Chapter 21: Official Seals and Mud Marks

3:30 AM. No alarm clock. The biological clock woke first.

Lin Chen opened his eyes. The kerosene lamp wick in the main room had burned out, leaving only a faint, dark-red ember buried in the ash. He sat up slowly. The gauze on the soles of his feet was hard as a shell, its edges stained yellow-brown with medicine. The swollen redness around the split felt faintly hot in the dark. He flexed his toes without expression. A sharp sting. It could bear weight. He threw back the quilt. Cold air instantly slipped into his collar, raising a fine layer of goosebumps on his skin. He walked to the kitchen. Half a bowl of cold porridge his mother had left sat with a thin skin formed on top. He scooped it up, swallowing it down with pickled vegetables. His stomach had something to settle on. He returned to the inner room. Fished out a canvas bag from under the bed. Packed in dry rations, a salt packet, a pencil, and the ledger. Finally, the photocopy of the notice stamped with the red seal of the county education bureau, and the blank family status certificate form. The paper was thin, its edges already frayed. He folded it in half twice and slipped it into his inner pocket. Against his chest.

4:00 AM sharp. He pushed open the door. Heavy frost. A white crust coated the field ridges, cracking faintly underfoot. The soles of his Liberation shoes were worn smooth, the tread clogged with mud from previous days, offering almost no grip. He walked slowly. Leaning his center of gravity forward. Avoiding the wet mud at the edges of the ridges. Mapping the route in his head. Qingshi Village to the village committee: three li. The ridge was shorter but narrow, at most a foot wide at its broadest. A fall meant landing in a paddy field. He couldn't fall. If the certificate got wet, the official seal wouldn't take. He balanced the canvas bag on his head. Spread his arms for balance. One step. Two steps. White breath plumes dissipated before his eyes, instantly shredded by the cold wind. The split on his sole rubbed repeatedly against the shoe's upper, the seeping tissue fluid gluing the gauze to his skin. Every step felt like fine needles pricking into the flesh. He ignored it. Focused only on the three meters ahead.

5:10 AM. The adobe house of the village committee emerged from the morning fog. An old-fashioned padlock hung on the iron gate. He circled to the backyard. The village director's window was still dark. He squatted at the base of the wall. Waited. Wind rustled through the bamboo grove. His fingers were frozen stiff, joints locked. He tucked his hands into his sleeves. Rubbed them together. Kept the blood circulating. Couldn't sleep. If he slept, the 9 AM deadline would pass. He closed his eyes. Running the accounts in his head. Three yuan seventy. Two days. Get the seal. Submit the form. Dismantle iron. Carry water. The numbers lined up in the dark, like a row of nails driven into his nerves.

6:00 AM sharp. The courtyard gate creaked open. The village director stepped out in a padded cotton coat, holding an enamel mug. Seeing him, he paused. "Lin family boy? So early?"

"Get it stamped." Lin Chen stood up. Handed over the certificate.

The director took it. Read it by the morning light. The handwriting on the form was in pencil, neat, with no corrections. "Family status... Father farms, mother manages the household, younger brother suffers from epilepsy. Verified." He turned back inside. Brought out the official seal. The red ink paste was slightly frozen, a thin crust on its surface. He breathed on it. Smoothed it with his thumb. Pressed down hard.

"Pa."

The red mark landed on the bottom right corner of the form. Clear. Complete. No bleeding at the edges.

"Hold onto it." The director handed it back. "The town education office opens at eight. Move fast. Don't delay the registration."

"Thank you." Lin Chen took it. Carefully checked if the ink was dry. It wasn't. He folded it. Slipped it back into his inner pocket. Against his chest. Warmth slowly transferred to it.

6:20 AM. Turned toward town. The field ridge gave way to a tractor path. The surface was hard but full of potholes, icy water pooling in last night's tire ruts. He quickened his pace. The pain in his soles shifted to a steady, dull ache, crawling up his calves. His thigh muscles ached. He adjusted his breathing. Three steps exhale. Three steps inhale. Calculating time in his head. Departed at 6:20. Five li to the town education office. Normal pace: forty minutes. With the foot injury and load, at least fifty. Arrival by 7:10. Forty minutes of buffer left.

7:05 AM. The iron gate of the town education office opened. A clerk in a gray uniform stepped out with keys, a half-smoked cigarette dangling from his lips. Seeing him, he frowned. "Whose kid is this? So early."

"Qingshi Village. Lin Chen. Submitting the stamped certificate." Lin Chen handed over the form and the notice photocopy.

The clerk took them. Flipped through them. His fingers were rough, black dirt packed under his nails. "Documents are complete. Leave them on the desk. Wait until nine for batch entry. You can head back now."

"Can I register now?" Lin Chen's voice was low. "I need to return to the village for work this afternoon. Afraid of delays."

The clerk looked at him. Then at his mud-caked Liberation shoes and trouser legs. The mud on his pants had dried into hard clumps. He didn't speak. Pulled a hardcover registry from the drawer. Opened it. Drew out a fountain pen. Unscrewed the cap. "Name. Village. Notice number."

