaned against the headboard and began reading it silently. Opening: The order of collective labor. Development: The individual's place within that order. Turn: The cost and support behind the order. Conclusion: The intertextuality of dust and faint light. The logical chain was closed. All scoring points covered. He simulated the grader's gaze in his mind: first paragraph for theme, second for structure, third for detail, fourth for elevation. No fluff. No sentimentality. Only facts.

He set the essay down. He dragged an old cloth sack from under the bed. Inside were two compressed biscuits, half a lump of pickled mustard tuber, and a military canteen filled with cold water. He weighed it in his hand. Roughly six hundred grams. Adding the stationery and exam ticket in his bag, the total load wouldn't exceed one and a half kilograms. Thirty li of county road: three hours in clear weather. With rain, straw sandals, mud, and extra weight, at least four hours. He had to leave at 2:00 AM. Cross the old stone bridge by 3:30. Arrive at the No. 1 County High School playground for assembly before 5:00. The schedule was locked. No room for error.

He picked up a pencil and sketched a route map on scratch paper. Qingshi Village → tractor path → old stone bridge → county road → west end of town → No. 1 County High School. The old stone bridge was made of rammed earth, narrow, with no guardrails on either side. In the rain, the surface would pool water, and the piers might be scoured. He stared at that point. The pencil tip hovered. If the bridge surface slipped, or the water level rose, he'd have to detour. Detour route: from the tractor path fork, head north, cut through the Li family's orchard, follow the field ridges, and rejoin the county road midway. Two extra li. Twenty extra minutes. But it avoided the dangerous bridge.

He crossed out the original route and noted beside it: Backup route: orchard → field ridge → county road. Time +20 min. Must confirm gap in orchard fence.

The main room door hinge creaked. His father walked in, a dry towel draped over his shoulder. He glanced at the route map on the table, offered no critique. Just said: "The orchard dog is tied under the shed. Won't bark at night. But the field ridge is narrow, the grass is deep. Heavy dew. Tie your pant legs tight."

Lin Chen nodded. "Understood."

Lin Jianguo draped the towel over the chair back and turned toward the kitchen. The firelight illuminated his stooped back. Lin Chen lowered his head and continued studying the map. His fingers traced lightly over the paper, simulating the rhythm of his steps. One step. Two steps. Three steps. Breath in sync. Shift weight forward. Grip. Don't step on the edge. Don't look back.

2:00 PM. The clouds finally split. The first raindrop struck the courtyard's mud floor, leaving a clear, round pit. Then a second, a third. The rain wasn't heavy, but it was dense. It pattered against the roof tiles with a fine, rustling sound. The earthy smell in the air instantly intensified. Lin Chen stood under the eaves, watching rainwater run down the tile gutters and converge into thin streams on the bluestone slabs. He stepped out into the water. The tread of the sandals immediately filled with mud, but his footing remained solid. He bent down, scooped up a handful of wet clay. The soil was sticky, holding together in his palm without crumbling. The county road's soil was harder than the village's, but once saturated, it would turn into a slick paste. The sandals would grip, but stride length had to be controlled. No long steps. No sudden stops.

He returned to the main room, tucked the map into a compartment of his bag, and opened the ledger. On a blank page, he wrote: Rain has arrived. Route confirmed as backup. Depart at 2:00 AM. The pencil tip paused. He crossed out "confirmed" and changed it to "night recon." The gap in the orchard fence and the width of the field ridge on the backup route had to be walked in person before departure. Paper simulations weren't enough. Only the soles of the feet would know.

His mother was brewing medicine in the kitchen. The bitter scent mingled with the damp rain air. Xiaoman slept deeply in the inner room. Breathing steady. The convulsions had stopped. Lin Chen stood in the center of the main room, listening to the rain. There was no anxiety in his mind, only steps. 2:00. Wake up. Put on sandals. Tie pant legs. Carry water. Pack dry rations. Take backup route. Confirm gap. Return. Catch up on sleep. 5:00. Depart. County road. Exam hall. Submit paper. Go home. Buy medicine. Balance ledger.

Every step was clear. No superfluous emotion. Only execution.

Night fell. The rain didn't stop; it grew denser. The sound of water on the tiles merged into a continuous sheet, like countless tiny drumbeats. Lin Chen lay on the hard plank bed, staring at the ceiling. His body had adapted to the soreness; his muscles were slowly repairing themselves in rest. He closed his eyes and mentally walked the backup route again. Tractor path fork. Turn left. Through the bamboo grove. Orchard wire fence. Gap at the southeast corner. About a foot wide. Passable. Field ridge. Narrow. Ditches on both sides. Grass deep. Heavy dew. Tie pant legs tight. Low center of gravity. Don't step on the edge. County road. Muddy. Sandals grip ground. Short strides. Even breathing. Four hours. On time.

He opened his eyes. The rain continued. He sat up, pulled half a piece of chalk from his bag, and walked to the earthen wall of the main room. He sketched a simplified route map on the wall. The lines were faint but clear. He drew a circle at the orchard gap. A dashed line along the field ridge. An arrow on the county road. The arrow pointed to No. 1 County High School.

He set the chalk down. His fingers were coated in white dust. He went to the water vat, washed his hands, returned to the bed, and lay down. He closed his eyes. His breathing gradually steadied. The rain became background noise. He knew that at 2:00 AM tomorrow, the alarm wouldn't need to ring. His body would wake on its own. His biological clock was already tethered to the numbers in the ledger. Step by step.

A faint rustle came from the inner room as Xiaoman turned over. His breathing didn't falter. Lin Chen's fingers slowly unclenched beneath the blanket. Listening to the rain on the tiles, he began calculating the timing for tomorrow's night recon. 1:50 wake up. 1:55 leave. 2:10 reach orchard. 2:30 confirm gap. 2:50 turn back. 3:20 arrive home. Sleep for one hour. 3:20. Alarm. Depart.

The rain suddenly intensified. Wind slipped through the window crack, carrying moisture against his face. Lin Chen opened his eyes. The chalk lines on the wall remained clear in the dim light. He stared at the circle. The orchard dog. The width of the field ridge. The mud on the county road. Everything was being recalculated. He closed his eyes. His fingers slowly tightened beneath the blanket. Knuckles turned white. Then relaxed.

Tomorrow, he had to scout the path. The gap had to be confirmed. The deficit in the ledger had to be recalculated too. The rain kept falling. The thirty-li county road was turning to mud. But the sandals were woven. The rations were packed. The route was drawn. Step by step.