Chapter 2893: Seeking Knowledge (1)

The days ran together in their old rhythm: chores at dawn, the salt flats by midmorning, an evening now and then with the village lads. A letter came from Zhaodi, inviting him to Nanbao and asking after his exam. But Tan Shuangxi's mind had room for only one key, and until the results turned it, he could not answer her with any real warmth.

A girl's invitation, however, could not be left hanging. He wrote back claiming he was on duty and could not get away just yet — he'd have to "wait a few days." Inwardly he calculated that whatever came of him and Yang Zhaodi, he would make the trip, whether to celebrate or walk the sea wind until his disappointment cooled.

A week dragged by in this heavy suspense. One morning, not long after he had risen and begun his military boxing in the courtyard, he heard a stir at the gate. He pushed open the wooden door and saw Old Huang hunched beyond the fence, clutching a worn cloth bundle, wavering between knocking and fleeing.

"Uncle Huang?" Tan Shuangxi opened the gate. "Here this early — is something wrong?"

Old Huang started like a man caught stealing, rubbing his hands together awkwardly. A long moment passed before he could speak. "Shuangxi, I... I came to return this." He pulled the bundle from inside his coat, unwrapped it, and produced a rough paper packet, pressing it into Tan Shuangxi's hands.

Tan Shuangxi paused, unfolded the paper, and found seven crisp one-yuan silver dollar exchange notes. They were warm — still carrying the old man's body heat.

"Uncle Huang..."

"The conscription postcard came the day before yesterday." Old Huang's words came slowly, each weighted with resignation. "Daluo is going to Sanya — reports to Maniao next week. I thought, now that I have a little money in hand, I should pay off my debts. The interest is only one dollar — don't think it too little. It's been dragging on for two years..."

"No, no, this won't do..." Tan Shuangxi's hand trembled. The bills felt less like money than a live coal. "Daluo is joining the army. It will be just the two of you at home. There will be so many places you need money. This isn't urgent — keep it for now." He tried to press it back. He knew Old Huang's circumstances well enough: the Chen family compensation had gone to pay off the Heaven and Earth Society land loan and sublease the plot, leaving almost nothing. The old man scraped by on small odd jobs, weaving baskets and straw sandals to sell, bringing in less than fifty cents a month.

"That won't do, that won't do." Old Huang insisted on pushing the money into his hands. "A debt repaid is only right. That you lent to me in my hour of need was a great kindness. While I have money in hand — what I owe the government, what I owe the village — I want to pay it all back, principal and interest, and be done with it. Only then can I sleep at night and walk with my head up in the daytime..."

"It's not that serious, not that serious..." Though Tan Shuangxi had been away from the village for years, family and neighbors had told him how the Huang household, battered by one misfortune after another and saddled with debt, had become a house people crossed the street to avoid. Old Huang had plainly felt the loss of face too — whenever he went out, he skulked along the edges, afraid of meeting familiar eyes.

"From now on you'll be a military family," Tan Shuangxi pressed on. "Everyone will respect you. The township gives preferential treatment too. Once Daluo's army pay starts coming home, your hands won't be so tight. Wouldn't it be the same to pay me back then? If you give it all back now, what will you do if something urgent comes up?"

"No, no." Old Huang shook his head stubbornly. "At home..." He lowered his head and sighed. "I don't know what bad luck we've had these past few years, but money slips through my fingers like water. While I have it now, I want to settle everything clean and be at peace. I've talked it over with Old Chen — he'll take over our land and give me fifteen dollars a year. That's enough for the two of us, grandfather and grandson. Besides, I can still work, still save a little for Daluo... he hasn't married yet..."

Tan Shuangxi's feelings tangled in his chest, a sour ache behind the ribs. He knew the old man would never take the money back. He pulled out one dollar and pressed it into Old Huang's hand. "Uncle Huang, take this one dollar of interest back. We're from the same village — I cannot accept it."

"How could I..."