Lin Chen recited them. The clerk wrote them down in neat script. Stamped it with a blue "Received" seal. The ink paste was fresh.

"Done. Go back and wait for notice. Don't be late for registration."

"Thank you." Lin Chen nodded. Turned around.

Deadline cleared. Administrative procedures complete. But the gap in the ledger remained. Three yuan seventy. Had to be filled today.

7:40 AM. He headed toward the brick kiln. Picked up his pace. But his body had reached its limit. The gauze on his soles was completely soaked. Blood seeped through the shoe uppers, blooming into dark red patches on the gray-white canvas. Every step felt like walking on broken glass. He clenched his teeth. Didn't slow down. Running scenarios in his head. Dismantling iron. Carrying water. Selling scrap. Not enough time. Had to find a faster route.

Passing the town grain station. A Jiefang truck was parked at the entrance. Sacks piled in the cargo bed. Two loaders were smoking. Seeing him, one waved him over. "Kid, want to carry sacks? Fifteen fen. Ten sacks."

Lin Chen stopped. Calculated. Ten sacks. Fifteen fen. One yuan fifty. Time: forty minutes. Extreme physical drain. But faster than dismantling iron. No tools needed. Immediate cash.

"I'll do it." He walked over.

The loader handed him a pair of coarse thread gloves. He put them on. Walked to the rear of the truck. Each sack weighed fifty jin. He squatted. Gripped the bottom with both hands. Engaged his core. Lifted. The sack settled on his shoulder. The weight dropped instantly. His collarbone went numb. He steadied his balance. Stepped forward. Climbed the loading plank. Walked into the cargo bed. Set it down. Turned. Repeated.

One sack. Two. Three. Sweat ran from his forehead into his eyes. Stinging. He didn't wipe it. Breathing grew heavier. The split on his sole was compressed, the sting sharpening into a tearing sensation. He bit through his lower lip. The taste of blood spread in his mouth. Maintained the rhythm. Four. Five. Six.

Seventh sack. His foot slipped off the edge of the plank. His body swayed. The sack slid. He instinctively threw out his hands to block it. His shoulder took the hit. A dull thud. He staggered, then steadied himself. The loader ran over. "You alright? Take a break."

"Keep going." Lin Chen's voice was hoarse. He lifted the sack again. Up. Walk. Down.

Eight. Nine. Ten.

The loader counted them out. Handed over a one-yuan-fifty note. "Impressive. Kid."

Lin Chen took it. Folded it. Slipped it into his pocket. Turned and left. His steps were unsteady, but his direction was clear.

8:30 AM. Back at the scrap yard. The boss, Fatty, was receiving goods. Seeing him, he handed over a cup of hot water. "Your face looks off. Rest."

"Any more iron?" Lin Chen asked.

"Half a piece of angle iron in the backyard. Heavy. You won't be able to carry it."

"I can dismantle it." Lin Chen set down the cup. Walked to the backyard. The angle iron weighed about twenty jin. Rusted solid. He pulled out his folding knife. Scraped the rust. Dropped machine oil. Waited. Twisted. The wrench turned. Metal grinding screeched. He threw his full weight onto it. The bolt loosened. Came off. He dragged it to the scale.

"Weigh it."

Fatty slid the counterweight. "Twenty-two jin. Twenty-five fen. Fifty-five fen."

Lin Chen took the money. Added to the previous one yuan fifty. Total: two yuan zero five. Gap remaining: one yuan sixty-five.

Time: 9:30 AM. Energy depleted. Blood from his soles had dyed the bottoms of his Liberation shoes red. He leaned against the brick wall. Gasped. Fished out the salt packet from his chest. Licked a bit. The salt stung his taste buds. His stomach churned. He swallowed.

Couldn't stop. Still short one yuan sixty-five.

He opened his eyes. Scanned the corner of the scrap yard. A pile of old newspapers and cardboard. Bought by weight. Eight fen per jin. He walked over. Squatted. Sorted. Tied. The hemp rope bit into his fingers. An old wound on the web of his thumb split open. Bled. He ignored it. Tied up. Dragged to the scale.

"Forty-five jin. Eight fen. Thirty-six fen."

Still short one yuan twenty-nine.

He walked to the town supply and marketing cooperative. Several broken bamboo baskets sat at the entrance. The boss was sorting goods. Seeing him, he sighed. "Lin family boy, back again? Nobody wants these baskets anymore. Take them. Use them for firewood."

Lin Chen squatted. Inspected the baskets. The bamboo strips were broken. But the frame held. Repairable. If fixed, he could sell them to the mat-weaving artisan in the village. Two mao each. Three would be six mao. Time: two hours.

"I'll take them." He said.

The boss waved his hand. "Take them. No charge."

Lin Chen picked up the baskets. Walked back. Steps heavy, but mind clear. Fix baskets. Sell baskets. Gather money. One step, one mark.

2:00 PM. Three baskets repaired. Bamboo strips bound tight with hemp rope. Broken sections reinforced with wire. He carried them on a shoulder pole. Headed toward Old Li's artisan shop at the east end of town. The pole pressed on his shoulder, baskets swaying. He controlled his center of gravity. Even strides.

