1997, Linjiawan.
Sixteen-year-old Lin Xiu pinched a single white flower on her way to school. That night, she entered a small world of about ten square meters with nothing. She gave it the first handful of soil and planted sixteen grains of rice. After forty days, the ears will bear one hundred and forty grains.
She laughed—and then a drop of nosebleed fell on the dirt and was sucked clean away. There is no water in that place. It's been taken from her. She began to clear grass, keep notebooks, dig wells, fertilize fertilizers, add earthworms, collect a swarm of bees, and expand the well into a pond to create a small patch of sky. This place comes alive day by day: the soil will grow on its own to store dung, the bees will find their way home on their own, the flowers will bear fruit through insects, and the fruits will turn red in the first month. But during the autumn harvest outside, 30% of the village collapsed. Her family's land was sold for 438 yuan, and her tuition for the next semester was 860 yuan. She placed twenty-one and a half kilograms of rice next to her rice vat and told her first lie in her life. Her father tasted it, paused for a moment, then lowered his head to finish the bowl of porridge, and said, "If you want to study, just study. Don't mess around alone, you are too old." She hid it better and better. Until she discovered that there were no seasons in that land, and everything outside had the date written on it. Everything she sells speaks for her.
