Chapter 27: The True Heiress Descends into Madness in Prison

The autumn rain tapped against the corrugated iron roof of the pharmaceutical warehouse, the rhythmic drumming blending with the tart, fermented scent of drying herbs. Su Yao checked the inventory list, her pen pausing beside "Fifty pounds of madder root," leaving a small, dark blue ink blot on the paper. Xiao Zhang pushed aside the door curtain and stepped in, his trouser cuffs caked in mud, twisting a telephone receiver cord between his fingers, his brow furrowed in a deep knot.

"Director Su, there's a call from the prison." His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed. "Something has happened to Su Wan."

Su Yao set down her fountain pen, her knuckles tapping lightly against the edge of the desk. The grinding mill next door hummed, sounding particularly somber against the backdrop of the rain. She followed Xiao Zhang toward the commune office, mud splashing onto her trousers as she navigated the slippery cobblestone path.

The black receiver hung in the corner, smelling of rust. The prison staff reported that Su Wan had been acting erratically since yesterday. Before dawn, she had torn her bedsheets into strips to tie around her head, paced her cell barefoot, and thrown her steamed buns at the walls during meals, chanting a single phrase over and over.

"What is she saying?" Su Yao’s voice remained steady.

"She says, 'It’s all mine,'" the caller paused. "Her cellmates say she cries at night and calls your name in her sleep. Yesterday, someone mentioned to her that you were going to marry that Liberation Army soldier, and she just snapped."

Outside the window, the rain intensified, the water streaming down the glass like frayed cotton wool. Su Yao recalled the last time she had seen Su Wan—at the commune’s struggle session. Su Wan had been forced to bow her head, her coarse prison uniform matted with grass clippings, yet she had held her neck stiff, glaring at Su Yao with a resentment that felt like a poison-tipped needle.

"I understand." Su Yao hung up the phone and turned to see Lu Xingchen standing in the doorway, clutching an unfinished arithmetic notebook, his pencil lead having drawn a crooked question mark after "3+5."

"Mother, is it about that bad lady?" the child asked, his voice timid. When Su Wan had come to the factory to cause a scene previously, she had trampled the sunflower seedlings he had just planted, and he had watched the entire incident from behind a pillar.

Su Yao stroked his head, her fingertips brushing his soft, fine hair. "It’s nothing, dear. Just grown-up business."

"Widow Li says she’s crying in jail," Lu Xingchen tilted his face up, a smudge of dust on his nose. "Why does she always pick on us? Last time she even said my flowers were weeds and should be pulled out."

In the distance, Widow Li’s booming voice could be heard directing the women in turning the herbs. Su Yao led the child back, passing the drying grounds where Widow Li was squatting to collect red sage, the deep purple roots forming a peak in the bamboo basket.

"Some people have weeds growing in their own hearts, so they can’t stand to see crops growing in someone else's field." Su Yao picked up a ginkgo leaf knocked down by the rain; its stem still held a bit of resilience. She remembered when they first arrived in the countryside, Su Wan in her crisp polyester shirt, curling her lip at the commune gate and sneering that "only hillbillies eat sweet potato flour." During the grain distribution, Su Wan would sneak extra handfuls of corn into her own bag when the clerk wasn't looking. She had stolen Su Yao’s research data and submitted slanderous reports to the commune secretary, and when caught by Er Zhuzi, she had stubbornly insisted, "I’m just helping her correct her mistakes."

There was never anything to "compete" for. While Su Wan was busy peddling scarce goods, Su Yao was in the vegetable patch researching pest nets, her fingers covered in tiny nicks from bamboo splinters. While Su Wan was busy bribing officials, Su Yao was writing planting reports under the glow of an oil lamp, the ink staining her fingernails black. The day Su Wan was arrested, she had pointed at Su Yao and screamed, "You stole my life!"—forgetting that it was she who had wept and begged to return to the city, claiming life in the countryside was no life for a human being.

Back home, Lu Shihan was standing on a small stool helping Widow Li sort vegetables, her little apron stained with spinach juice. She ran over, holding a muddy stalk of spinach: "Mother, Auntie Li says she’s going to make us a wedding quilt." A droplet of water from the leaves landed on the back of Su Yao’s hand, feeling cool and refreshing.

Widow Li poked her head out from the kitchen, her face dusted with flour, holding a rolling pin. "Girl, I asked someone in town to fetch a piece of red fabric with floral patterns. It’s embroidered with lotus flowers—perfect for a festive quilt!"

Su Yao smiled and agreed, though her heart felt heavy, as if pressed by a damp piece of cotton. She lifted the kang mat and pulled the letter from Lu Zhanye out of the wooden box. He had written that his mission was going well and that he had received the family portrait the children had drawn; Xingchen had colored his face bright red. The corners of the letter were frayed, and she used an enamel mug of hot water, separated by a cloth, to carefully steam the creases flat.