Old Li was weaving a mat. Seeing him, he stopped his work. "These baskets... fixed solid. Six mao."

Lin Chen nodded. Took the six mao. Added to the previous three mao six. Total: nine mao six. Still short three mao three.

He stood at the shop entrance. Sunlight glaring. The pain in his soles had gone numb. His body felt hollowed out. But he didn't sit down. He walked to a cobbler's stall at the street corner. The stall owner was a lame old man, nailing shoe soles.

"Uncle." Lin Chen spoke. "Can you patch shoes? One mao."

The old man looked up. "Patch what?"

"Patch Liberation shoes. Nail on a sole guard. Reinforce the uppers."

The old man looked at his shoes. Soles worn through. Uppers split. "These shoes won't last long even patched. One mao. Deal."

Lin Chen sat down. Took off his shoes. The gauze on his soles had fused with his flesh. He endured the pain, peeled it back, revealing the swollen red split. The old man sucked in a breath. "What a sin."

Lin Chen didn't answer. Just handed over needle and thread. The old man threaded the needle. Guided the thread. Nailed the sole guard. Reinforced. Movements practiced. Twenty minutes. Shoes patched.

"One mao." The old man said.

Lin Chen handed over one mao. Put the shoes on. Laced them tight. Stood up. The pressure on his soles changed. Hard. But walkable.

He was still short two mao three.

He walked to the town post office. A hiring notice was posted at the door: Move mail parcels. Half day. Two mao.

He went inside. Found the supervisor. Signed up. Worked. Sorted. Carried. Loaded. Sweat soaked through his coarse cotton shirt. A gust of wind made it icy cold. 4:00 PM. Work finished. The supervisor handed over a two-mao note.

Lin Chen took it. Folded it. Slipped it into his pocket.

Still short three fen.

He walked to a grocery store on the street. Bought three fen worth of salt. The boss tried to give change. He refused. Just took the salt.

The numbers in the ledger finally balanced.

5:00 PM. Back in Qingshi Village. The lamp in the main room was lit. His mother was simmering porridge in the kitchen. The scent of pork cracklings drifted out. His father was repairing farm tools. Xiaoman was quietly playing with wooden blocks in the inner room.

Lin Chen walked to the earthen wall. Picked up a piece of chalk. Updated the ledger.

Day 2. Morning: Stamp/Submit form (Complete). Load sacks (1.50). Dismantle iron (0.55). Sell scrap paper (0.36). Repair baskets (0.60). Patch shoes (-0.10). Move mail (0.20). Balance: 8.30 + 3.10 = 11.40 yuan. Gap: 12 - 11.40 = 0.60 yuan. Time remaining: 1 day.

The chalk tip paused. He crossed out "0.60" and wrote beside it: Tomorrow's target: 0.60. Route: Carry three loads of water / Sell scrap.

He closed the ledger. Finger joints stiff. He rested his hands on his knees, slowly flexing them. Inside the Liberation shoes, the newly nailed sole guard pressed against the split. Painful. But it could bear weight.

His father walked over. Squatted down. Looked at his feet. "Shoes patched."

"Yeah." Lin Chen said. "They'll last until registration."

His father didn't speak. Just pulled two boiled eggs from his coat and placed them on the table. "Eat."

Lin Chen nodded. Picked one up. Peeled it. Ate slowly. Chewed thoroughly. Every bite replenished his depleted strength.

9:00 PM. Footsteps outside the courtyard gate. Not his father. A tricycle from the town clinic. Parked on the bluestone slabs. Then Dr. Wang's voice: "Lin Jianguo! Xiaoman's prescription changed! Phenobarbital dosage increased! Come get it tomorrow!"

Lin Chen opened his eyes. His fingers slowly clenched under the quilt.

Prescription changed. Dosage increased. Meant higher medication costs. The twelve yuan in the ledger might not be enough.

He sat up. Put on his shoes. Walked to the main room. The kerosene lamp flame flickered. The night outside was thick. Wind slipped through the window cracks, carrying a chill.

He walked to the earthen wall. Picked up the chalk. Beside the original route map, he wrote a new marker: Nov 4. Town clinic. New prescription. Estimated med cost: +2.50 yuan.

The chalk tip paused. He crossed out "+2.50" and changed it to "Recalculate."

He set down the chalk. Turned around. His father stood in the doorway, spinning his dry tobacco pipe in his hand.

"Understood." His father said.

Lin Chen walked to the table. Opened the ledger. Wrote on the back: New variable: Medication cost increase. Time conflict: Morning for meds, afternoon to gather tuition. Solution: Depart at 3 AM. Walk the night road. Arrive before the clinic opens.

He closed the ledger. Looked up. The kerosene lamp flame flickered once.

Tomorrow, he'd have to wake early.

He walked to the water vat. Scooped up a ladle of water. Splashed it on his face. Droplets ran down his jaw. Sleepiness was completely suppressed.

Six mao. Plus medication. One step, one mark.