Chapter 28: The Cub’s National Address

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The red flags in Tiananmen Square snapped in the autumn wind. Lu Xingchen clenched his speech, his palms slick with sweat. Standing in the side hall of the Great Hall of the People and listening to the thunderous applause inside, he suddenly felt his knees weaken.

“Don’t be nervous. Just pretend you’re telling stories to your uncles and aunties in the commune courtyard.” Su Yao crouched down to straighten his red scarf. Her fingertips brushed his burning neck. “Even the sunflowers you planted have grown taller than people. What are you afraid of?”

Lu Xingchen pressed his lips together and said nothing. From the corner of his eye, he saw Lu Yuxuan turning in circles with a tin box in his arms. The boy had saved toothpaste tubes for three months and traded them at the commune blacksmith’s shop for scraps of metal, which he had hammered and pieced together into a small machine.

“My corn sheller is sure to win a prize.” Lu Yuxuan set the box on the ground and turned the crank. Inside, a wire brush spun with a rustling sound. “Master Wang says this is called invention and innovation.”

Lu Shihan tugged at Su Yao’s sleeve. A little red flower was pinned to her newly made blue cotton jacket. “Mama, what if I sing off-key? Widow Li always says I sing ‘commune’ as ‘winter melon.’”

Su Yao had just burst out laughing when a staff member approached, holding up a sign.

“Rural delegation, get ready to enter.”

When Lu Xingchen walked into the Great Hall, he drew in a sharp breath. The chandeliers overhead glittered like a sky full of stars, and below them sat a sea of people—ten times livelier than a commune struggle meeting. He was assigned to the third row. Beside him sat a city girl in glasses, writing and sketching in a notebook with a fountain pen.

“What’s your name?” the girl asked, turning toward him. The ribbon on her braid swayed gently.

“Lu Xingchen.” His voice trembled a little. “Xing, as in stars; Chen, as in the hour of Chen.”

“I’m Lin Xiao, from Beijing.” The girl pointed at the pages in his hands. “Are you giving a speech?”

Lu Xingchen nodded and pushed the manuscript farther into the compartment beneath the desk. He had written it in pencil and revised it seven times. In the end, Su Yao had copied it onto squared manuscript paper for him, and the traces of erasure and correction were still visible between the lines.

When the national anthem began at the opening ceremony, Lu Xingchen rose with everyone else. Seeing the people on the platform wave to the audience, he suddenly remembered the photograph Lu Zhanye had sent—a man in military uniform standing before the Tiananmen Gate, with the same scarlet flags behind him.

At last, it was time for the youth representatives to speak. Lu Xingchen’s heart pounded like a drum. The little girl before him spoke with great feeling about how she wanted to become a scientist, and the applause from below never seemed to stop. He clutched his manuscript against the seam of his trousers, crumpling the corners beneath his fingertips.

“Next, we invite Comrade Lu Xingchen, representative of the rural delegation.”

When he heard his name, Lu Xingchen felt all the blood in his body rush to his head. Clutching his manuscript, he walked onto the stage. The red carpet beneath his feet was soft, almost like the cotton quilt in Widow Li’s house.

Only when he stood before the microphone did he realize that he was barely taller than the table. A staff member hurried over with a wooden stool. As he climbed onto it, he heard someone in the audience laugh.

“Hello, everyone. My name is Lu Xingchen.” He cleared his throat, then suddenly remembered Su Yao’s words. “My mama says science is like farming. It has to be practical and down-to-earth.”

The hall fell silent. Lu Xingchen steadied himself and began reading from his manuscript.

“Last spring, my mama put up a framework in the vegetable field and said it was a greenhouse. Everyone else laughed at her and called her foolish. They said crops couldn’t grow beneath plastic sheeting. But every morning, before the sky grew light, my mama went out to lift the covers, and every night she waited until the stars came out before putting them back…”

He remembered those days: Su Yao’s hands sliced by the plastic sheeting and covered in strips of adhesive tape; the first harvest of out-of-season cucumbers, when Erzhu carried the melons all around the commune; the way Mama had divided the seeds among the villagers and said, “Good things are sweetest when everyone grows them together.”

“Now the vegetables from our commune’s greenhouses can be sold to restaurants in the county.” Lu Xingchen’s voice grew louder. “My mama says this isn’t magic. It’s science. Just like my sunflowers turn toward the sun. It isn’t because they understand what they’re doing. It’s because…” He paused, recalling the word Professor Zhang had taught him. “It’s because of auxin.”

Laughter erupted from the audience, followed by thunderous applause. Lu Xingchen bowed, then was about to leave the stage when he suddenly ran back to the microphone.