By evening, the rain had stopped, and a sliver of sunset squeezed through the horizon, dyeing the clouds a deep orange. Footsteps sounded at the courtyard gate, and two men in uniform stood behind the fence, their faces grave beneath their hat brims.

"Comrade Su, we are from the prison," one said, producing his credentials. "Su Wan’s condition is not good. She’s banged her head against the wall three times today; her forehead is covered in blood. We were hoping you could come and talk to her. Perhaps she will listen to you."

Widow Li heard them from inside and emerged, rolling pin in hand, standing in front of Su Yao. "Don't pay her any mind! That ingrate—did she think of you when she stole your family's eggs to feed a stray dog? If she’s gone mad now, it’s her own fault!"

Su Yao held her arm, the rough grain of the wood handle prickling her palm. "I will go tomorrow."

After the prison guards left, Widow Li leaned her rolling pin against the door and squatted on the ground, wiping away tears. "You’re just too soft-hearted. Back then, she pushed you into the river; if Comrade Lu hadn't been passing by, you would have lost your life..."

Su Yao didn't speak. She added a log to the stove, the firelight turning her face a deep crimson. The sweet potato porridge in the pot began to bubble, the sweet aroma mingling with the scent of woodsmoke to fill the room.

The next morning, Su Yao rode her bicycle to the county prison. The autumn wind bit at her face, and the mesh bag hanging from her handlebars swayed, containing the brown sugar buns she had steamed overnight, hoping Su Wan might manage to eat a little.

The prison’s iron gate was painted with anti-rust lacquer, a jarring shade of red. Behind the iron bars, a sentry with a rifle paced the wall, his military boots clacking against the concrete. While registering, the guard glanced at her several times and checked a box on his clipboard. "You’re Su Yao? Su Wan mentions you every day, saying you stole her good life."

Passing through two iron gates, the corridor smelled of disinfectant mixed with a faint, musty odor. Su Wan was locked in the innermost cell. Behind the bars, she could be seen curled in a corner, her hair like a tangled nest, her prison uniform stained with dark, grimy smudges.

"Su Wan," Su Yao called out.

The woman snapped her head up, her eyes bloodshot, a strange, eerie smile playing on her lips. "You’re here? Where is my groom? Did he come to take me out?"

She suddenly lunged at the bars, her fingers gripping the iron tightly, mud still caked under her fingernails. Her voice was shrill and thin: "That is my man! My medals! My factory! They are all mine! You impostor, what right do you have to occupy them?"

Su Yao took a half-step back, looking at her thin prison uniform, and remembered a story her grandmother used to tell—about a person who always thought everyone else’s belongings were better, stealing the neighbor’s chicken and the other neighbor’s duck, only to eventually lose the key to their own door and find themselves locked out.

"Your things are in your own hands," Su Yao said softly. "Reform yourself, and you can have a fresh start when you get out. I asked someone to bring you some buns."

"A fresh start?" Su Wan let out a shrill laugh that sounded like sandpaper against stone. "I’m rotting in jail while you wear a red wedding dress to marry? That’s your idea of a fresh start? I tell you, as long as I’m alive, I won’t let you be happy!"

She suddenly lunged at the wall, a dull thud echoing through the room, shaking the iron bars. The guard quickly opened the cell door, and two female officers rushed in to pin her down. She continued to scream, "It’s all mine... no one can take it away..."

Su Yao left the mesh bag in the corner and turned to walk away, her footsteps echoing sharply in the corridor. The guard followed, sighing, "She hasn't been peaceful since she arrived. Last month she tried to starve herself, saying she’d die just to make sure you never had a moment's peace. She always says you used dark magic—otherwise, how could a sent-down youth like you have such a good life?"

Su Yao did not look back. The human heart is a strange thing; if it has already decided that something is sorcery, you could rip your heart out to show her, and she would only claim it was a pig’s heart dyed red to deceive her.

Outside the prison, the sunlight was so bright it made her squint. By the roadside, an old man was selling candied haws, the crystalline sugar coating glowing in the sun. Su Yao bought two skewers, and the first bite was cloyingly sweet, sugar shards sticking to the corners of her mouth.

Back at the commune, Lu Xingchen was helping Xiao Zhang with the accounts at the factory, the abacus clicking away. Whenever he made a mistake, he would stick out his tongue, erase it, and recalculate. Seeing Su Yao return, the child dropped the abacus and ran over, his little leather shoes slapping against the mud. "Mother, did you go see that bad lady?"

Su Yao handed him a skewer of candied haws, the sugar bits clinging to his nose. "Yes."

