Chapter 19: Marks in the Muddy Water

Twenty minutes had passed since the bell marking the end of the exam. Lin Chen stood at the edge of a low-lying dip in the county road.

Rainwater streamed down the bamboo ribs of a black cloth umbrella, striking the muddy water and kicking up turbid splashes. The tractor was still idling, its engine roar chopped into intermittent bursts by the downpour. Black smoke from the exhaust mixed with the damp air, swirling and lingering in the depression. The driver and two villagers in raincoats were shoveling the muck from beneath the wheels, but the more they dug, the deeper the wheels sank. Mud had already swallowed the axle, and the tire treads were packed tight with waterlogged clay. This road was impassable today.

He looked down at the water. At its deepest, the floodwater in the dip reached about mid-calf. The current was slow, but the bottom was soft mud. One misstep, and he would sink. He folded the umbrella and hoisted his schoolbag onto his head. The dry rations and salt packets were already tightly wrapped in oil paper and stowed at the top. His exam admission ticket rested in an inner pocket, pressed flat against his chest. He slipped off his straw sandals and rolled his trousers up past his knees. The hardened scabs of blisters on his soles tightened in the cold air, their edges pale, with a trace of clear tissue fluid weeping from the fissures. He stepped into the water.

Icy cold instantly enveloped his ankles. The mud was thicker than he had anticipated. On the first step, his sole sank three centimeters. He immediately shifted his weight forward, lifted his heel, and let his toes probe for the next patch of firm ground. Beneath the water lay scattered gravel and rotting rice stubble. He could not stop. To stop was to lose body heat, to sink. He kept a steady rhythm. One step. Two steps. Three steps. He regulated his breathing to a four-step cycle. The water climbed past his knees. His trouser legs grew heavy with water, plastering against his skin. Each step demanded an extra fraction of strength. His thigh muscles began to burn. The cold water softened the blisters on his soles until their edges split completely, sending a sharp sting crawling up his nerves. He clenched his jaw. He did not look down at his feet. He kept his eyes fixed on the water three meters ahead.

Hidden currents ran through the water, fed by rainwater washing down from higher ground. He angled his path diagonally with the flow, steering clear of the central eddy. Ten meters. Twenty meters. Thirty meters. The depression was roughly fifty meters across at its widest. He counted his steps. One hundred twenty. One hundred thirty. Suddenly, his foot found no purchase. His right leg plunged into a shallow pit. Muddy water instantly surged to his upper thigh. He immediately wrenched his left leg free and planted it on a firm patch of earth at the pit’s edge. Leaning forward, he braced his hands against his knees and leveraged his weight to pull his trapped leg out. The mud let out a dull, sucking sound. He regained his footing. Drew a breath. Did not pause. Kept walking.

1:40. He stepped onto the firm ground of the opposite bank. Water dripped from his trouser legs. Blood and mud from his soles smeared across the tops of his feet. He didn’t bother wiping it. He slipped his straw sandals back on, pulled the hemp ties tight, hoisted his schoolbag, and quickened his pace. From the depression to Qingshi Village was still eight li. An hour in fair weather. With the rain, the mud, and his depleted stamina, it would take at least an hour and a half. He had to arrive before three o’clock. Xiao Man’s medicine could not be late.

The rain eased, but the wind turned colder. He walked with steady precision. Kept his center of gravity low. Shortened his stride. Maintained an even breath. In his mind, there was no fatigue, only markers. 2:10. Junction of the tractor road. 2:25. Orchard wire fence. 2:35. Field ridge. The water had receded slightly, but the mud remained slick. He kept to the center of the ridge, avoiding the edges. 2:50. Courtyard gate.

He pushed open the courtyard gate. The clock in the main hall read 2:52. Eight minutes ahead of schedule.

His mother was simmering medicine in the kitchen. Hearing the gate, she turned. Seeing him drenched to the skin, the palm-leaf fan in her hand stilled. She said nothing. She simply hurried into the inner room and returned with a dry towel and a set of worn clothes.

Lin Chen set his schoolbag on the table and walked into the inner room. Xiao Man was still asleep. His breathing was steadier than it had been that morning. Lin Chen touched his younger brother’s forehead. Normal temperature. He went to the windowsill, picked up the medicine bottle, and unscrewed the cap. He tipped out two tablets, dissolved them in warm water, and fed them to the boy. Xiao Man swallowed. His furrowed brow relaxed. Lin Chen screwed the cap back on, returned the bottle to its place, and turned back to the main hall.

He peeled off his soaked clothes and changed into a dry cotton shirt. The blisters on his soles had split completely, exposing raw pink flesh, with tissue fluid weeping from the edges. He went to the water vat, washed his feet with warm water, and dried them. From beneath the bed, he pulled out an old tin box. Inside sat half a bottle of gentian violet and a roll of clean gauze. He cut a square of gauze, placed it against his soles, and dabbed on the violet. A sharp sting flared. His expression remained impassive. He finished bandaging his feet and slipped on a dry pair of straw sandals.

Back in the main hall, he opened his ledger. The pages had dried completely. He picked up a pencil.

Route time: 1 hr 12 min. Variance: -8 min. Physical exertion: High. Sole blisters ruptured. Rest required. Medicine deadline: Cleared. Balance: 3.80 yuan. Shortfall: 1.20 yuan.

