The Third Snowflake

Mornings in the countryside come earlier than in the city. Most people rise around six, before the sun is fully up, to make the most of the cool, quiet hours to weed and spray the fields.

A sliver of morning light filtered through the dusty windowpane, cutting through the floating dust and falling onto the figure lying face down on the bed.

Liao Xue lay with her eyes wide open, two dark circles hanging beneath her red-rimmed eyes. She hadn't slept a wink all night. The welts and bruises Mother Liao had left on her body—red and purple in patches—throbbed too painfully for sleep, and she knew she wouldn't have been able to sleep anyway.

She had been beaten since she was a child. Mother Liao resented that she wasn't a boy—she had spent a fortune to give birth, only to get a girl, a worthless drain on the family. At the slightest displeasure, a slap would come flying; a casual kick would follow.

When she was young and frail, she had to rest in bed after a beating to regain enough strength. Now at eighteen, her body had toughened up—even after being beaten nearly to death last night, she could get out of bed this morning and carry several tanks of pesticide.

Liao Xue glanced at the sky outside the window. If she left now, she could still get in three tanks of spraying.

As her feet touched her shoes, the stretch made the pain flare in her legs. She reflexively pulled back, which wrenched the bruises on her lower back, and when her body gave way and she reached out to brace herself, her arms screamed in protest.

For a moment, Liao Xue didn't know where to press her hands first—pain came at her from every direction, twisting her face into a grimace.

After a long while, the pain subsided. She carefully slipped on her shoes and went to the kitchen.

She rinsed the rice and put the congee on to cook, shredded some pickled vegetables into strips, set the steamed buns on a rack above the simmering pot, smashed a cucumber with seasonings, and finally turned off the stove.

Breakfast was done. She didn't dare go into Mother Liao's room to call her up to eat. Instead, she grabbed two buns for herself, hesitated, put one back, wrapped the other carefully, and tucked it into her pocket.

The sprayer was in the west room. Liao Xue had plugged it in to charge yesterday, and it was at full power now.

The enormous sprayer settled onto her shoulders, the straps cutting into her skin like ropes. Fortunately, the Liao family's fields were near the riverbank, so she didn't have to haul water.

The three-wheeled cart that had picked up Shen Qiancheng yesterday belonged to the village chief. She envied that his family had one—then she wouldn't have to carry the heavy sprayer, even empty, all the way from home to the fields.

Liao Xue looked up at the sun's position. Three tanks were out of the question; she could manage only a single one.

Just as she stepped out, a flash of red caught her eye amid the green—a tall ponytail, tight athletic wear, glistening sweat, and pale-white skin.

It was Shen Qiancheng.

Liao Xue froze. Rooted to the spot, she waited nervously, ready to greet the other woman when she ran over.

Shen Qiancheng saw Liao Xue too. But for some reason, she didn't want to see her right now, least of all run into her head-on. She quickened her pace, eyes fixed ahead, and jogged back toward the village chief's house.

She brushed past Liao Xue as if she weren't there, leaving the other woman standing alone, her expectant look crumbling into disappointment.

Shen Qiancheng only stopped to catch her breath at the village chief's door, just as he was stepping out to look for her.

"Out for a run this early, Miss Shen?" the village chief said, making small talk.

Shen Qiancheng kept one eye on Liao Xue behind her, making sure she hadn't followed. She gave a perfunctory reply: "Mm. Yes. The morning air is nice."

The village chief gestured inside. "Good timing—breakfast is ready. Just simple country fare, but I hope it suits you."

Shen Qiancheng looked at the spread: shredded dried pickles, the sticky, pale-white congee. She fell silent.

She had never been to a countryside inn, and she vowed she never would again.

The village chief caught the disdain on her face and called over his shoulder, "The village is too basic for you, I know. Sorry to make do. Hey—bring Miss Shen another plate of cucumber."

Shen Qiancheng had spent all of yesterday squeezed into a reeking, bumpy bus and had skipped dinner, going straight to bed with no appetite. If she'd realized last night what the food situation would be, she would have left this morning.

She let out a dry laugh. "It's fine, really."

The village chief's wife walked in, holding a plate of cucumber slices. The bright green pieces sat beside the shriveled pickles, delicate as pieces of jade.

The chief pushed the plate toward Shen Qiancheng, as if selling it. "All homegrown. No pesticides. Pure, natural, organic—we use farmyard manure."

Farmyard manure... Shen Qiancheng's chopsticks hesitated, frozen halfway to her mouth.

The village chief saw her big, watery eyes and assumed she wanted more detail. Delighted, he went on: "Miss Shen, farmyard manure is just human and animal waste. We collect it all—"

"Clatter—"

The chopsticks hit the floor. Shen Qiancheng had already bolted toward the bathroom. She nearly retched, but the bizarre smell of the toilet cleaner hit her nose, and though she tried to hold it in, she couldn't—she vomited onto the floor.

The chief's wife arrived to find Shen Qiancheng mopping it up. She rushed over and took the mop from her hands. "Miss Shen, this isn't your job—let me handle it."

The vomit on the floor gave off a smell that competed with the bathroom's. Shen Qiancheng, mortified, forced herself to suppress the nausea and finish cleaning, her eyes reddening from the stench. Without a word, she left.

The chief was smoking by the wall. Shen Qiancheng frowned, walked up, and stubbed out his cigarette. Resigned, she asked, "Is there any breakfast place nearby?"

The chief had just been thinking how fussy she was, but when he saw that delicate, flawless hand snatch his cigarette, he understood immediately. She was the type raised in the city, pampered and tender—how could she stomach the harsh life of a farm village?