“Oh, and my mama says that when my papa comes back from the border, we’re going to grow strawberries in the greenhouse so everyone can taste them while they’re fresh!”

The applause grew even louder, and someone began whistling. Lu Xingchen ran off the stage and saw Lin Xiao give him a thumbs-up. His cheeks suddenly felt hot.

At the afternoon talent exhibition, Lu Yuxuan’s corn sheller caused a sensation. He poured dried corn kernels into the tin box and turned the crank. Golden kernels rolled out through a small opening at the bottom, while the wire brush stripped the cob completely clean.

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“That must save an enormous amount of work!” An old man in a cap crouched on the ground, studying the machine. “The women in our village get calluses all over their hands shelling corn.”

Lu Yuxuan raised his chin proudly. “My mama says the wisdom of working people is boundless.” He had learned the line from Su Yao and spent half the previous night memorizing it.

Halfway through Lu Shihan’s song, she really did sing “winter melon” instead of “commune.” The audience stared blankly for a moment, then broke into kindly laughter. The little girl stood onstage, her face bright red, and was just about to bow and leave when the accompanist suddenly began playing along in the same key.

“I am a little winter-melon commune member, I love work and I love the collective…” Lu Shihan simply sang louder. On the final line, she even added a gesture Widow Li had taught her, raising her little hand high above her head.

When the event ended, the three children were surrounded by reporters. Camera flashes popped incessantly. Lu Xingchen could barely keep his eyes open, but he remembered Su Yao’s instructions and repeated the words from his speech.

“My mama says that scientific farming can make sure everyone has enough to eat.” He pointed at Lu Yuxuan’s machine. “My little brother made this. It can help grown-ups with their work.”

Lu Yuxuan took the opportunity to push the corn sheller toward the reporters.

“Uncle, will this make it into the newspaper? I want my papa to see it.”

Standing outside the crowd, Su Yao watched the children being surrounded by admirers and suddenly remembered the days when she had first gone to the countryside. Back then, she had arrived with three timid children, unable even to put up the fence around their private plot in a straight line. Who could have imagined that one day they would stand inside the Great Hall of the People, surrounded by so many people?

On the way back to the guesthouse, Lu Xingchen suddenly said, “Mama, I saw a drawing in Lin Xiao’s notebook. She had drawn a house even bigger than our greenhouse and said it was a hothouse.”

“That’s a more advanced greenhouse.” Su Yao stroked his head. “One day, we’ll have one too.”

Lu Shihan skipped along, humming her song, then suddenly stopped.

“Mama, an auntie gave me some candy just now. She said I sing even better than the radio.”

Lu Yuxuan hugged his tin box as though it were a treasure. “If Master Wang finds out I was in the newspaper, he’ll surely give me two extra pieces of sheet metal.”

At dinner, the children bent over the table and wrote in their diaries. Lu Xingchen carefully formed each character:

Today I gave a speech in the Great Hall of the People. The applause sounded like thunder. Mama says it wasn’t my achievement alone. It was something everyone planted together.

Su Yao watched their backs as moonlight spilled across the table outside the window. She took Lu Zhanye’s letter from her bag. In the latest one, he had written that he had withdrawn from the front line and was now resting. In a little while, he would be able to apply for leave to visit home.

“When your papa comes back, we’ll build a hothouse too.” Su Yao folded the letter and placed it inside the children’s diaries. “Then he can see how well we’re living.”

At the award ceremony the next day, Lu Yuxuan’s corn sheller won an invention prize. His reward was a red notebook. Although Lu Shihan had sung off-key, her sincerity had touched everyone, and she received an encouragement award. The certificate was printed with the words “Outstanding Young Commune Member.”

Lu Xingchen’s speech was included in the conference materials. A staff member told him it would be printed as a booklet and distributed to primary and middle schools across the country. Holding the booklet with his name printed on it, he suddenly felt its weight.

On the day they left Beijing, Lin Xiao came to see them off. She gave each child a fountain pen and brought Su Yao a copy of Agricultural Science and Technology.

“I’m going to join your commune as a sent-down youth someday.” Lin Xiao’s eyes shone. “Xingchen says the vegetables in your greenhouses can grow all the way into winter?”

“Not only can we grow vegetables there. We can grow dreams, too.” Su Yao smiled. The words belonged to Professor Zhang, and she had kept them in her heart.

When the train began to move, the three children pressed against the windows and waved. Suddenly, Lu Xingchen pointed outside and shouted, “Mama, look!”

Su Yao followed his gaze. The red flags in Tiananmen Square glowed brilliantly in the morning light. She remembered how, when she had first gone to the countryside, someone had said that a city girl like her could never learn to farm. She remembered Su Wan mocking her for being delusional. She remembered countless nights spent studying agricultural techniques by the light of an oil lamp.

