Chen Deshun stood rooted to the spot, his composure cracking under the sheer weight of what lay before him, "This… this…" he stammered, his voice faltering in a way that betrayed his disbelief. "This is…"
When Liu Zhenshen had first reported the matter, speaking of "large quantities" of food hidden within the mountain temple, Chen Deshun had dismissed it inwardly. In these difficult years, even a few extra sacks could be called abundant. He had assumed it to be an exaggeration born of scarcity.
But now standing here, staring at what could only be described as a mountain of provisions, he realized how gravely he had underestimated the situation.
These were not mere supplies. This was a reserve that could sustain an entire village.
Liu Zhenshen, observing his stunned silence, spoke slowly, his tone heavy with implication. "Comrade Chen, do not only look at the quantity… look carefully at the quality."
His words seemed to snap Chen Deshun back to reality. Drawing a steady breath, Chen Deshun stepped forward. His hands, though controlled, carried a faint stiffness as he reached toward the nearest pile of sweet potatoes.
He picked one up. The moment his fingers brushed against its surface, his expression changed. The skin was smooth, firm, and unblemished, no rot, no shriveling, not even the usual scars left by poor soil or careless harvesting. It felt heavy in his palm, dense with moisture and vitality.
He pressed it lightly and it did not give way like the inferior, dried-out roots they had been rationing these past months.
"This…" he murmured under his breath, almost incredulous, "these are the best quality I ever saw."
He turned slightly and reached toward the bundles of Chinese cabbages. Lifting one, he parted the tightly layered leaves. A faint, fresh scent rose immediately, clean, crisp, almost sweet.
The leaves were thick and succulent, their pale green cores packed tightly, glistening faintly as though freshly harvested that very morning. There was none of the yellowing, none of the insect bites, none of the bitterness that had become so common in recent seasons.
Even in the best harvest years, such cabbages were rare, yet here, they lay in piles.
His hand trembled ever so slightly as he moved toward the sacks of soybeans. He dipped his hand inside and let the beans slip through his fingers.
Round, full and uniform. Each grain was plump and golden, with a sheen that spoke of perfect maturity. There were no shriveled pieces, no debris, no uneven sizes, the kind of purity one would expect only from carefully curated seed stock, not from ordinary village production.
These were not merely edible, they were ideal for planting. For a brief moment, Chen Deshun forgot to breathe. When he finally straightened, his face had changed completely.
The disbelief had not disappeared, but it had deepened into something far more unsettling, "This…" he said slowly, turning back to Liu Zhenshen and Brigade Leader Shu, "this is beyond reason. It is… incredible."
Liu Zhenshen nodded, his expression grave, "Now," he said, lifting the bamboo sheet in his hand, "Comrade Chen… tell me what you think."
Chen Deshun's gaze shifted to the bamboo sheet. At once, his expression grew complicated.
The initial astonishment gave way to hesitation, even restraint. He let out a long breath, as though steadying himself against something unseen.
"Brigade Leader Liu," he began carefully, "what is happening here is indeed strange... extremely strange. But no matter how unusual it appears, we cannot make decisions lightly." He paused, choosing his words with deliberate caution, "If we act rashly based on something uncertain… we risk going against the state's policies. And that…" his tone grew heavier, "would not only affect us, it could determine the fate of the entire village."
Liu Zhenshen did not argue. He knew those words carried truth.
Still, without another word, he extended the bamboo sheet toward Chen Deshun, "I understand," he said quietly. "But I believe you should read it yourself. My explanation alone cannot convey the severity of what is written here."
Chen Deshun hesitated for only a moment before carefully accepting it. The bamboo felt rough in his hands. Lowering his gaze, he began to read.
At first, his expression remained composed. Then gradually his brows furrowed, eyes widened and finally all color drained from his face.
'Three years of heavenly fire
the earth falls silent, life withdrawn.
Summer scorches a thousand li;
winter rends ten thousand wells.
Locusts rise like shadowed clouds,
stripping green from every field;
Winds lie still, the rains forget,
a hundred rivers bare their bones.
When drought is spent, the floods descend;
waters swallow hearth and home.
When three calamities walk as one,
nine of ten doors stand unbarred.
