The stink of charred pine and smoldering grain drifted across the yard as Chief Bao Xinyu struck the side of his jeep with an open palm. The metal rang like a bronze gong. "Chief Bao! Look no further! The criminal is right there!" Wei Lihua shrieked, stumbling forward through the drifting soot. Her braid had come undone, strands plastering against her sweaty, smoke-blackened cheeks. She lunged, stabbing an ash-stained forefinger straight toward Yingtao's nose. "Arson! Treason! Capitalist hoarding! She set fire to the collective storage to hide her illicit stockpile! She carries witchcraft in her skirts! Drag her against the wall and shoot her!" Yingtao didn't cringe. She took a dainty bite of her steamed pork bun, chewed with deliberate slowness, and then gave a sweet, birdlike gasp. Her peach-blossom eyes blinked rapidly, bright with utter bafflement. "Cousin Lihua, what big words you know! Witchcraft?" Yingtao laughed, clapping her sticky hands together with pure delight. "Is that like the story the old blind storyteller tells by the ditch? But arson is so naughty! I only brought a looking-glass because my twin babies wanted to see the pretty sunbeams bounce on the haystack! Did the sunbeam make a spark? Oh, physics is so wild! Just like the commune radio said last Tuesday!" Old Madam Wei crawled out from behind a water barrel, wet chicken feathers still glued stubbornly to her withered neck. "She lies! Chief Bao, she hoards whole sides of salted pork under her dirt floor! She starves my son's flesh and blood while her own belly swells with stolen fats! Dig up her cellar! Skin her alive!" Chief Bao’s mouth set into a grim, gray slit. The men flanking him held wooden batons at the ready. "Capitalist speculation during a grain crisis warrants immediate labor reform. If there is unauthorized contraband in this settlement, heads will roll. Lead the way to the suspect's residence." "Oh, goodie! A house guest!" Yingtao chirped, bouncing on the balls of her cloth shoes. She skipped along the dirt lane, humming a commune anthem entirely out of tune. "Follow me, Uncle Chief! My home is very tidy! Well, except where the roof leaks, but the rain washes the spiders, so it balances out!" Behind her, Wang Daniu trailed like a lumbering bear, grinning foolishly while stuffing the last quadrant of a meat bun between his greasy lips. Shen Zongyan walked calmly on Yingtao's right. His dark wool coat remained spotless despite the floating soot, his long strides effortlessly matching her sprightly hops. When she nearly stumbled over a rutted cart track, his gloved fingers caught the crook of her elbow, steadying her with practiced ease. Their fingers brushed. A subtle pressure conveyed everything: *The trap is shut.* "Let's see you sing when they pull out your private granary!" Lihua spat, running ahead to yank open the creaking wicker gate of Yingtao's courtyard. She threw herself onto the heavy timber trapdoor leading down into the root cellar. "Right here! It’s all down here! Hundreds of catties of prime flour! Sacks of white rice no peasant could ever purchase! Break it open!" "Allow me, Lihua! You might chip a nail!" Yingtao chirped happily. With surprising briskness, Yingtao grabbed the iron ring and hauled the cellar flap back. Moist, cool air poured out into the winter twilight. Two armed guards descended with kerosene lanterns held high. Lihua stood at the rim, teeth bared in triumphant anticipation, eyes practically bulging from her skull. "Drag it out! Pile the treason in the open air!" The guards emerged carrying heavy wooden crates. They set them down with heavy thuds on the frozen dirt. Lihua lunged forward, clawing off the straw packing. "Look! Look at this grain! Look at these massive—" Her voice died in her throat. Every single crate bore a crisp, vermilion stamp: *PROVINCIAL ACADEMY OF AGRICULTURAL SCIENCES — EXPERIMENTAL CULTIVAR LOT 402.