Chapter 94: Homeward Bound and the Hole Card

The hard-seat carriage of the slow train was thick with the mixed smells of cheap tobacco, sour sweat, and orange peel. Lin Chen sat by the window, his left foot propped on a woven sack. The sole of his shoe had worn through, and the swelling at his ankle had been cinched by his coarse sock into a deep groove. The wheels struck the rails with a dull, regular clatter, like an old metronome. He had his eyes closed, but he was not asleep. He was balancing accounts in his head. The listed fare for the return hard-seat ticket was three yuan five jiao; in the end he had spent only two. The money he saved by walking had just barely plugged last night’s gap at the guesthouse. The ledger was balanced. But the official notice for the final interview at Provincial Tech had not yet been issued. Travel money, copying fees for materials, and possibly another trip to the provincial capital with lodging and meals—all of it required cash in hand. His original capital of seven yuan three jiao had already been wiped clean. The next entry on the income side could only be waited for.

Outside the window, the scenery faded from the gray-white towers of the provincial capital into rolling hills and bare yellow slopes. Spring had come late; only scattered traces of green showed along the field ridges. He took the evening paper from his inner pocket once more. The fold lines had already gone soft. “Pilot Program for the Assessment of Basic Computer Applications.” He had read that line no fewer than ten times. A pilot program meant uncertainty. It meant no past exam papers, meant an information gap. But it was also a seam. For someone who could not afford even a decent reference book, a seam was a door. He folded the paper again and tucked it beneath the unopened letter from home. The envelope had been pasted together by his mother from an old calendar page, and the corners were already fuzzy with wear. He had not opened it. Not because he was afraid to, but because he knew what it most likely contained: a list of his younger brother’s medicine expenses, or some message his father had asked someone to pass along. Opening it would only add one more layer of weight to his mind. Better to wait until he was home.

At four in the afternoon, the train pulled into Qinghe County Station. The wind on the platform was sharper than in the provincial capital, carrying the smell of coal grit. Lin Chen picked up his woven sack and stepped down, his right foot touching first, his left hanging suspended for half a second before lightly brushing the ground. Pain shot from the sole of his foot up into his calf. He clenched his back teeth and made no sound. Outside the station, the exit was packed with tricycle drivers soliciting fares and vendors selling boiled eggs. He skirted the crowd and started down the county road toward home. Twelve li. On ordinary days it took him two and a half hours. With the injury to his foot dragging him down, today it would probably take three. He adjusted his breathing and shifted his weight onto his right leg and his core. He did not walk fast, but he did not stop. When he passed the township clinic, he paused and looked through the glass at the price list inside. Red antiseptic: two mao. Gauze: one mao five. He patted his pocket. Empty. He kept walking.

By the time he pushed open the courtyard gate, dusk had already settled. The iron pot on the earthen stove was still warm beneath a broken bamboo cover. Wang Guiying had just come back from the village primary school; chalk dust still clung to the cuffs of her padded jacket. She was sitting on the threshold trimming green beans. Hearing the sound, she looked up. Her hands stilled for a moment. Her gaze fell first on his face, then moved downward over his trouser legs, and finally fixed itself on the unnatural way his left foot hovered. She did not ask how the exam had gone. She only set down the bamboo basket, got up, and went to ladle water by the stove. “Wash up. There’s corn mush left in the pot.” Her voice was level, the same as always. Lin Jianguo came out from the inner room with half a cigarette in his hand, unlit. He glanced at Lin Chen and gave a single nod, then tucked the cigarette behind his ear and turned toward the woodshed for firewood. Xiaoman had been bent over the low table in the main room; hearing the noise, he ran out with a worn-down pencil clenched in his hand. At the sight of his brother, his eyes brightened for an instant, then quickly dimmed again. He did not dare come too close, afraid of bumping his brother’s foot.

Lin Chen drew water from the well. The cold water on his face cut like needles. He dried his hands, went inside, and sat down. Wang Guiying brought him a bowl of mush with a small dish of pickles beside it. He ate very slowly, chewing each mouthful to bits. Only when warmth reached his stomach did the tautness in his nerves slacken by the smallest measure. Across from him, Wang Guiying sat stitching a shoe sole. The sound of the needle passing through cloth was dense and steady. “Any word from Provincial Tech?” she asked.