Not that the earth has lost its breath,
but hearts grow empty, wills undone.
Sow the coarse and sow them early,
brief their yield, yet strong their life;
Roots beneath the patient soil
sweet flesh endures where waters fail.
Gather greens before their time,
seal them deep in salt and shade;
Beans unripe still carry life,
pan or brine, they ward off death.
Each leaf, each grain, a Heaven's grace,
squander none, for none return.
Let the earth become your vault,
hide your stores from light and flame;
Deep and still, the buried keep,
guards the breath of future days.
One who heeds may save a house;
one who speaks may spare a town.
When years have turned and eyes look back,
white bones will rise like mountain spines.
And those who live will speak in hush:
these words were never false.'
By the time he reached the end, his fingers had tightened unconsciously around the bamboo slip, as though it might slip from his grasp.
A heavy silence settled inside the temple. Chen Deshun did not speak but his pale, ghastly expression said enough.
Liu Zhenshen watched Chen Deshun closely. He knew that expression. When someone is forced to weigh duty against instinct, reason against something far more unsettling. It was the look of a man standing at the edge of a decision he could neither accept nor escape.
Slowly, Liu Zhenshen spoke, his voice lowered, "Director Chen… you have seen it with your own eyes now," he said. "This is no ordinary matter."
Chen Deshun exhaled deeply, the breath leaving him as though it carried the weight of his thoughts. Yet he did not answer.
Beside them, Brigade Leader Shu shifted uneasily, "What exactly… are we discussing here?" he said. "Surely we are not saying we believe this...this thing?"
Liu Zhenshen did not even glance at him. His eyes remained fixed on Chen Deshun, unwavering, "I am not saying I believe it completely," he said slowly, each word deliberate. "But I am saying… we cannot afford to dismiss it."
Chen Deshun's fingers tightened, "And I am saying," he replied at last, his tone firm though threaded with tension, "that we cannot afford to believe it either." The words fell like stones and silence followed.
Then Liu Zhenshen turned his head at last, his expression sharpening as he gestured toward the towering piles behind them, "Then explain this," he said. "Explain this with reason."
Chen Deshun faltered and for a brief moment, even he seemed at a loss, "This…" he began, forcing himself to speak, "this could be hidden reserves. Someone hoarding. Or… perhaps supplies meant for redistribution…"
"For an entire village?" Liu Zhenshen interrupted quietly. "Left in a broken temple? Without guards? Without record?"
Chen Deshun's jaw tightened, but he pressed on, unwilling to yield, "Even so… that proves nothing about what is written here." He lifted the bamboo sheet, as though its weight demanded acknowledgment, "A warning of famine? A call to change planting? And written by whom? Leaving food like some wandering immortal out of old tales?"
He shook his head, though his eyes betrayed unease, "Tell me, Brigade Leader Liu, what is the credibility of this 'author'? Who takes responsibility if we act on this and are wrong?"
Liu Zhenshen did not answer immediately. Instead, he asked, almost quietly, "And what if we ignore it… and it is right?"
Brigade Leader Shu shifted again, his earlier bravado fading. His voice dropped, "But… such things… they do not happen," he muttered. "We cannot change policy based on speculation."
Chen Deshun nodded at once, seizing the argument, "Exactly. The state has already issued directives. Wheat must be planted. Production targets must be met." His voice grew heavier. "If we deviate…"
He stopped, his jaw tightening as though the words themselves were dangerous, "...it will not be called caution," he said at last. "It will be called defiance."
Liu Zhenshen's gaze deepened, unwavering, "And if the harvest fails?" he asked.
Chen Deshun's breath caught, "That is speculation."
"And current situation?" Liu Zhenshen pressed. "Also speculation?"
For the briefest instant, Chen Deshun's composure cracked, "This entire country is tightening its belt!" he said, his voice rising before he forced it down again. "Difficulties exist everywhere. But to claim disaster based on this anonymous warning… I cannot accept it so easily."
Brigade Leader Shu nodded faintly, but this time he said nothing. Even he no longer seemed certain of his own stance.