"My mother always says, a close neighbor is better than a distant relative." Tan Shuangxi spoke earnestly. "We're from the same village; looking out for each other is just what we do. If it weighs on your conscience, weave a couple of baskets for our family someday. We could use them."

After seeing Old Huang off, Tan Shuangxi returned to the courtyard. His father was already up, sitting on the threshold rolling a cigarette, having watched the whole exchange.

"Old Huang has had a hard time of it." His father struck an Australian match and lit up. "With Daluo joining the army, maybe the family's luck will turn."

"Let's hope so." Tan Shuangxi handed the money to his father. "I didn't even want to take it at first — never expected him to repay the six dollars..."

"Bah!" His father pocketed the money and tapped ash from his cigarette. "What decent family wants to be up to their ears in debt with people pointing at their backs? If you hadn't taken it, how could he ever hold his head up when he sees you?"

His mother poked her head out from the kitchen. "What's all the racket? Oh, Shuangxi's up? Good — the porridge is almost ready. Not much to do these days. If you're bored, go walk around with your brother, and take a look at the things he'll need for the wedding while you're at it."

"Alright." Tan Shuangxi scooped water to wash his face. The cool well water splashed against his skin, driving away the last traces of sleep.

Breakfast was thin porridge with pickled vegetables. Tan Shuangxi ate quickly, and just as he set down his bowl, a postman's bell sounded outside the gate.

"Tan Shuangxi! Is Tan Shuangxi here? Letter!"

Tan Shuangxi's heart leaped. He set down his chopsticks and strode to the gate. The postman was a young man in a green uniform shirt, trouser legs rolled to the knee, straw sandals on his feet, his calves spattered with mud. He carried a large woven-rattan mail pouch in green canvas, a sack slung on one side, a water canteen and bell on the other.

"Your letter!" Seeing him emerge, the postman produced an ink pad box. "It's registered — press your thumbprint here."

The envelope was a standard kraft-paper official envelope, the lower right corner printed with red Song-style characters: "Ministry of Culture and Science Examination Board." His heart hammered. This could only be the exam results.

He pressed his thumbprint, accepted the letter, thanked the postman, and did not open it on the spot. Instead, he tucked it inside his shirt.

"Well? Are the results out?" his father asked with concern.

"Should be." Tan Shuangxi produced the envelope and tore open the seal. Inside was a single sheet — a printed form with the blanks filled in by fountain pen. His eyes raced across the words: "Tan Shuangxi... Class B Equivalent Education Unified Examination... result: qualified... hereby certified..."

Below was the official seal of the Ministry of Culture and Science Equivalent Education Examination Committee.

"You passed?" His father set down the fishing net in his hands.

"Passed! I passed!" Tan Shuangxi's hands trembled slightly. He had felt confident leaving the exam room, but the anxiety had never quite left him.

He handed the paper to his father. His father could not read, but he recognized an official seal when he saw one. He took it and examined it carefully, his hands unsteady. His mother emerged from the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron. "What is it?"

"Shuangxi passed his exam." His father's voice was slightly hoarse.

His mother gasped, "Oh!" — her eyes instantly reddened. She wanted to speak but could not find the words, only lifting her apron to wipe her eyes.

"This is wonderful news," his father said, handing the certificate back to Tan Shuangxi. "Tonight your mother needs to make a few good dishes, and we'll invite the relatives and friends over for a proper celebration..."

"Dad, Mom," Tan Shuangxi lowered his voice. "Let's not spread the word just yet."

Both parents stared at him blankly.

"Why not?" His mother was baffled. "This is an honor to our ancestors — why can't we tell anyone?"

Tan Shuangxi folded the certificate and slipped it back into the envelope. "The results are through, but the candidate officer application hasn't been approved yet. The army has its rules. Before things are settled, it's better not to be too conspicuous."

His father thought for a moment, then nodded. "You're right. The nail that sticks out gets hammered down. Best to keep things quiet."

His mother, though not quite understanding, agreed. "Fine, fine, I won't say anything. But tonight I'll make your favorite — salted fish steamed with pork patties."

