Chapter 11: Starry Night

Joy fascinates me when happiness is no longer my appointed duty.

—Jian Zhen, “An Account of an Autumn Night”

She continued attending class and continued being forced through all manner of strange “training.” Once she finished compiling the previous set of materials, she was assigned a new collection. Every Saturday without fail, she sent him an email, and every Saturday without fail, he replied with a single word:

Good.

He continued receiving flowers. Some unknown admirer remained tireless, though they no longer confined themselves to roses. There were balloon flowers, lilies, wild roses, Yimi flowers, and many others.

He gave all of them to her.

A separate corner of her dormitory had been cleared for the flowers, all their different colors piled together. But freshly cut flowers did not last long. Before two days had passed, they began to wilt.

On clear days, he showed her the tea leaves he had recently acquired. Biluochun. Beneath the sunlight, the tea was clear and translucent, though the leaves could withstand only two infusions.

On rainy days, he said the weather was perfect for drinking. Something aged, preferably Shaoxing rice wine. But he still had a heap of material to review. Being a professor was no fun.

On overcast days, he said, “Today’s smog index is off the charts. Smog masks are useless. I’ve already ordered a gas mask online. Do you want one? We can place a group order. The second one is half price.”

In the morning, when they were alone in the classroom, she heard him yawn while she switched on the equipment and say he had gone to bed late.

“Were you up all night reading manga again?”

He glared at her. “Nonsense.”

At noon, the students surged from the classroom in a swarm.

“Doesn’t it look like prisoners being released into the yard?” he asked.

At dusk, students swung their rackets on the athletic field. He stood with his hands clasped behind his back.

“They play tennis as though they’re swatting mosquitoes.”

At night, he said:

Go to bed. Good night.

Only after rereading the words good night ten times did she feel that her day had settled securely into place.

She had no one with whom she could share this feeling, so she savored it alone.

Secret and bitter, like chewing tea leaves, yet always leaving sweetness at the end.

...

Day after day, new shoots emerged from withered branches. Then, seemingly overnight, grass spread across the land and pale purple February orchids filled half the horizon.

April arrived with pink peach blossoms and green willows. It was Dancheng’s finest season.

On Wednesday, Chen Zhiyu did not open his PowerPoint presentation as usual. Standing at the lectern, he raised a document in his hand.

“Professor Liu is taking two class periods. He wants you to conduct a field questionnaire.”

Professor Liu taught survey research methods. His current research project happened to require fieldwork in two cities, covering twenty-three urban districts and towns in total. It was an excellent opportunity for practical experience, so he intended to let the students conduct the fieldwork and familiarize themselves with the process.

It was grueling work, but it came with a stipend. Travel and meal expenses would be reimbursed, and they would receive thirty yuan for every completed questionnaire.

Professor Liu entered and explained the detailed requirements. Finally, he appointed Su Nan and the representative from his own class to coordinate everything.

Students would work in pairs, with each pair responsible for one district and forty questionnaires. It was neither an enormous number nor a small one. As a class representative, Su Nan naturally had to set an example. She allowed the other students to choose first and took whatever remained.

She was left with G Town in Y City, one of the most impoverished areas in the entire province.

Every group had to depart by Friday afternoon at the latest and was given two days to complete the work. To ensure everything proceeded safely, Chen Zhiyu and Professor Liu would each remain in the city center of one of the two cities and coordinate from there.

Chen Zhiyu picked up a piece of chalk and wrote a telephone number on the board.

“Those going to Y City should call this number if anything happens. Report your location in the group chat at seven every evening. Everyone, pay attention to your personal safety.”

When he raised his gaze, it settled on Su Nan.

The moment Su Nan met his eyes, she lowered her head.

Su Nan was paired with Professor Liu’s class representative. Applying their talent for finding pleasure amid hardship, they divided the questionnaires equally, taking twenty each and covering separate areas. They planned to grit their teeth and finish everything on Saturday so they could explore downtown Y City on Sunday.

G Town was remote enough to be considered countryside.

Su Nan met the person responsible at the village committee. They assigned a female secretary to guide her, riding an electric scooter along roads between the fields.

An endless expanse of green stretched to the horizon and merged with the rolling mountains in the distance.

On the opposite side of the fields stood an ancient tree towering toward the sky. Red strips of cloth were tied to its branches and waved in the wind.

Only when she began administering the questionnaires did she discover that the task was far more difficult than expected.

Most of the people who remained in the countryside were elderly. They spoke a different dialect and had received little education. On top of that, the questionnaire had been designed at far too academic a level for its respondents. Even after endless gestures and explanations, they could scarcely understand one another.

With no other choice, Su Nan broke down and explained every question individually.

She ate lunch at the secretary’s home. The secretary had other business that afternoon, so Su Nan could only continue visiting households on foot.

Layer after layer of dusk pressed down.

She still had five questionnaires remaining. After encouraging herself, Su Nan jogged along the river embankment toward the next household.

At seven, Chen Zhiyu sent a message to the research group:

Share your location and check in.

