Chapter 100: Wet Ruts and Windows

The alarm clock vibrated on schedule at 5:40. Lin Chen reached out and stopped it. There was no sound of rain outside the main room, only the monotonous rhythm of water dripping from the eaves onto the bluestone slabs. He sat up. The bandage around his left ankle was already faintly damp. He removed the old gauze. The edges of the wound had gone pale; less tissue fluid was seeping out than last night, but the swelling had not gone down. He swabbed it again with iodine, wrapped on fresh bandages, and pulled them tight. Pain was still absent. There was only a heavy, swollen sensation, as though the limb did not belong to him.

He did not light the kerosene lamp. In the dark, he pulled on a pair of trousers washed to a faded white and tucked the transparent document sleeve inside his undershirt pocket, close against his body. On the stove were two cold steamed buns his mother had left warming in the pot the night before. He broke them apart and swallowed them with cold water. With food in his stomach, half the chill was pressed back down.

When he pushed open the door, the mud in the yard had already hardened, a thin layer of frost crusting the surface. The dampness of the late spring cold drilled up his trouser legs. He locked the courtyard gate and started down the dirt road toward town. Whenever his left foot touched the ground, he had to test the surface first with the outer edge of his sole, make sure it would not slip, and only then shift his weight. Every step felt like stepping onto a loose brick.

At 6:20, he reached the back gate of County No. 1 High School. The light in the guardroom was on; the old watchman inside was dozing in his army coat. Lin Chen did not disturb him. He climbed over the low side wall. The athletic field was empty. On the third floor of the teaching building, the classrooms already glowed with the cold white of fluorescent lights. He entered the exam room, found his seat. On the desktop lay the science comprehensive paper and answer sheet.

At exactly seven, the bell rang. The invigilator handed out the test. Lin Chen filled in his admission number and turned the paper over. On the first three multiple-choice physics questions, he scanned the stems once and set his pen directly on the answers. For the chemistry equation balancing, he wrote down the coefficients from memory. Time was cut into exact increments. By 7:20, he had finished the first part of the major physics problem. The tip of his pen paused. He glanced at his watch. 7:25.

He raised his hand. The invigilator came over.

"Teacher, I’m not feeling well. I’d like to hand in my paper early," Lin Chen said. His voice was very low, but clear.

The teacher frowned, looked at his face, then at his left foot under the desk. A ring of dark dampness showed at the top of his shoe. "Your deferred-exam request was approved?"

"Yes. My homeroom teacher signed it." Lin Chen pulled a photocopy of the application from the document sleeve and handed it over.

The teacher checked the official stamp, then nodded. "Leave the test paper. Fill in the answer sheet. You can go. Don’t disturb the others."

Lin Chen rose. The muscles in his left leg were stiff. He braced a hand on the desk and slowly eased himself out of his seat. The draft through the corridor was cold. He went down the stairs, deliberately slowing every step to keep his balance from shifting. By the time he reached the school gate, the old watchman was already awake, sweeping fallen leaves with a broom. Lin Chen nodded to him and walked toward the old twenty-eight-inch bicycle parked at the mouth of the alley.

The chain had been oiled, but the tires were caked with mud. He swung himself onto the seat, set his right foot on the pedal, and kept his left foot suspended. The bicycle wobbled once. He drove down hard with his right leg, and the wheels crushed over the slick dirt road. Five kilometers. By yesterday’s calculations, it would take forty minutes. But the road was softer than he had expected. The tires sank in, the resistance increased. He had to adjust his center of gravity again and again, and before long the muscles in his right leg began to burn. Sweat seeped down from his temples and stuck to his skin in the cold wind.

At 8:05, the sheet-metal roof of County South Freight Station came into view. He squeezed the brakes hard. The bicycle slid another half meter through the muddy water before stopping. Margin of time: fifteen minutes. He locked the bike to one of the shed posts and walked to the ticket window.

"North outskirts of the provincial capital," he said, handing over twelve yuan.

The ticket seller tore off a stiff paper ticket and pushed it out. "Departs at 8:30. Ticket check in advance."

Lin Chen took the ticket and sat down on a long wooden bench in the waiting area. Outside the shed, scattered drops of water still fell from the edge of the metal roof. He unzipped his jacket, took out the document sleeve, and checked the materials inside one more time: two one-inch photos, a photocopy of the household register, the original score report, the deferred-exam application, and the Provincial Institute of Technology interview notice. The edges were neat. There were no creases. He sealed it again and tucked it back inside his clothes. In his head, the ledger began turning pages on its own: outbound fare, twelve yuan, already paid. Return fare, eleven yuan. Photo debt, 1.2 yuan. Remaining cash on hand, 9.6 yuan. Shortfall, 1.4. The repair shop’s end-of-day wage of eight yuan that afternoon could cover it, provided he made the four o’clock run back.

At 8:20, the gate for ticket inspection opened. There were not many passengers, mostly farmers going into the provincial capital for the market and peddlers on short routes. Lin Chen stood at the very end of the line, had his ticket checked, and boarded. The cabin smelled of diesel and damp wool sweaters. He found a window seat in the last row. His left foot could not bend, so he could only stretch it straight out, pressing it against the back of the seat in front of him.

