“Exactly where no one will look,” Lihua repeated, her smile widening into something almost triumphant. She patted Yingtao’s arm with a touch that felt more like a possessive claim than affection. “You really are such a scatterbrain, Cousin. Good thing I’m here to keep track of things for you.”
Yingtao’s own smile remained fixed, an unblinking, guileless blossom. Lihua’s words were a declaration of war, a thinly veiled threat designed to make Yingtao sweat. But Yingtao had always moved two steps ahead, especially when dealing with predictable greed.
Zongyan leaned one elbow on his sedan door, eyes hooded. He saw the subtle tension beneath Yingtao’s placid surface, the way her fingers, resting lightly on her son’s shoulder, tightened just a fraction. He took in Lihua’s rigid posture, noting the hard set of her jaw beneath the honeyed tone.
Before Lihua could speak again, shouts echoed from the village depot, chased by the squawk of an agitated goose. A stern-faced man in a patched uniform, Chief Guard Bao, strode towards them, his brow furrowed like a plowed field. Two junior militiamen trailed behind him with wooden batons.
“Wei Yingtao!” Chief Guard Bao bellowed, kicking up gravel. “An anonymous tip reported unauthorized goods tucked behind the depot shed! Thick cotton-padded coats. Word says they belong to you.” His gaze swept over Yingtao, then landed pointedly on Zongyan, a flicker of suspicion in his eyes before he quickly looked away, intimidated by the wealthy man’s imposing presence.
Lihua gasped, a hand flying to her mouth. “Oh, no! How could this be? Cousin, did you… did you really stash things in the brigade shed? I only meant to hold them safely for you!” Her eyes, however, sparkled with an almost unbearable delight.
Old Madam Wei, who had been gouging earwax with an iron hairpin near the well, let the metal clatter onto the flagstones. “Unlawful goods? My daughter-in-law? Aiya, worthless wretch! Chief Guard Bao, search her room! Rake her thatch! She probably dug a speculator pit under the floorboards!”
Yingtao blinked round, wet eyes at Chief Guard Bao and then at Lihua. “Oh, me? Stolen goods? But… but I don’t keep secrets! Everything I own sits in plain view on the drying rack! And my warm jackets are… well, Lihua promised she was holding onto them!” She gestured vaguely towards Lihua, her lower lip trembling just so.
Chief Guard Bao, used to Yingtao’s ‘scatterbrained’ reputation, shook his head. “We received an exact report, Wei Yingtao. North corner of the supply depot, tucked past the sorghum chaff. We inspect it now.” He turned to his men. “Proceed!”
The guards strode toward the supply depot. Lihua watched them go, a small, triumphant smirk playing on her lips. She glanced at Yingtao, expecting panic, but found only wide-eyed confusion.
Minutes later, a gasp, then a shout, erupted from the shed. “Chief Guard! You need to see this!”
Chief Guard Bao hurried over, Lihua practically skipping behind him, eager for the spectacle. Even Old Madam Wei hobbled along, a greedy glint in her eyes, imagining Yingtao being dragged away. Zongyan, however, remained where he was, a faint, knowing smile gracing his lips as he watched Yingtao’s subtly serene face.
From the depot doorway, the men dragged three swollen burlap bags. Splitting seams dumped a cascade of fat purple roots across the dirt—yams, dozens of them, caked in fresh compost, untouched by the brigade scales.
“Tubers!” Chief Guard Bao roared, his neck flushing purple. “An entire private horde! These belong to the production team! Who buried these here? Blatant theft from the collective!” His eyes scanned the crowd, finally landing on Old Madam Wei, who had turned a ghastly shade of white.
Old Madam Wei’s jaw hung open, her gaze fixed on the overflowing sacks with a horror usually reserved for a funeral. The secret stash she had pinched basket by basket from the north terrace, dried by moonlight, now spilled across the gravel—her private insurance against the coming frosts, gathered without earning a single work point.