Lin Chen set down his bowl. “I passed the review. The final interview notice comes tomorrow.”

The needle in Wang Guiying’s hand paused for a beat. She said nothing. Then she resumed. The point punched through the thick cloth with a soft sound. “You still have to make another trip to the provincial capital?” she asked.

“Most likely. Round-trip fare will be around eight yuan, and copying materials and getting photos will cost a few more.” Lin Chen gave the numbers plainly, neither concealing nor exaggerating them.

Wang Guiying nodded. She reached into the pocket of her apron and took out a handkerchief bundle. She untied it. Inside were scattered small bills and coins. She counted out five yuan and pushed it toward him. “Take this for now. If it’s not enough, we’ll talk again.”

Lin Chen did not take it. “Mom, I can scrape together the travel money myself. Keep this for Xiaoman’s medicine.”

Wang Guiying looked at him. There was no reproach in her eyes, only the kind of practicality long years had worn into her. “Your foot is swollen like that, and you still walked twelve li home. If you run to the provincial capital again, what about your senior-year classes? The first mock exam won’t wait for you either.” Her voice was not loud, but every word was clear.

Lin Chen fell silent. He knew that was reality. The final interview and senior-year review classes collided in time. No matter how important independent admissions might be, they could not sit the college entrance exam for him. He could not gamble the whole family’s hopes on it.

“I’ll hold on to both lines,” Lin Chen said at last. His voice was low, but there was no hesitation in it. “The interview is only one day. I’ll take problem sets with me on the road, then come back and keep pushing for the mock exam. I can borrow the materials from County No. 1 High School. It won’t cost anything.”

Wang Guiying looked at him for several seconds, then tucked the five yuan back into the handkerchief. “Do as you like. But that foot needs treatment. Go to the clinic tomorrow. Don’t just grit your teeth and endure it.”

At the doorway, Lin Jianguo knocked out his pipe. He said nothing, only turned and went back into the inner room. After a while he came out again and laid a crumpled ten-yuan note on the table. “Buy a pair of rubber shoes. Thick soles.”

Lin Chen looked at the bill. The paper had yellowed, and the edges were darkened with sweat. He did not refuse it. He took it. “Thanks, Dad.”

Lin Jianguo waved a hand and went back inside. In the main room, only the sound of shoe soles being stitched and his younger brother’s pencil scratching over paper remained. Lin Chen took the family letter from his inner pocket and finally opened it. There was no letter inside. Only a drawing on the back of a sheet of homework paper. In crooked lines, it showed a stick figure standing on a very high set of steps, with several stars over its head. Beside it, in his younger brother’s handwriting, were the words: Brother, high. Below that was another line in smaller characters: The medicine isn’t bitter anymore.

Lin Chen folded the paper and tucked it into his corrections notebook.

The next morning, the postman’s bicycle bell rang twice at the entrance to the village. The final interview notice from Provincial Tech had arrived. Official red letterhead, stamped by the admissions office. Attached was an itinerary: report next Monday, materials verification that afternoon, interview the following morning. Location: Main Building, Provincial Tech University. Lin Chen pressed the notice beneath the glass tabletop, opened his ledger, crossed out “return trip,” and wrote: Provincial capital interview. Budget: 10 yuan (Father). Gap: photo fees, copying fees, transportation costs. Solution: borrow from County No. 1 High School library; substitute-teach at the town middle school on weekends (already arranged with Teacher Wang, two yuan per hour).

He closed the notebook and stood up. On his left foot he now wore the rubber shoes his father had bought. The soles were thick, and when they touched the ground the pain was cushioned by a layer. He walked outside the courtyard. The yellow dirt road stretched toward the mountain hollow in the distance. The wind was still cold. But he knew the direction had already been fixed. The interview was the springboard; the college entrance exam was the bottom line. The two lines had to advance in parallel.

He turned and went back inside, dragged out the chipped wooden trunk from beneath the bed, and opened it. Inside were his senior-year textbooks, along with the corrections notebook he had brought back from the provincial capital on this trip. He opened to the first page and wrote in the blank space: Countdown to Provincial Tech interview: 6 days. Goal: advance on two fronts. Neglect neither. Trust no luck.

The pen paused. He looked up. Outside the window, the clouds hung low. But on the distant ridgeline, a thread of gray-white light had already begun to show. He lowered his head and wrote another formula.

The next round had begun.