Her thoughts, typically reserved for tracking shade across the boulders, cataloged the implications. Qinghe. That was nearly two hundred *li* away, a major industrial hub. How had such a drum, clearly marked with state restrictions, ended up half-buried on her newly acquired, supposedly useless patch of crag? And what was a ‘soil remediation agent’ doing here? The eastern plots Rong Xueli had claimed lay directly beneath this ridge. Yunya traced the skull and crossbones with a curious finger, a small, thoughtful smile touching her lips. The afternoon heat, which ordinarily signaled it was time to roll onto her left shoulder, pressed down hot and sour. The air, typically still and warm, carried a faint, unsettling hum. She decided to bury the metal back beneath shale, ignore it entirely, and reclaim her resting hours. Information was a burden, and burdens interfered with optimal resting positions. She scooped dirt and stones back over the drum, patting it down until only a faint mound remained. Then, she retrieved her worn straw hat, settled back against a sun-warmed boulder, and closed her eyes. Daodao snorted, scratched twice at the fresh gravel, and collapsed across her shoes like an oversized sack of barley. Time passed in a hazy blend of warmth and the distant chirping of cicadas. The sun dipped lower, casting long shadows across the rugged terrain. A harsh yank on her sleeve hauled Yunya upright; she blinked into He Zhenting's face inches away. Deep trenches creased his forehead, and his fingers bit into her collarbone like iron tongs. His breathing came in ragged gasps, teeth bared against his lower lip. “Dai Yunya!” he roared, his voice echoing off the crag. “What are you doing? Have you lost your mind? Get up! Get away from here!” He practically yanked her to her feet, pulling her several yards away from her nap spot, his gaze darting wildly between her and the faint mound she’d just created. Yunya stumbled, confused. “Captain He? What is it? I was just napping.” She rubbed her arm where his fingers had dug in, a faint redness blooming on her pale skin. His knuckles twitched against the hem of his faded jacket. He Zhenting dragged a sleeve across his forehead, staring down at her. “Napping? Beside *that*? Do you have any idea what that is?” His tone dropped to a cracked rasp. “Don’t tell me, Yunya. Don’t tell me you’ve sunk this low. If the brigade criticism broke you, there are other paths. We can talk. You can come to the office.” His words, frantic and choked, slowly registered. He thought she was trying to… to end her life. He genuinely believed public disgrace and field labor had driven her to swallow factory poison. And he cared enough to be truly terrified. She met his gaze with a soft, sweet smile, the kind that promised nothing but innocent intentions, even as her mind began to weave its web. “Captain He,” she said mildly, tilting her chin up. “It was just a smelly iron pot. I shoved gravel over it so I wouldn’t sneeze. Why are you shouting?” He stared at her, his eyes searching her face for any sign of deception, any flicker of the despair he’d imagined. His grip on her arm finally loosened. He glanced back at the spot where the drum was buried, then at her, a profound confusion replacing his terror. “A… a weird drum? You just covered it?” He dropped to his knees, clawing back the scree. The peeling stencils reappeared against pitted green paint. He read the words aloud, his voice growing tighter with each syllable. “‘State-Issued Type 79-C.’ ‘HAZARDOUS WASTE.’ Qinghe. Y-117. What… what in the Red Star’s name is this?” He rose, wiping rusted grime across his trousers, scanning the slope toward the bottom paddies. “This is state property, Yunya! Highly restricted. This isn’t just some old broken tool. How did it get here? Why is it here?” His voice lowered again, a dangerous edge to it. “A crew buried this intentionally. They wanted it hidden beneath your rocks.” Yunya merely offered him another serene smile. “Perhaps a wagon dropped it, Captain. People misplace tools all the time.” He rubbed his temples, clearly at a loss. “No. Not this. This is deliberate. We need to report this immediately.” He looked at her again, his expression softening slightly. “But first, you. You didn’t… you didn’t touch