Now she finally understood. What people called magic was simply using the time others spent complaining to go out and work the fields.

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The train gathered speed, and the scenery outside gradually became familiar farmland. Lu Yuxuan held his red notebook and drew a large hothouse inside it. Lu Shihan hummed her off-key song, while the certificate in her hand rustled in the wind. Lu Xingchen carefully placed the booklet into his schoolbag, beside the new pencil case Su Yao had bought him.

Leaning against the back of her seat, Su Yao looked at the children’s smiling faces and suddenly felt that every hardship had been worthwhile. She remembered the words in Lu Zhanye’s letter:

When I come home, we’ll turn our life together into a poem.

In truth, there was no need to wait. Their life was already sweeter than poetry.

When they returned to the commune, Widow Li led the villagers to welcome them at the entrance to the village. Erzhu carried a large sign that read, “Warmly Welcoming Our Little Heroes Home in Triumph.” The words had been painted in red and were somewhat crooked, but they stood out vividly.

“Xingchen, come tell your auntie—was the floor of the Great Hall paved with gold bricks?” Widow Li took the boy’s hand, grinning from ear to ear.

Lu Yuxuan held up his red notebook. “Auntie, I won a prize! One day I’ll make you a big corn sheller!”

Lu Shihan began singing her song in the middle of the crowd. This time, astonishingly, she did not sing off-key, and the commune members clapped along. Su Yao stood to one side, watching the lively scene, and suddenly felt tears prick the corners of her eyes.

That evening, the lights at the pharmaceutical factory burned late into the night. Su Yao spread the Agricultural Science and Technology magazine she had brought back from Beijing across the table. Its pages were filled with photographs of different kinds of greenhouses. Little Zhang stood beside her, taking notes and muttering nonstop.

“So this is how it can be done. It’s far more advanced than ours.”

“When Comrade Lu returns, we’ll expand the greenhouses.” Su Yao drew a circle on the blueprint. “We’ll also build a nursery so the villagers can grow vegetables in winter.”

Outside the window came the children’s laughter. Lu Xingchen was teaching his younger brother and sister how to write the words science. Lu Yuxuan’s pencil was too thick, so he had drawn the grain in the character for “science” like a tree. Lu Shihan had left out a dot in the character for “learning,” but insisted that she had done it on purpose, because it looked like a little star.

Su Yao put down her pen and walked to the doorway. Moonlight spilled across the courtyard, stretching the children’s shadows long upon the ground. She remembered the words she had heard in the Great Hall of the People:

When the youth are strong, the nation is strong.

Perhaps she would never become anyone important. But if she could watch these children grow like sunflowers, reaching toward the sunlight, that would be enough.

Early the next morning, Lu Xingchen took his speech to the classroom of the commune school and read it aloud. The children below listened, fascinated, and one after another said they wanted to learn scientific farming too. The principal found Su Yao and told her he wanted to establish a small agricultural science group at the school, with her as its instructor.

“I’m not qualified for that,” Su Yao said shyly.

“Why not?” The principal pointed to a newspaper hanging on the wall. It carried a photograph of Lu Xingchen delivering his speech. “The children you raised have already made it to Beijing. What could you possibly be unqualified for?”

Su Yao looked at the photograph. Lu Xingchen stood on the stage, somewhat stiff with nervousness, yet his eyes shone brightly. She suddenly remembered herself when she had first gone to the countryside—still young and inexperienced, but carrying a stubborn determination not to lose.

On the day the agricultural science group was established, Lu Yuxuan brought along his corn sheller. The children gathered around it, chattering excitedly, all declaring that they would invent something even more remarkable. Lu Shihan taught everyone her off-key song, and the sound of “I am a little winter-melon commune member” echoed across the schoolyard.

Su Yao stood at the classroom door, watching it all, her heart warm as though she were carrying a stove inside her chest. She knew that good days did not come by waiting for them. They had to be dug out, stroke by stroke, just like a field was cultivated with a hoe.

That evening, while writing to Lu Zhanye, Su Yao copied out the children’s certificates and told him that they had become little stars of the commune. At the end of the letter, she added:

We’re all waiting for you to come home so we can grow more “magical vegetables” together.

The letter paper fluttered gently in the breeze. In the distance, the setting sun dyed the sky gold and crimson. Su Yao remembered that afternoon in the Great Hall of the People, when Lu Xingchen had spoken his final words:

My mama says that as long as we’re willing to work hard, even yellow earth can be turned into gold.

She had never actually said that. The thought had come from the child himself. But Su Yao felt it was beautifully said.