"Did she cry?" Lu Xingchen licked the candy, the tartness of the hawthorn making him squint. "Auntie Li says that when bad people cry, it means they know they were wrong."

Inside the factory, Widow Li was directing the workers in packaging styptic powder, the sound of glass jars clinking together ringing out. Er Zhuzi carried a large wooden crate toward the tractor, humming an off-key folk song. Su Yao looked at the scarecrow in the distant field—built last year, wearing one of Lu Zhanye’s old military uniforms. Faded by wind and rain, its straw hat tilted to one side, it still stood firm, frightening off many of the sparrows that tried to steal the grain.

"Hatred is the most useless thing there is," she said, crouching down to wipe the sugar from the child’s face with her handkerchief. "It’s just like the sunflowers you grow. If you keep staring at the stones in the field and getting angry, you’ll forget to water and fertilize them. Then they won't grow tall, and they won't produce any seeds."

Lu Xingchen nodded, understanding only half of what she meant, before suddenly pointing at the gate and shouting, "Professor Zhang is here!"

The white-bearded old man walked in, carrying a canvas bag. He held up a glass bottle filled with a transparent liquid, labeled with a handwritten tag: "Crude Penicillin Extract." Su Yao’s eyes lit up; this was far purer than the previous powder, capable of saving many more lives.

"The laboratory succeeded!" Professor Zhang laughed, his beard twitching, as he pulled a sheet of paper from his bag. "Here is the production process. We can start batch production next month!"

The workers cheered. Er Zhuzi grabbed the medical kit and ran toward the commune clinic: "Dr. Wang is waiting! He said last time that if we had this medicine, Old Five Liu wouldn't have had to have his leg amputated!"

Su Yao watched the bustling crowd, and the damp weight in her heart seemed to evaporate in the sun. She thought of Su Wan’s twisted face in the prison cell and felt a sudden, profound pity. That woman was trapped in her own obsession, unable to see the sunlight outside, unable to smell the scent of the wheat, and unaware that the current factory could now produce not just styptic powder, but also penicillin, ensuring the villagers would no longer have to worry about medical care.

That night, while writing to Lu Zhanye, Su Yao didn't mention Su Wan. She only wrote that the new equipment at the factory was running well, the children had grown taller, and Xingchen could already recite the names of twenty different herbs. At the end, she added: "Auntie Li’s wedding quilt is almost finished—red with floral patterns and embroidered with lotus flowers. It’s very festive."

The moonlight outside the window fell onto the letter, illuminating her handwriting clearly. Lu Yuxuan had fallen asleep clutching her arm, murmuring in his sleep, "Daddy come back soon, bring a tank back." Lu Shihan’s small braids rested on the pillow, the bows on her hair ties crooked.

In the middle of the night, Lu Xingchen woke up crying, saying he had dreamed that Su Wan turned into a big bad wolf and was chasing him to steal his sunflowers. Su Yao pulled him into her arms, patting his back gently and humming a lullaby she had learned when she first came to the countryside: "Moonlight shines, on the hall floor, sleep little one, grow fast..."

The child drifted back to sleep, tears still clinging to his eyelashes. Su Yao gazed at the starry sky outside, the stars so dense they looked like a handful of crushed diamonds. She remembered the guard saying Su Wan always called for her mother at night. In reality, Su Wan’s mother was still in the city, living in their old house; ever since Su Wan was sentenced, she had never come to visit, and it was rumored that last month she had even paid someone to throw away all of Su Wan's belongings.

The human heart is a field—you reap what you sow, be it kindness or malice. Su Yao tucked the blankets around her three children, her heart feeling exceptionally clear. She would tend her own field well and wait for the man with the shell-casing ring to return, so they could harvest a barn full of happiness together.

The next morning, the factory chimney began to puff smoke, the dark grey column slowly dissipating under the blue sky. Su Yao stood on the drying ground, watching the workers spread out the newly harvested agrimony. The dew on the leaves shimmered in the sun, like a scattering of crushed silver.

Xiao Zhang ran over with a newspaper, the corners flapping in the wind. "Director Su, good news! The border conflict has ended!" The black headline was striking, accompanied by a photograph of soldiers cheering.

Su Yao’s fingers traced the line of text, and she smiled, her eyes growing warm. Widow Li leaned over to look and slapped her thigh. "Wonderful! Comrade Lu can come home! Write to him, quick! Tell him the good days are finally here!"

Su Yao nodded and turned to walk toward the office. The letter paper rustled, and the nib of her pen glided across the surface, every word written with warmth. She would tell him that the penicillin was ready for production, the children were waiting for him to come back and teach them how to shoot, and Auntie Li’s quilt needed only a few more stitches.

As for the person in the prison, let her awaken from her obsessions in her own time. The world’s sunlight shines only on those who are willing to look up, and warms only those who are willing to look forward.