Liu Zhenshen studied both men for a long moment. Then his voice softened, though the weight within it only grew heavier, "I am not asking you to believe blindly," he said. "But I am asking you… to consider why someone would leave this."
He gestured again toward the supplies, "Such abundance… in times like these. If this is a trick or mere speculation… it is an expensive one. If this is deception… it is one that feeds an entire village."
Chen Deshun closed his eyes briefly. When he opened them again, the conflict within them was unmistakable, "My concern is not only whether this is true or false." He lifted his gaze and met Liu Zhenshen's directly. "My concern is this, if we act on it, and word spreads… how do we explain it? How do we justify it? What answer do we give… when we are asked why?"
Liu Zhenshen held his gaze without flinching, "Then perhaps," he said quietly, "the real question is not whether we believe it…" He paused,"…but whether we dare to ignore it."
Chen Deshun stood in silence for a long while, his gaze fixed not on Liu Zhenshen. There was something in that man's stance that unsettled him far more than the so-called "prophecy."
Over the years, Chen Deshun had come to understand one thing clearly about Liu Zhenshen, he did not speak lightly. Every word he uttered was weighed, every decision rooted in observation, and above all, every stance he took was for the sake of the people under his charge.
And it was precisely because of this that Chen Deshun felt troubled.
His thoughts drifted, unbidden, to years long past to a time when Manchuria still groaned under foreign boots, when the South Manchuria Railway Company extended its iron grip across the land.
Back then, the railway expansion had drawn in countless villagers, desperate for wages, only to be exploited and underpaid by those who held power.
Most had endured in silence but not Liu Zhenshen. Chen Deshun still remembered that day, the young Liu Zhenshen, standing amidst uniformed officials and armed enforcers, his voice steady, his back unbent, demanding fair wages for the villagers.
In those days, such defiance was not courage alone, it bordered on courting death. And yet, he had not retreated. That was the moment Chen Deshun had first seen the makings of a leader in him.
That's why when the communes were recently reorganized, when brigades were formed and leadership positions assigned, Liu Zhenshen had been the first name that came to his mind.
Now that same man stood before him, unwavering in the face of something far more intangible, far more uncertain.
Chen Deshun exhaled slowly, as though surrendering to the weight of his own thoughts, "Tell me," he said at last, his tone quieter now, less confrontational, "why do you believe in this… anonymous warning?"
Liu Zhenshen did not answer immediately. His gaze drifted briefly toward the temple entrance, where faint daylight filtered through broken wood and dust-laden air.
Then, after a moment, he spoke, "To be honest…" he said slowly, "this message did not move my resolve." He paused. "It only gave it a final push."
Chen Deshun frowned slightly, listening.
"Ever since the low production after the summer harvest," Liu Zhenshen continued, "I have been observing. Not just here, but beyond. The situation… it is not isolated."
He turned slightly, his voice growing heavier. "One of my relatives in Xi'an wrote to me. He said the conditions there are no different in Shaanxi, the surrounding regions… all the same. Declining yields. Strained supplies."
"Then," Liu Zhenshen went on, "during the last meeting with the county cadres… something felt wrong."
"The promises," Liu Zhenshen said. "The incentives. They came too suddenly. Too generously." He let out a quiet breath. "And in return… they asked for enormous grain quotas."
Silence deepened.
"The pattern did not stop there," he added. "Stricter policies. Tighter controls. Increased quotas. And now… this message."
He turned back to face them fully, "All of this, separate pieces, yet they point in one direction." His voice lowered, "Something is wrong. Deeply wrong. And we are still unaware of its full extent."
Brigade Leader Shu frowned, clearly unsettled but still unconvinced. After a moment, he spoke, hesitantly, "But… Brigade Leader Liu," he said, "hasn't the situation always been like this? Harvests have been declining after every harvest recently. Droughts, poor soil… we have endured worse before. And yet… it was never considered a crisis like this. So why now?"
Liu Zhenshen looked at him steadily. Then, slowly, he spoke, "That is precisely the problem."
Both men fell silent.
"In the past," Liu Zhenshen continued, "when harvests declined, the burden was shared by the land, by the people, and by time itself. There was hardship, but there was also adjustment. Families stored what they could. Villages adapted. Losses were absorbed, slowly."
