Chapter 263: The Year's First Rain

The summer of 1961 came especially scorching. The sun hung overhead like a red‑hot iron, mercilessly baking the cracked earth.

The crops in the fields drooped listlessly, their curled leaves covered with thick dust; the riverbed lay bare, its cracked chest exposed, and even the Old Locust Tree in the Siheyuan had its leaves curled, hanging listlessly.

The thread of anxiety about grain in people's hearts had been pulled to its limit, and the air was suffused with an almost hopeless heat.

Yet, on a stifling evening that left one breathless, the sky suddenly grew dark. Heavy lead‑gray clouds gathered from all directions, pressing low against the eaves.

At first, a few bean‑sized raindrops fell tentatively onto the scorching ground, making a "sizzle" sound and kicking up fine dust. Then, as if the Milky Way opened its mouth, a torrent of rain poured down!

"It's raining! It's raining!" someone shouted first, their voice filled with incredulous joy.

In an instant, the whole Siheyuan, and even the entire Four Nine City, boiled over! People rushed out of their houses, ignoring the soaking, tilted their heads, spread their arms, and let the icy rain strike their faces and bodies, as if receiving a sacred baptism.

The children ran and leapt joyfully in the rain, their laughter ringing like silver bells. The adults hurriedly fetched every water‑catching vessel—water jars, wooden basins, iron buckets, even washbasins—and filled the courtyard.

"Great! Great! The crops are saved now!" Front Courtyard Yan Bu Gui adjusted his Yushui‑dampened glasses, his lips trembling with excitement. He seemed to already picture the golden corn cobs and heavy ears of grain after autumn.

Central Courtyard Yi Zhonghai also stood under the eaves, watching the rain curtain pour down, letting out a long sigh. This rain might truly ease the looming famine, and perhaps the resentment in the courtyard toward him because of the donation incident could also be washed away by this sweet rain.

In the Xi Kua Yuan, Li Ping'an held his son at the doorway, feeling the long‑missed moisture and earthy fragrance filling the air. Lin Xueqing stood nearby, a relaxed smile on her face: "This rain is truly timely; I hope it lasts a few more days."

"Hmm," Li Ping'an nodded, "the drought in the fields will be eased considerably, and the autumn harvest finally has some hope." His heart steadied a bit; if the food crisis eased, society could be more stable, and the pressure on his shoulders would lighten.

The downpour rained liberally through the whole night, only turning into a light drizzle by the next morning. The courtyard was flooded deep, yet everyone's face wore a long‑missed, genuine smile. It was as if the heavy stone pressing on their hearts had been loosened by the rain.

Yet, where there was joy, there was sorrow; or rather, some people harbored different thoughts.

In the Rear Courtyard, Xu Damao stood at his own doorway, watching the rain taper off; his face showed little joy, his eyes flickered, and another thought churned inside him.

The hope this rain brought belonged to those who kept to their duties and relied on the fields for food, but it could not touch Xu Damao's "lifelong affair."

He glanced at Wang Cuihua, who was clearing dishes inside. This widowed woman from the countryside was a deft worker with a loud voice; had it not been for… When Xu Damao thought of that incident, his stomach turned as if he'd swallowed a fly.

It was still the year before last when he went to the countryside to screen films. The village where Wang Cuihua lived asked him to show another screening and offered him some wine in the evening. In his daze, he seemed to have been led into Wang Cuihua's house… When he woke the next day, Wang Cuihua and several of her kin blocked him inside, accusing him of being a hooligan and demanding he be taken to the commune for legal punishment!

Xu Damao was terrified then. In these times, once the label of hooligan was attached, his life was over! He begged desperately, and finally the other side forced him to write a "confession letter," admitting he "acted indecently after drinking, bullied a widow," and they even extorted five hundred yuan from him! That was almost all his savings! In the end, to conceal the incident, he had to pinch his nose and marry Wang Cuihua.

But his days were suffocating! Xu Damao, a respectable Projectionist at the Steel Rolling Mill, a cultured man, decent‑looking—how could he spend a lifetime with a rural widow? Every time he saw Wang Cuihua's demeanor or heard her loud, booming voice, he felt embarrassed!

Especially when he saw Li Ping'an marry Lin Xueqing, a cultured and beautiful doctor, and Sha Zhu marry Ma Dongmei, a sprightly girl, his inner balance tipped even more.

"Must divorce! This marriage must end!" Xu Damao shouted in his mind. Yet the damning "confession letter" was still clenched in Wang Cuihua's hand! That piece was like a sword hanging over his head—once thrust out, his job would be lost, and he'd end up serving a prison sentence!

He squinted, staring at Wang Cuihua's busy silhouette, his mind racing. Wang Cuihua was illiterate; she would surely hide the confession letter like a treasure. Where exactly? Under the kang mat? In a wardrobe compartment? Or in that old wooden box she brought?

He needed to find a way to steal that paper and burn it! As long as the evidence vanished, Xu Damao could stand tall and speak freely! Then whether divorce or whatever, it would be his choice. A rural widow, without leverage over him, could cause no more ripples.

He even began to daydream about the future: once divorced, with Xu Damao's qualifications, he would surely find a city girl like Lin Xueqing—cultured, employed, and of proper bearing. That would be a proper life!

"Damao, why are you standing there dazed? The rain's stopped; sweep up the courtyard's standing water," Wang Cuihua's voice interrupted his reverie.

Xu Damao snapped back, instantly plastering a false smile: "Ah, I'll sweep right away, I'll sweep right away." He grabbed the broom leaning by the door, while sneering in his mind: Sweep? Sweep you out! Once I get that paper, you'll be the first I sweep out the door!

He pretended to scrub the courtyard's standing water energetically, his eyes like spotlights, covertly scanning every corner of the house for the spot where the "death‑summoning talisman" might be hidden.

The Yushui's coolness and hope did not extinguish the selfish‑and‑betrayal fire burning in his heart; instead, the temporary easing of conditions made him feel the timing for his scheme was ripening.

The sweet rain fell everywhere, and all things yearned for growth. Yet in a corner of this Siheyuan, a filthy malicious heart, like a toxin sprouting after rain, silently swelled in the shadows.

Xu Damao's divorce plan, set against this long‑drought‑meets‑sweet‑rain backdrop, appeared especially glaring and vile. What he didn't know was that some things, even if the paper is burned, cannot erase the facts that occurred; and those who scheme against others will eventually be struck down by their own machinations.