The pencil tip hovered. He crossed out “Shortfall” and wrote beside it: Unified exam concluded. Awaiting results. Maintain baseline expenses during interim. Medicine renewal: Nov 10. He closed the ledger. His knuckles were stiff. He rested his hands on his knees, slowly working the joints.

His father returned from outside, a bundle of dry firewood slung over his shoulder. Seeing the bandages on his feet, he paused. He deposited the wood in the kitchen, walked back into the main hall, and pulled two hard-boiled eggs from his inner pocket, setting them on the table.

“Eat,” his father said, his voice rough. “Rebuild your strength.”

Lin Chen nodded. He picked one up and peeled it. The egg white had gone cold, but it was dense and filling. He ate slowly, chewing thoroughly. Each bite restored a fraction of his depleted energy. When he finished, he went to the water vat and drank a large bowl of cool water. A gentle warmth settled in his stomach.

The rain stopped. A fissure opened in the clouds. Sunlight slanted into the main hall, striking the earthen wall. The chalk-drawn route map remained. Lin Chen fixed his eyes on the arrow. County No. 1 High School. The exam room. The test papers. Handing them in. It had all already happened. But the results were not yet out. He did not know his score. He did not know if he had cracked the county’s top ten. He did not know if a scholarship slot would be allocated to Qingshi Village.

He did not know. But he knew the numbers in his ledger would not wait. Xiao Man’s medicine could not be interrupted. The thirty-li muddy road still lay ahead. He had to keep calculating. Keep walking.

He went to the earthen wall, picked up a piece of chalk, and drew a new line beneath the original route map. He labeled it: Results period. Maintain baseline. Two loads of water daily. Assist Old Zhao with scrap iron. Accumulate funds.

The chalk scraped softly against the wall. In the kitchen, his mother chopped pickled vegetables. The knife struck the cutting board in a steady rhythm. In the inner room, Xiao Man turned over, his breathing even. His father sat on the threshold, smoking his dry-pipe tobacco. Smoke curled lazily in the air.

Lin Chen set down the chalk. His fingers were coated in white dust. He went to the water vat, washed his hands, and returned to the inner room to lie down. He closed his eyes. His body finally began to unwind. Muscle soreness washed over him like a tide. He did not fight it. He let the ache be. It was the price of effort. And proof that he was alive.

The sunlight outside the window brightened. Puddles in the courtyard began to evaporate. The damp, earthy scent in the air slowly faded. Lin Chen’s breathing grew steady. He knew that when the sun rose tomorrow, everything would return to its familiar track. Carry water. Work. Keep accounts. Wait for the results. One step at a time.

4:00 PM. A bicycle bell rang outside the courtyard gate. Clear and urgent. It stopped on the bluestone paving. Then came the voice of Old Zhao, the postman: “Lin Jianguo! Registered mail from the County Education Bureau! Unified exam results notice!”

Lin Chen opened his eyes. Beneath the quilt, his fingers slowly curled into fists. His knuckles blanched. Then he relaxed them. He sat up. The gauze on his soles had dried completely. He slipped on his shoes and walked into the main hall. His father was already standing by the doorway, his dry pipe in hand. His mother wiped her hands on her apron and stepped out of the kitchen.

The gate swung open. Old Zhao handed over a brown kraft envelope. It bore the red official seal of the County Education Bureau, with a postage stamp affixed over the flap.

“Sign here,” Old Zhao said.

Lin Chen took it. The envelope was light, yet it carried immense weight. He tore open the flap and pulled out a folded sheet of paper. He unfolded it.

First line: Qingshi Village, Lin Chen. Second line: Chinese: 89. Mathematics: 92. Total Rank: 7th in the County. Third line: Qualifies for County No. 1 High School scholarship admission. Please report to the Academic Affairs Office of County No. 1 High School with this notice and your household register by November 5. Void after deadline.

Lin Chen stared at the words. He held his gaze for five seconds. There were no cheers. No tears. Only a profound, razor-sharp clarity.

Seventh place. Scholarship. Registration. Void after deadline.

He set down the notice and walked to the earthen wall. He picked up a piece of chalk and wrote a new marker beside the original route map: Nov 5. County No. 1 High School. Registration. Tuition shortfall: 15 yuan. Travel fare: 2 yuan.

The chalk tip paused. He crossed out “15 yuan” and changed it to “12 yuan.” The scholarship would cover the bulk, but he still had to scrape together the miscellaneous fees, textbooks, and dormitory costs. He had already looked into County No. 1 High School’s fee schedule. Dormitory: eight yuan per semester. Textbooks: four yuan. Miscellaneous fees: variable. Twelve yuan was the absolute floor. He could not go over.

He set down the chalk and turned. His father stood in the doorway, his pipe long extinguished. His mother’s hands rested still on her apron. From the inner room, Xiao Man gave a soft cough.

Lin Chen walked to the table, picked up his ledger, and turned to a fresh page. He wrote: Target: Raise 12 yuan by Nov 5. Method: Scrap iron. Water hauling. Selling recyclables.

He closed the ledger and looked up. The sunlight outside the window had slanted westward. The puddles in the courtyard had dried completely, leaving the mud cracked with fine fissures.

Tomorrow, he would have to go to the brick kiln. Old Zhao had mentioned a fresh shipment of scrap iron frames had just arrived. Heavy, but the payout was good.

He went to the water vat, scooped up a ladle of water, and splashed it over his face. Droplets traced down his jawline. Any lingering drowsiness was thoroughly washed away.

Twelve yuan. Four days. One step at a time.