He paused, letting the words settle, "But now we are being asked to give more… when we already have less."
Chen Deshun's expression stiffened.
"The quotas do not reflect the land's reality," Liu Zhenshen said quietly. "They reflect expectation. And expectation does not fill empty granaries."
Brigade Leader Shu's lips parted slightly, but no words came.
"In the past," Liu Zhenshen went on, "even if the harvest was poor, people still had something left, grain hidden away, roots in the ground, reserves for winter. But now we have a communal canteen, so no reserves of food."
"And if we follow the current directives blindly, planting only wheat, surrendering grain in full quotas what will remain?" His voice dropped to almost a whisper, "Nothing. Not for the villagers. Not for the children. Not even for seed. And that is why this time is different."
Chen Deshun's fingers tightened unconsciously around the bamboo sheet, the thin slivers creaking faintly under the pressure of his grip. A trace of shame surfaced in his eyes, subtle but unmistakable.
As Commune Director, it should have been his responsibility to weigh both the interests of the state and the survival of the villagers. Yet, when the incentives had been presented the previous day, he had allowed himself to be swayed and blinded, even by the promise of achievement and recognition. He had not looked beyond what was placed before him.
Now, hearing Liu Zhenshen's measured analysis, that shallow confidence collapsed like dry earth beneath a sudden rain. For a fleeting moment, his legs felt unsteady.
Only now did he realize how narrow his perspective had been. Beside him, Brigade Leader Shu lowered his gaze as well, the earlier certainty gone from his expression. Though he said nothing, the tension in his face revealed the same unspoken unease.
At last, Chen Deshun lifted his head and asked the question that weighed heaviest on them all, "Then… what do you think we should do?"
Liu Zhenshen's eyes sharpened slightly, a flicker of restrained resolve passing through them, "You mean…" he began.
Chen Deshun gave a faint, self-deprecating smile and nodded. "It seems I have grown old," he said quietly. "My thinking has become muddled."
Liu Zhenshen shook his head at once, his tone steady, and respectful, "No, Director Chen," he said. "You are not old. You are simply standing in the crossfire, where every step carries consequence. Anyone in your shoe would hesitate."
He paused, gathering his thoughts. Then, slowly, he spoke, "I believe the first step is to convene a meeting," he said. "Not just within the brigade but at the commune level. We must bring together the production team leaders… and most importantly, the Party Secretary."
Brigade Leader Shu's expression tightened immediately, anxiety returning to his voice. "That will not be easy," he said. "Convincing the Party Secretary? That is no simple matter." He hesitated, then added more cautiously, "We cannot walk in and say we are acting based on… a prophecy."
His eyes flickered toward the piles food supplies. "And what of the source of these supplies?" he continued. "In times like these, with strict policies against feudal superstition… if word spreads, we may find ourselves under scrutiny instead."
Chen Deshun nodded, his expression turning grave once more, "He is not wrong," he said quietly. "The Party Secretary serves the state before all else. His concerns… will not align with ours so easily. His responsibilities are different."
Liu Zhenshen listened without interruption, then inclined his head slightly, "I understand," he said. "That is why we do not speak of this. We speak instead of what can be seen, what can be reasoned."
Both men looked at him intently.
"We will seek the support of the village elders," Liu Zhenshen said. "Let them speak of the land, of the dryness of the soil, of the difficulty in achieving a proper wheat yield if planting begins now."
He clasped his hands behind his back, his voice calm but deliberate.
"These may not be decisive arguments," he admitted. "But they will give us ground, something practical, something that cannot be dismissed outright. From there, we open the discussion."
Chen Deshun fell into thought. After a long moment, he nodded slowly, "…Yes," he said. "That may work." He exhaled, as though settling into a decision at last, "After all," he added, "the final authority to adjust the planting plan… rests with me."
His gaze drifted once more to the bamboo sheet in his hand. For a moment, his expression grew complicated, caught between disbelief and something bordering on awe.
"Let this remain between us for now," he said quietly. "Whether this is prophecy or mere coincidence… we cannot yet say."
He paused, then added, his voice lowered further, "But if what is written here proves true… and we act in time then it would be nothing less than Divine intervention."