Messages appeared one after another. Chen Zhiyu compared each one against the list.

In the end...

There was nothing from Su Nan.

He found the contact information for Professor Liu’s class representative, who had been assigned to Su Nan, and called her. He had barely said “Hello” when her tearful voice came through the phone.

“Professor Chen, I can’t reach Su Nan!”

His heart jolted. Suppressing his emotions, he asked for the details.

The class representative explained that they had agreed to meet in town at six, then take a taxi back to the city together. When Su Nan failed to arrive, she called, but no one answered. At six thirty, Su Nan’s phone became unreachable altogether.

Unsure what to do, she had continued calling while she waited. By seven, she had been preparing to report the situation to Chen Zhiyu.

Chen Zhiyu quickly glanced at the form and memorized the address. He reassured the class representative.

“Find a reputable hotel in town and stay there. Don’t wander around.”

After arranging matters for her, he called the village committee. They said Su Nan had visited at six thirty to pay the compensation owed to them, then left.

Chen Zhiyu instructed everyone in the group to remain inside their hotels that night and not go out unnecessarily. He then hurried downstairs, retrieved his car, and drove toward G Town.

Night had already fallen. Vast, empty fields stretched along the road, with only a few scattered lights visible in the darkness.

Forty minutes later, Chen Zhiyu reached the village committee office. It had already closed, and the building was completely dark.

Streetlights stood sparsely along the road. Many were broken. Swarms of insects gathered beneath those still working and buzzed as they hurled themselves against the bulbs.

He got out of the car and walked slowly along the road, phone in hand. His gaze swept across the dark surface of the lake, the sinister shadows of the trees, and the reeds swaying in the wind.

“Su Nan!”

The surroundings were empty. The wind brushed his ears, carrying only his own shout.

It had been many years since he had experienced the feeling of being consumed by anxiety.

What in life was ever absolute?

There were only the accidents, surprises, and opportunities that struck without warning whenever one believed oneself fully prepared.

Did people not rely upon a little unpredictability to add footnotes to their ordinary, tedious lives?

A dim gray figure suddenly appeared on the embankment to his left.

His steps stopped. He caught his breath and called toward it.

“Su Nan?”

After a moment came a timid response.

“Professor Chen?”

Weeds tangled around his trouser legs.

He ran toward her.

Su Nan sat barefoot beside the field. Her arms, trouser legs, and half her body were coated in muddy water. In one hand, she clutched an equally mud-covered phone.

Her gaze was somewhat unfocused. Only when Chen Zhiyu stopped beside her did it gradually clear. She smiled.

“Professor Ch—”

Chen Zhiyu’s expression was dark, with anger faintly visible beneath it.

Her smile instinctively disappeared, and she hurried to explain. “My phone fell into the field. Oh, the questionnaires...” She glanced at the backpack beside her. “The questionnaires are fine.”

“Did you leave your brain at home?”

She froze. A moment later, she turned her gaze aside helplessly and bit her lip.

The mud on her fingers had almost dried. A light scrape made it flake away.

Chen Zhiyu caught his breath. It took him a long moment to suppress his anger.

“Can’t you stand?”

“I twisted my ankle.”

He crouched and pulled her leg toward him.

She instinctively drew back. “It’s covered in mud.”

His grip only tightened.

He held her ankle and pressed gently with his cool fingers. “Here?”

She hissed in pain.

“Why is it so badly swollen?”

“The soil on the embankment was loose. I was hurrying to return the call and didn’t notice. The moment I stepped on it, I slid down. My foot sank into the mud, and I twisted it. I must have stepped on something too, because the sole hurts. Fortunately, there weren’t any leeches in the water. Those frighten me most.”

“Speak two sentences less. It won’t kill you.”

She obediently pressed her lips together. “Oh.”

Chen Zhiyu raised her leg, took out his phone, and shone its light over the sole of her foot.

Half-dried mud mixed with half-dried blood. A wound half a finger long cut across her sole.

“You didn’t know how to call for help?”

“It was already dark. I waited a long time, but no one came past. I saw your car drive by and called out, but you didn’t hear me.”

Unable to vent his anger, his words became increasingly merciless.

“Why didn’t you put on a straw hat, wade into the field, and start planting rice while you were at it?”

Su Nan remained silent.

“Why didn’t you return to town earlier? Your classmate waited for you for ages. Do you have no sense of responsibility toward your group?”

She kept her head lowered and did not dare defend herself.

Chen Zhiyu put his phone into his pocket. Then he noticed that she was still clutching another phone.

He stared at it in silence, abruptly snatched it away, and shoved it into his pocket as well. He picked up the backpack from the ground, hung it over her shoulder, then turned his back to her and bent down.

“Climb on.”

She stared at him.

His patience broke. “Hurry!”

Su Nan extended her arms and held his shoulders. With a slight exertion, she climbed onto his back.

He adjusted her weight and carried her securely, walking through the wild grass toward the road.

The sky overhead was filled with stars, while insects sang from the fields.

Her vision blurred and cleared, then cleared and blurred again.

She wished this road would never end.