Chapter 94: Homeward Bound and the Hole Card

The hard-seat carriage of the slow train was thick with the mingled smells of cheap tobacco, sour sweat, and orange peel. Lin Chen sat by the window with his left foot resting on a woven sack. The sole of his shoe had already worn through, and the swelling at his ankle was cinched by his coarse sock into a deep welt. The wheels hammered against the rails in a steady, muffled rhythm, like an old metronome. He closed his eyes, but he was not asleep. He was running the numbers in his head.

The posted fare for the return hard seat had been three yuan fifty, but after walking to the suburban stop and switching to the slow train, he had actually spent only one yuan fifty. The two yuan he saved had just filled the gap left after last night's guesthouse charge and this morning's breakfast. The account balanced. But the official notice for the final interview at Provincial Tech still had not been issued. Travel money, photocopying fees for his materials, and the food and lodging for another possible trip to the provincial capital would all require cash on hand. His starting capital of seven yuan three jiao had been emptied out. The next income could only wait.

Outside the window, the scenery slowly degraded from the gray-white high-rises of the provincial capital into rolling hills and bare loess slopes. Spring had come late; only scattered traces of green showed along the ridges of the fields. He pulled the evening paper from his inner pocket again. Its creases 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 there were no past papers, meant an information gap. But it was also a crack in the wall. For someone who could not even afford a decent reference book, a crack was a door.

He folded the newspaper again and pressed 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 fraying. He had not opened it. Not because he was afraid, but because he already knew what it most likely contained: a list of his younger brother's medicine expenses, or a message his father had asked someone to pass along. Opening it would only add one more layer of burden to his mind. Better to wait until he got home.

At four in the afternoon, the train stopped at Qinghe County Station. The wind on the platform was harsher than in the provincial capital, carrying the smell of coal dust. Lin Chen lifted his woven sack, set his right foot down first, let his left hang in the air for half a second, then touched it lightly to the ground. Pain shot from the sole of his foot up into his calf. He clenched his back teeth and made no sound.

The station exit was crowded with tricycle drivers shouting for passengers and vendors selling boiled eggs. He avoided the crowd and started back along the county road. Twelve li. Normally it would take him two and a half hours. With his foot injured, it would probably take three today. He adjusted his breathing and shifted his weight onto his right leg and his waist. His steps were not fast, but they never stopped. 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 felt at his pocket. Empty. He kept walking.

By the time he pushed open the courtyard gate, the sky was already darkening. The iron pot on the earthen stove was still warm, covered with a broken bamboo screen. Wang Guiying had only recently returned 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. When she heard him, she looked up. Her hands paused for a moment. Her eyes fell first on his face, then moved down over his trouser legs, and finally stopped on the unnatural way his left foot hovered off the ground.

She did not ask how the exam had gone. She only set down the bamboo basket, rose, and went to ladle water by the stove. "Wash up. There's corn mush in the pot." Her voice was flat, just as usual.

Lin Jianguo came out from the inner room with half a cigarette in his hand. He had not lit it. He glanced at Lin Chen and nodded once. Then he tucked the cigarette behind his ear and turned toward the woodshed to fetch firewood.

Xiaoman had been sprawled over the low table in the main room. Hearing the noise, he ran out, gripping a pencil worn nearly bald. At the sight of his older brother, his eyes lit up for an instant, then dimmed again just as quickly. He did not dare come too close, afraid of bumping his brother's foot.

Lin Chen drew water at the well. The cold splash on his face was piercing. He dried his hands, went inside, and sat down. Wang Guiying brought him a bowl of mush with a small dish of pickled vegetables beside it. He ate very slowly, chewing every mouthful to pieces. Only when warmth reached his stomach did the taut string in his nerves loosen by a fraction.

Wang Guiying sat down across from him, stitching a shoe sole. The sound of needle and thread passing through the layers was dense and quick.

"Any word from Provincial Tech?" she asked.

Lin Chen set down his bowl. "The review passed. The final interview notice will be sent out tomorrow."

The needle in Wang Guiying's hand paused for a moment. She said nothing, only resumed stitching. The needle point pierced the thick cloth with a faint puchi sound.

"You'll have to go to the provincial capital again?" she asked.

"Most likely. Round-trip fare will be about eight yuan, and photocopying the materials and getting photos will take a few yuan more." Lin Chen gave the numbers plainly, neither hiding anything nor exaggerating.

Wang Guiying nodded. She took a handkerchief bundle from her apron pocket and untied it. Inside were scattered small bills and coins. She counted out five yuan and pushed it toward him.

"Take it first. If it's not enough, we'll figure something out."

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 practicality that years of hardship had worn into her.

"Your foot is swollen like that, and you still walked twelve li home. If you make another trip to the provincial capital, what about your senior-year classes? The first mock exam isn't going to wait for you." Her voice was not loud, but every word was clear.

Lin Chen fell silent. He knew this was reality. The final interview and his senior-year review were in direct conflict. No matter how important the independent admissions result was, it could not take the college entrance exam in his place. He could not gamble the whole family's hopes on it.

"I'll handle both," Lin Chen said at last. His voice was low, but there was no hesitation in it. "The interview will only take one day. I'll bring my problem notebook on the road and keep preparing for the mock exam when I come back. I'll borrow 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.

"Suit yourself. But that foot needs treatment. Go to the clinic tomorrow. Don't just tough it out."

Lin Jianguo knocked the bowl of his pipe against the doorframe. He said nothing, only turned and went back into the inner room. A little while later, 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 already yellowed, and the edges were stained with sweat. He did not refuse it. He took it.

"Thanks, Dad."

Lin Jianguo waved a hand and went back inside. The main room was left with nothing but the sound of shoe soles being stitched and his younger brother's pencil scratching across paper.

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. The crooked lines showed a stick figure standing on very high steps, with several stars drawn above its head. Beside it was his younger brother's handwriting: Brother, high. And below that, in smaller characters: The medicine isn't bitter anymore.

Lin Chen folded the paper and tucked it into his notebook of corrected mistakes.

The next morning, the postman's bicycle bell rang twice at the village entrance. The final interview notice from Provincial Tech had arrived. It was an official document with a red heading and the admissions office seal. Attached was a schedule: report next Monday, verify materials that afternoon, interview the next morning. Location: Provincial Tech University Main Building.

Lin Chen pressed the notice beneath the glass sheet on the table, opened his ledger, and entered the ten yuan his father had pressed on him the night before as a separate item: rubber shoes, six yuan eighty; remainder, three yuan twenty. On the next line he wrote: provincial capital interview. Current capital: 3.2. Still needed: one reference book, photo fee, photocopying fee, transportation fee. 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 new rubber shoes. The soles were thick, and when he stepped on the ground, the pain was cushioned by a layer. He walked outside. 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 a springboard; the college entrance exam was the bottom line. The two tracks had to run in parallel.

He turned back into the house and dragged out the paint-chipped wooden trunk from beneath the bed. Inside were his senior-year textbooks and the notebook of mistakes he had brought back from this trip to the provincial capital. He opened to the first page and wrote in the blank space:

Provincial Tech interview countdown: 6 days.

Goal: advance on two fronts. Neglect neither. Trust no luck.

The tip of the pen paused. He looked up. Outside the window, the clouds hung very low. But along the distant ridgeline, a thread of gray-white light had already broken through. He lowered his head and wrote the next formula.

The next round had begun.