At 8:35, the coach pulled out. The ring road was in better condition than the provincial highway, but the jolting was still severe. Every time the bus went over a speed bump, the swollen part of his left foot throbbed with a dull pressure. He closed his eyes and began silently reciting biology inheritance diagrams in his mind. Mendel’s law of segregation, chromosome behavior during meiosis, the light and dark reactions of photosynthesis. The points of knowledge meshed like gears and turned. He did not need paper or pen. He only had to build the chain of reasoning in his head. Outside the window, the scenery shifted from loess hills to gray-white factory buildings, then to continuous strips of landscaping.

At 11:20, the coach rolled into the suburban passenger station north of the provincial capital. Lin Chen opened his eyes. People in the cabin began gathering their belongings. He braced himself on the seatback and stood up. When his left foot touched the floor, his knee gave slightly. He steadied his center of gravity and slowly made his way off the bus.

From the passenger station to Provincial Tech, he had to transfer twice by city bus and then walk another eight hundred meters. He checked his watch. 11:40. The verification window closed at 12:30. Margin of time: fifty minutes. He quickened his pace. During a transfer, standing beneath a bus-stop sign, he pulled half a compressed biscuit from the pocket against his chest and swallowed it dry. The cold steamed buns in his stomach had already been digested; low blood sugar brought on a slight dizziness. He took a deep breath and forced his attention onto the route of the next bus.

At 12:10, the south gate of Provincial Tech came into view. Red-brick walls. Wrought-iron gates. A security booth. He walked in, followed the signs on the notice, went down the tree-lined path, and found the administrative building. In the first-floor lobby, the sign for the admissions office hung at the end of the corridor.

There were three people in line at the window. He stood at the back. His left foot was now completely numb; only the strength of his right leg and lower back kept him upright. He slipped his hand into his trouser pocket. His fingertips touched the stub of the stiff paper ticket.

12:25. The two people in front of him finished and left. He stepped forward.

The staff member behind the window was a middle-aged woman in glasses, arranging a stack of forms with her head lowered. "Materials," she said.

Lin Chen handed over the document sleeve with both hands. She opened it and checked everything one by one. The one-inch photos, the photocopies, the originals, the application form, the notice. She moved very slowly, her fingertips pausing at the edge of every page. Lin Chen watched her expression without urging her on. He knew that any tiny flaw could bring the whole process to a halt.

"Deferred-exam application, signed by the homeroom teacher." The woman looked up at him. "Where’s the original?"

"In the folder. Third page," Lin Chen said evenly.

She pulled out the application, checked the stamp and signature, then looked at his face. "You came in person for the verification?"

"Yes."

"You attended the make-up test on Wednesday morning?"

"I did. I handed in the science paper early. It was handled under the deferred-exam procedure."

The woman nodded and stamped the form with a blue rectangular seal. "All materials are complete. Verification passed. Three o’clock this afternoon, report to Room 302 in Building B of the laboratory complex for the second round. Bring your admission card and your ID."

She put the materials back into the sleeve and handed it over. Lin Chen accepted it with both hands. "Thank you."

He turned and walked out of the administrative building. Sunlight broke through the clouds and shone onto the wet asphalt, steaming up a thin mist. He leaned against the wall and slowly sat down. The swelling in his left foot finally broke through the barrier of numbness and turned into a burst of sharp pain. He loosened his shoelaces and pulled his sock down to the ankle. The skin across the top of his foot had already turned purple, and threads of blood had seeped through the edge of the bandage. He wrapped it tightly again and retied his shoe.

The second-round interview was at three in the afternoon. It was now 12:40. He needed to eat something and buy a ticket for the return trip. He felt around in his pocket. The ticket stub was still there, but the cash left on him was only 1.2 yuan. Bus fare to the lab building, fare for the return trip, lunch. The numbers in the ledger began jumping in his head again. He stood up and walked toward the snack stall outside the school gate.

The vendor was frying youtiao. Lin Chen bought two steamed buns and a bowl of free hot soup. He squatted on the steps by the roadside and ate slowly. The hot broth slid down into his stomach and drove out the cold. He took out a pencil and wrote a new timeline on the back of his ledger: 12:50, buy the return ticket. 1:20, board. 3:20, arrive at County South Freight Station. 3:50, ride back to the repair shop. 4:00, begin disassembling and washing bearings.

He closed the ledger. Wind came down the street, rolling up the leaves on the ground. He stood. When his left foot touched down, the stabbing pain hit him again. He clenched his teeth and did not stop.

Building B of the laboratory complex was in the northwest corner of campus. He had to cross the entire grounds. He glanced at his watch. One o’clock. He stepped forward and walked into the sunlight.

When he reached the school gate, he noticed a new notice posted on the bulletin board. Black characters on white paper. The title read: Notice on Temporary Adjustment to the Second-Round Examination for the Electronic Information Track. He stopped. His eyes fell to the second line.

"The examination venue has been changed to: Basement Computer Room, Building C of the laboratory complex. Time moved forward to: 1:30 p.m."

Lin Chen’s fingers tightened slightly. 1:30. From now until then, thirty minutes. Basement computer room. No elevator. He lowered his eyes and looked at his left foot.

Then he turned and walked deeper into the campus. He did not quicken his pace, but the distance of every step shortened by two centimeters.