* Beneath the bold red characters ran neat stenciled numbers and formal state seals, each carton packed with hybrid grain, labeled test tubes of nutrient solution, and certified soil packets. "What... what is this?" Lihua stammered, frantically ripping into another box. "Where is the black market flour? Where are the illicit silks? This is supposed to be contraband!" "Contraband?" Shen Zongyan stepped forward, his voice low, commanding, and silky smooth. He reached inside his tailored breast pocket and extracted a crisp folder bound in red leather. "Chief Bao, perhaps you should review the joint venture authorization signed by the Provincial Foreign Trade Bureau and the Ministry of Agriculture." Chief Bao adjusted his spectacles, scanning the documents under the lantern light. His brow lifted slightly at the prominent crimson wax seals and the signatures of regional department heads. "Comrade Wei Yingtao has been officially retained as our frontline rural cultivation specialist," Zongyan stated, his tone brooking no argument. "Using private overseas capital repatriated for the glory of the motherland, my firm funded this pilot research project right here in Xiaoshui. These high-yield crops are registered state property under direct regional oversight. Comrade Wei’s tireless, selfless labor has produced frost-resistant grain yields that will soon feed half the county." "She is an illiterate country bumpkin!" Lihua shrieked, clutching her own hair with both hands. "She doesn't know science! She pulled these out of thin air! She is a witch!" "Oh, silly girl, don't talk nonsense!" Yingtao giggled, swaying slightly with her hands tucked behind her back. "The foreign gentleman brought big books with colorful pictures! I just put the little green things in the dirt and watered them like the instructions said! You pour the water, the leaf goes pop, and then food happens! Is farming supposed to be harder than that?" "A model worker," Chief Bao murmured, lowering the paperwork with evident awe. He looked at Yingtao with genuine respect. "An unassuming, hard-working proletarian mother advancing collective agronomy without boasting. Remarkable." "No! It's a lie! She's tricking you!" Old Madam Wei wailed, throwing herself to her knees. "Check her pockets! Arrest her!" "Speaking of illicit transactions," Zongyan interrupted smoothly, "we recovered something interesting from the warehouse fire that Comrade Lihua was guarding so fiercely." He pulled a blackened, leather-bound booklet from his coat and handed it to Chief Bao. "The master account ledger of the southern black market ring," Zongyan said, his eyes hard as flint. "Complete with dates, stolen commune grain weights, and the signature of the local coordinator: Wei Lihua. Along with regular kickbacks paid out to Old Madam Wei to supply diverted famine rations." Chief Bao flipped through the pages. His expression darkened until it resembled thunderclouds over a stormy sea. "Communal grain embezzlement. Black market syndication. Deliberate sabotage of state food security." "That’s not mine! That's forged!" Lihua screamed, backing away toward the gate. "Yingtao framed me! She knows things she shouldn't! She's not the real Wei Yingtao!" "Apprehend them," Chief Bao barked. Two guards tackled Old Madam Wei into the mud as she kicked and cursed like a feral cat. Another pair clamped steel handcuffs around Lihua’s wrists, wrenching her arms behind her back with brutal finality. "Let me go! She has a magical space!" Lihua shrieked, thrashing against the guards' grip as she was dragged toward the idling military vehicle. Mud splattered her face, tears cutting clean streaks through the black soot. "Listen to me! She has a dimension that grows crops in seconds! She's a transmigrator! She's from the future! Check her jade pendant! Check her—" A guard shoved a cloth gag into Lihua's mouth, cutting off the rant into muffled, desperate squeals. Yingtao watched her kinswoman get hoisted into the back of the transport, a bright, sunny wave parting from her fingertips. "Safe travels, darling! Don't forget to eat your sorghum porridge at the labor farm! It's full of fiber!" Beside her, Zongyan let out a quiet, gravelly huff of laughter, his shoulder brushing against hers in shared triumph. Then the jeep's back doors slammed shut. Chief Bao did not climb in immediately. He stood motionless in the middle of the dark yard, the paperwork still clutched in his left hand. The silence stretched thick and heavy over the village. Slowly, methodically, Chief Bao turned his head, his sharp eyes narrowing to razor slits as his gaze locked dead onto Yingtao’s cheerful, smiling face.

The Winter Inspection