“No! Not mine!” she shrieked, her voice cracking. “Those are not mine! Someone framed me! It must be… it must be Yingtao! She’s always trying to get me into trouble!” She pointed a trembling finger at her daughter-in-law.
Yingtao tilted her head, clutching her apron in apparent confusion. “Mother-in-law, is your heart acting up? Why would I touch your yams? Look how heavy they are! Goodness, you must have carried them all yourself! Are these the roots you were digging past twilight behind the south ridge?” Her voice was laced with an almost saccharine concern, loud enough for everyone to hear.
Chief Guard Bao’s eyes, already narrowed, fixed on Old Madam Wei. Her desperate denial, coupled with Yingtao’s ‘innocent’ revelation, sealed her fate. “Old Madam Wei! These feed sacks carry private family stitching! Team Leader Sun saw you slipping along the root trenches at dusk all month! Skimming production harvests earns a ticket to the quarry!”
Old Madam Wei’s knees buckled. Labor re-education meant years of back-breaking toil, no rations, and public shame. “Mercy! Officer, mercy! The frost comes early this year, my bones ache!” she wailed, clutching his cotton sleeve. “I will pay fines! Anything, spare me the quarry!”
Chief Guard Bao surveyed the angry murmurs from the villagers, who were already eyeing the sweet potatoes with hungry resentment. “Only one way to work off this fault, Old Madam Wei. You confess right now, take a cleaver, and slice every single root into mash for the production team’s swine pens! Before the whole brigade!”
Old Madam Wei looked from the chief guard to her rapidly diminishing future, then to the hungry, grunting pigs in the nearby sty. Tears streamed down her face, muddying the dust on her cheeks. Her precious, illicit wealth, destined for her own belly, would now be consumed by swine.
Howling with misery, the old woman brought an iron cleaver down on the firm red flesh, each wet crunch tearing another sob from her throat while the team members jeered. Lihua stood stiffly, her triumphant smirk frozen into a grimace of confusion and barely concealed anger. This was not what she had planned.
Yingtao, however, clapped her hands with genuine enthusiasm, her eyes sparkling. “Look, Dajiang, Xiaomei! Grandma is helping feed the brigade hogs! Such public spirit!” She beamed at Old Madam Wei, who glared back with pure, unadulterated hatred.
Zongyan straightened beside the imported car, brushing dust from his cuff. His gaze lingered on Yingtao, a quiet smirk tugging at his lips as he registered how neatly the trap had pivoted.
Later that evening, as the sun dipped below the hills, casting long shadows across Xiaoshui Village, Daniu appeared at Yingtao’s door, wiping sweat from his brow. His usual lazy slouch was replaced with an eager bounce. “Yingtao-jie! I have news! Big news!” He pulled out a small, muddy cloth. “I traced the boot tracks from the depot door. Fresh clay from this morning! Cut right past the pigsty to Lihua’s back gate! Look here!” He held out the cloth, revealing a faint, distinctive pattern—the intricate stitching of Lihua’s best embroidered slippers.
Yingtao took the cloth, her smile never faltering. “Oh, Daniu, you’re so clever! Such an excellent spy! Here, another one for your troubles.” She handed him a freshly baked pork bun, its aroma wafting temptingly. Daniu’s eyes lit up, and he gnawed on it with gusto, loyal to his core.
As night fell, Yingtao slipped quietly towards Lihua’s shack, her movements as fluid as shadows. She knew Lihua was busy at the communal wash point, loudly proclaiming her innocence to anyone who would listen.
Yingtao scanned the perimeter, her sharp eyes missing nothing. A faint wisp of smoke curled from Lihua’s trash barrel, indicating a recent burning. Yingtao poked the blackened crust with a dry willow stick. Flakes of newsprint parted over a thicker fragment of official letterhead. Using two twigs as tweezers, she lifted the scorched slip. Bold blue ink remained across the charred corner: “To the County Inspection Office… regarding unreported wealth held by Wei Yingtao…”