Chapter 13: Becoming a Pariah

The tenth day of the lunar new year, early morning.

A fine drizzle fell over the mountain fields—the second rain of the year—dripping steadily throughout the entire morning.

No one was in the mood to appreciate this lingering beauty. Tian Run’e stood under the eaves, deeply troubled. Today was market day in town, and she had hoped to sell two loads of rice to help raise tuition fees for her second daughter and Manzai.

Just after seven, seeing the rain ease slightly, she decided not to wait any longer. She quickly wrapped the urea bags filled with rice in white plastic, then handed a bamboo hat and a raincoat to Li Heng.

“Manzai, it looks like this rain isn’t stopping anytime soon. Let’s go,” she instructed anxiously.

She feared that if they were late, the rice wouldn’t sell, her face full of worry and her heart burning with urgency.

“All right,” came the reply. Li Heng donned the bamboo hat, draped the raincoat over his shoulders, bent down, and hoisted a load of rice onto his shoulder, stepping into the rain.

This load weighed 105 jin.

Normally, coming from a rural background, he wouldn’t be particularly bothered. Strong and sturdy, he could cover the ten-li journey to town with at most five breaks.

But today, the dirt road was treacherous—rutted and muddy. Before long, he was covered in mud, his liberation shoes caked thick with grime, the original military green hidden beneath.

The slippery mud made him nearly slip twice on the downhill stretches, almost tumbling into the flooded rice paddies below. Cold sweat broke out, and he cursed inwardly.

Damn this cursed weather—made him so cowardly.

Tian Run’e also carried a load of rice, just over 80 jin, following behind.

Li Jianguo, due to health issues, couldn’t carry heavy loads and stayed behind to help Li Lan feed the cattle and pigs.

Seeing an old man pushing a cart overtake him, Li Heng envied him instantly. The man was clean and neat, even in the rain, defiantly chewing on a dry tobacco stem, strolling along leisurely, exhaling smoke rings now and then—how comfortable he looked.

Soon after, two horses trotted past, followed by a bicycle.

The bike was ridden by a middle-aged man, with a stout boy seated behind. As they splashed through a puddle, water sprayed all over Li Heng—on his head and in his mouth.

Seeing Li Heng’s miserable state, the stout boy laughed heartily, pointing at him.

Laugh all you want! Riding a bike in this weather is just showing off. Bet you’ll fall and break your neck soon.

Li Heng’s eyes reddened with frustration, feeling more useless by the day.

“Li Heng, Li Heng...”

Just as his right shoulder began aching and he switched the pole to his left shoulder, a rumbling sound came from behind.

Amid the roar was shouting.

It was a walk-behind tractor.

The driver was Zhang Zhiyong, his face flushed and radiant, drawing many glances—a sight more impressive than driving a fancy Benz or BMW in later times.

Without braking, the reckless man jumped off the tractor, waving his right hand vigorously, shouting to Tian Run’e, “Aunt Tian, get on!”

Tian Run’e glanced at the already crowded cargo bed and said, “Looks like there’s no space. Zhiyong, you go ahead. Don’t worry about us; we’ll get there soon.”

“Who says there’s no space? There’s room—watch this.”

Ignoring her protests, Zhang Zhiyong turned and yelled loudly into the cargo bed, “We’re already more than halfway there. Anyone who wants off now doesn’t have to pay. Anyone getting off?”

“Really?” asked an older woman.

“Sixth Aunt, it’s not your first time riding with me. My word is my bond,” Zhang Zhiyong pounded his chest.

His words worked; several people who liked to take advantage jumped off immediately.

Zhang Zhiyong helped the mother and son load their rice into the cargo bed and told Tian Run’e, “Aunt Tian, sit up front. Someone already took the front seat.”

This referred to the seat beside the driver, where one person could sit on either side.

The rain increased again, and after a moment’s hesitation, Tian Run’e went up front.

Li Heng, having a close relationship with the Zhang family, was less formal and jumped straight into the cargo bed.

The bed was packed with people—young village women, older ladies, and a few elderly men.

His bamboo hat and raincoat were soaked. To avoid dampening others, he stood quietly in a corner.

As he bent down to adjust his shoelace, he suddenly noticed a young girl staring intently at him.

She looked about sixteen, fairly attractive. Li Heng felt her face was somewhat familiar. After a moment, he recalled her name—Yang Juan, the only daughter of the village women’s committee chief.

In a previous life, they had some connection. When his daughter studied at Changshi Yali High School, Yang Juan happened to be her homeroom teacher.

His daughter liked her very much, saying the teacher treated her kindly and often invited her home for meals.

Recalling this, Li Heng smiled reflexively and greeted, “Yang Juan, long time no see.”

Surprised by his greeting, Yang Juan blushed faintly and after a while whispered, “You know my name?”

No wonder she was so startled.

Because the Li family lived at the village entrance, while hers was near the brigade office, almost a mile apart, and since they were not in the same grade, being called by name was unexpected, yet oddly pleasing.

Li Heng replied, “Of course I know. If I’m not mistaken, you and Chen Zitong were elementary school classmates, right?”

As Yang Juan’s eyes sparkled, about to respond, the women’s committee chief suddenly reached out and pulled her daughter behind her.

Half-jokingly, she said to Li Heng, “If you want to chat, go find your aunt. Juanzi is timid and inexperienced. Don’t scare her.”

Her words triggered a chorus of mischievous laughter from the cargo bed.

One lecherous old man added to the committee chief, “Your Juanzi is quite good-looking. Better watch out, or she’ll end up like the second Chen Zijing.”

Hearing this, Yang Juan lowered her head, staring at her toes, her face redder than a monkey’s behind.

Li Heng was exasperated. After six months, his reputation remained unchanged; everyone still thought of him as a Ximen Qing.

He felt a deep hostility from this world. He and Chen Zijing were like Liang Shanbo and Zhu Yingtai—mutual affection—but somehow the story had become a version of Jin Ping Mei.

This cruel heaven was unjust. He was wronged. Why was he struck down like this?

Faced with a dozen or so unreasonable gossiping women, Li Heng knew he was no match. Wisely, he pretended not to hear.