any of this, did you? Don’t worry, Yunya. I’ll make sure you’re alright. I’ll speak to Dr. Lin.” As the last vestiges of twilight painted the western sky, He Zhenting escorted Yunya down the crag, his earlier terror replaced by a deep, unsettling concern. He escorted her to the dormitory gate, checking the timber fence line before marching back toward brigade headquarters. Yunya yawned, rolled her shoulders, and strolled across the drafty dormitory floor. As she reached for her worn soap, her fingers brushed against something small and firm beneath her pillow. She pulled it out: a single, square, foil-wrapped malted milk candy. He had tucked it there before the morning bell. She popped the sugar square between her cheeks, savoring the rich grain paste. At daybreak, as cold mist pooled across the bottom furrows, Yunya strolled down to the brigade boundary. Rong Xueli was already there, a whirlwind of furious energy, her hoe flashing in the sun as she attacked the earth with zeal. Her plait had frayed loose, strands glued to her temples with sweat. Yunya drifted up, Daodao trotting behind like a gray boulder. “Good morning, Sister Xueli,” she murmured with an innocent beam. “Working already? Everyone says these ditches carry the best yield. You’ll stack up top marks by autumn.” Rong Xueli paused, leaning heavily on her hoe, her face flushed with exertion. She narrowed her eyes at Yunya, clearly expecting a sneer. “Of course, I am. Unlike some people, I don’t shirk my duties. The city isn’t going to beg me to return.” Yunya tilted her head, her smile unwavering. “Oh, I’m sure. But… did you notice anything strange about the soil here? It smells a little… different today. A bit tangy, perhaps? Like old fermented bean curd, but sharper.” She wrinkled her nose delicately, an expression of innocent curiosity. Rong Xueli’s expression shifted, a flicker of suspicion in her eyes. “Tangy? Nonsense! It’s just good, rich earth. Perhaps your nose is accustomed to the dusty smell of your lazy crag.” She straightened up, a superior smirk forming. “Trying to scare me off, are you? Worried I’ll surpass you even more? Don’t bother, Dai Yunya. Your pathetic attempts at jealousy won’t deter me. If anything, they make me work harder!” Rong Xueli struck the ground with sharp, rhythmic thuds, sending up clods of sour gray mulch. Yunya dipped her chin politely, offered a cheerful nod, and meandered back up her crag. Back on the crag, Yunya and Daodao made their way to the partially re-covered drum. Daodao sniffed at the edges, then pawed at the dirt, letting out a low growl. Yunya knelt beside it, her earlier pretense of ignorance fading. “You know, Daodao,” she murmured, her voice thoughtful. “This ‘soil remediation agent’… it’s a bit too conveniently placed. And too dangerous for anyone to just ‘lose’ it.” She ran her fingers over the faded numbers again. “Y-117. Why this code? Why here?” Her eyes scanned the immediate surroundings. The crag, from this vantage point, offered a clear line of sight to the East Fields below. More importantly, it sat at the very edge of the Mudan Production Brigade’s territory, bordering the less-monitored forested foothills that stretched for miles towards the nearby Kui River. “This isn’t refuse, Daodao,” Yunya whispered, watching a patch of dead ivy cling to the limestone cliff below. “It’s a marker. A diversion to keep workers away from the base while someone digs through the ridge.” A rustle in the distance, a crunch of dry leaves and pebbles, drew her attention. Twilight was deepening, painting the sky in bruised purples and oranges. Shadows lengthened, distorting the familiar landscape. Then, at the base of the crag, a group of figures emerged from the tree line. Comrade Liu Guang, the brigade accountant, led the line, his round cheeks glistening gray under the fading light. Beside him stepped three strangers with broad shoulders and river-boatman calluses. Each carried a shovel, glinting dully in the fading light, and their eyes, even from this distance, seemed to bore into the crag with an unsettling intensity. They began to march steadily upwards, directly towards Yunya’s napping spot, towards the hidden drum, towards the faint discoloration in the rock face. And they were not smiling.

Toxic Ambitions