"Mm." Tan Shuangxi assented, but his mind was already elsewhere.

Early the next morning, he changed into a clean regular uniform, told his parents he was going to Maniao Fort to handle some business, and set out.

He did not go to the battalion headquarters to ask the clerk about applying for candidate officer. Instead, he boarded the commuter train heading to Xinying Town.

Without much effort, he found the location of Sergeant Ma's fishing company — not in town, but in a village near the harbor.

Tan Shuangxi asked directions along the way and found "United Fisheries Co., Ltd." The company sat beside a fishing harbor — the person who had directed him said the company had purchased the harbor and the adjacent land.

After explaining his purpose to the guard at the gate, he passed through a simple wooden wicket, and the scene that opened before him made him stop in his tracks.

The dock was already a hive of activity. Two Australian-style fishing boats painted blue and white were moored side by side at the stone-built berths. They were no larger than traditional beam trawlers, but each carried a small funnel amidships — new-generation boats with steam auxiliary power, able to hold speed even in calm water or headwind.

Fishermen were hauling crates of catch from the holds. Not the bamboo baskets Tan Shuangxi was familiar with, but tung-oil-brushed wooden boxes stamped with the company name "Ma's Fisheries." Each time a lid was lifted, white cold vapor billowed out — the crates were packed with thick layers of crushed ice, between which all manner of sea fish were neatly arranged.

The dock surface was paved with bluestone slabs, slick with seawater. Two steam-powered derricks wheezed and clanked as they hoisted the fish-laden wooden boxes directly from the holds onto flatbed carts. The carts rolled along light rails toward the warehouse behind the dock — the entire process orderly and almost entirely free of manual hauling.

The warehouse was a newly built brick structure with a tile roof, a wooden placard over the door reading "United Fisheries Co., Ltd. — Purchasing Station." Through the open doorway, stacks of identical wooden crates were visible. Several men in blue work clothes were busy inspecting goods, weighing, and recording accounts. Tan Shuangxi noticed they weren't using traditional account books but a kind of form with carbon paper interleaved — in triplicate, one copy torn off for the fisherman, one retained on file, one sent to finance.

What surprised him most was the processing plant beside the warehouse. It was an even larger building, red brick walls with rows of tall windows, three sheet-metal chimneys on the roof trailing faint smoke. Before he even drew close, he caught a complex aroma mingling fish brine, steam, and burning firewood.

The plant's great doors stood open, revealing the interior. On the left, cement vats held purchased fish packed in ice. In the middle, workers in oilcloth aprons and sleeve guards scaled, gutted, and washed the fish with practiced speed. On the right, a conveyor belt carried the processed catch to the next stage.

He had no time to linger — a handcart loaded with catch and ice rumbled past him with a shout, and the roar of machinery, the foreman's curses, the workers' chants all reminded him this was a bustling factory, no place to stand idle. He skirted the crowd and made for the office.

The fisheries company office was a small two-story building with a prominent wooden sign at the entrance. As Tan Shuangxi reached the door, he spotted Sergeant Ma in the courtyard talking with several men, holding a set of blueprints.

He still wore his old uniform, but he stood differently now — shoulders squared, voice carrying, the easy authority of a man who gave orders and expected them followed.

Seeing Tan Shuangxi, Sergeant Ma's eyes lit up. He said a few words to the men beside him and came striding over. "Brother Tan! What a rare guest! How did you find your way here?"

"Asking directions the whole way." Tan Shuangxi smiled. "Old Ma — do you have a few minutes to talk?"

"Of course, of course." Sergeant Ma slung an arm around his shoulder and steered him inside. "Come on, let's talk in my office."

The office was small but meticulously tidy, the walls painted snow-white. Nautical charts hung on the walls, and the bookshelf held policy volumes like the Fisheries Management Regulations, Marine Management Regulations, and Corporate Organization Regulations. A rattan sofa and tea table stood nearby, the table still bearing an uncollected teacup and ashtray. By the window sat a Shengchuan brand desk, a model fishing boat resting on its polished surface.

(End of chapter)