"Alas, there's no breakfast shop in the village," he said. "There are a few in the town, but you'd need to get up early to catch the bus at the foot of the mountain. Would you like to go now, Miss Shen?" He reached into his pocket and pulled out the key to his three-wheeled cart. "I can drive you there in time for the next bus."

The cart—loud, bumpy, and dusty. The bus—shabby, crowded, and smelly. She shook her head and walked out without a word.

Luckily, the village had a small shop. Shen Qiancheng bought preservative-laden bread and instant noodles that at least looked halfway decent, and paid with a resigned sigh.

The shop owner was happier than ever—yesterday he'd sold toy guns that no one ever bought, and today junk food parents would never let their kids touch. His eyes squeezed into slits with joy.

The shop sat at the village entrance, where old men and women gathered day and night—the men playing chess and cards, the women fanning themselves and gossiping, passing along rumors as if they were intelligence reports.

Shen Qiancheng crouched down, holding a plastic bag of sunflower seeds, and listened to the old women's idle chatter, handing out seeds every so often.

The sun climbed higher, with growing intensity, and eventually the talk turned to Liao Xue's family. Someone brought it up, and the conversation drifted inevitably to Liao Xue herself.

Shen Qiancheng pricked up her ears.

"You don't know this, but I used to live next door to them," said an old woman in a purple jacket, grabbing a handful of seeds from Shen Qiancheng without ceremony. "When Shen Jun's wife was pregnant with Liao Xue, she had such bad morning sickness—I could hear Shen Jun yelling at her from my house at night. And on top of that, she craved sour things: pickled cucumbers, hawthorn berries—she'd eat dozens a day. Every day she'd walk around, belly out, telling everyone she was carrying a son. I never believed in all that feudal nonsense."

Another old woman in navy trousers took over, lowering her voice conspiratorially. "Feudal nonsense? She went and found a fortune-teller, and no matter how he calculated, it came up son every time."

A third, in black shoes, laughed. "Then why did she give birth to a girl?"

The three exchanged glances and burst into laughter, relishing the Schadenfreude.

The navy-trousered woman added, "Pitiful, though. To get her son, Shen Jun's wife insisted on going to the big city hospital to give birth. Who'd have thought she'd have a girl—a useless 'loss-money good'? She wanted to throw the baby away right there and come home. They say she tried to abandon her several times, but the hospital always brought the child back. Afraid they'd keep sending her back, they just let her leave."

Shen Qiancheng thought: No wonder the babies were swapped—it'd be harder not to swap them.

After the purple-jacketed old woman stopped laughing, she sighed. "That poor girl, Liao Xue—her mother beat her every day, black and blue. She only got a bit of relief when she started school."

"Speaking of school, Shen Jun's wife really was foolish. Once a girl gets educated, her heart runs wild—she'd never want to come back to a poor village like this. She even let her go through high school! If it were me, after elementary school—just enough to write my own name—I'd have made her help out at home, married her off in a few years, and saved up some bride price for her younger brother."

The purple-jacketed woman spoke with such regret, as if she'd have wanted Liao Xue married off immediately, as if she'd get her hands on that bride price herself.

Suddenly, the black-shoed old woman nudged the one beside her—so hard she accidentally knocked Shen Qiancheng. Shen Qiancheng looked up and spotted Liao Xue limping into the village entrance.

Liao Xue had seen Shen Qiancheng, who sat in a black dress amid the splash of colorful old women—impossible to miss. She had wanted to ask Shen Qiancheng something, but the image of her running away this morning kept replaying in her mind.

Does she not like me?

But... if she didn't like me, why did she stop my mother from scolding me? If she hated me, why did she come to my house with apples? Why?

Liao Xue could feel Shen Qiancheng staring at her, and the old women's sidelong glances as well.

"Little Xue, where are you off to?" one nosy old woman asked.

Liao Xue stopped. "To the fields to weed," she said quietly.

The old woman found nothing better to say. "Oh, alright then. Do plenty for your mother."

Liao Xue nodded and walked on with her uneven gait. Shen Qiancheng hadn't looked at her.

After spraying, there were always some deep-rooted, resilient weeds that pesticides couldn't kill; they had to be pulled by hand.

Liao Xue didn't want to stay home—any quarrel with Liao Feiyu would only earn her more scolding and hitting. She'd rather be out working.

She'd washed the breakfast dishes, cooked lunch for the family, grabbed a bun for herself, and left.

By the time the sun was high in the sky, Liao Xue found a large willow tree and sank into its shade, looking out over the endless green waves. She munched on the bun, and a gentle breeze brushed her face, carrying the damp scent of rain from a few days ago.

She took a deep, rare breath of relief, lying contentedly in the shade and dozing off.

The sun began its long descent, sliding toward the horizon.

To keep the pulled weeds from taking root again after rain, Liao Xue piled them together, tied them with rope she'd brought, and hauled the bundle over to a ditch not far away to dump it.

When she finished, she trudged home. As soon as she stepped into the yard, she instinctively shrank back—and, sure enough, Mother Liao started cursing.

"You dead girl, you know it's dark and you don't come home!"

Liao Xue said nothing. She set down the hoe under the south wall and said quietly, "I'll go start dinner."

"Hold on." Mother Liao grabbed Liao Xue's arm—right on a bruise—and yanked her around. "You're in such a hurry to eat, you starving ghost. Look who's here."

Mother Liao pointed. It was the person Liao Xue had seen twice today, the one who had ignored her both times. She was sitting right in the main room, in a long black dress, looking as noble as a princess in a fairy tale—utterly out of place among the shabby furniture.