Volume One, Chapter Thirteen: Menle

"Yingzi? What are you doing here?" Zhang Shengli asked, immediately realizing that Li Ying must have heard he was returning home and had waited for him outside the village.

"I... I was feeling really hot, so I came out for a walk," Li Ying replied, awkwardly tugging at her collar. In truth, autumn chill had already settled in, and it wasn't hot at all after dark.

"Oh, I just came back to get something. I still have to return to the township," Zhang Shengli explained.

"You... Are you alright these past few days?" Li Ying asked in a low voice. "Are they still letting you work at the township?"

"Well, it's hard to say... Looks like they're looking for a proper chef again," Zhang Shengli sighed thoughtfully, recalling how Huang Shigui had told him to finish out the week and then leave. Perhaps after this week, he'd be home again, back to farming.

"What happened? Is there trouble again?" Li Ying asked in surprise.

"Nothing much, really. It's just a guess..." Zhang Shengli managed a smile.

"Oh... If they don't let you work, just come home. That job isn't worth it anyway—better to farm in peace," Li Ying said, smiling as if some worry had been dispelled.

"We'll see. If they won't let me work, I'll come back and keep farming," Zhang Shengli nodded to Li Ying.

Just then, Zhang Xuewen ran out from the village, carrying a nylon net bag and calling out, "Brother, Mom wants you to take some melons to give to the folks at the township!"

"Alright."

Zhang Shengli took the net bag, hung it on his handlebars, and said to Li Ying, "I'm off then."

"Okay, take care on the road..." Li Ying wanted to say more, but with Zhang Xuewen nearby acting as a "third wheel," she simply waved to Zhang Shengli.

Zhang Shengli rode back to the township government, arriving at ten at night. The light in the radio room was still on, and Zhou Ling was asleep on Zhang Shengli’s bed.

"Weren't you supposed to turn off the radio at eight and head home? Why are you sleeping here?" Zhang Shengli hurried to wake her.

"I... I just meant to lie down for a bit, but I fell asleep," Zhou Ling said, groggy and embarrassed, rising to her feet. "I'll go home now."

"It's so late... Let me walk you back," Zhang Shengli offered. He accompanied Zhou Ling out of the township government. The street was empty, bathed in cold moonlight and scattered with countless stars.

"The stars are so bright and so close in the countryside, it's as if you could reach out and pluck them!" Zhou Ling exclaimed, tugging at Zhang Shengli’s sleeve and pointing to the sky. "Wait! I just remembered—today is the Double Seventh Festival!"

She pointed to the night sky. "Look, those stars on either side of the Milky Way must be the Cowherd and the Weaver Girl, right? They only get to see each other once a year—how pitiful!"

"One day in heaven is a year on earth... The Cowherd truly only sees the Weaver Girl once a year, but the Weaver Girl can see him every day," Zhang Shengli said quietly.

"Really? That's so unfair!"

"How could there be fairness between heaven and earth?"

"If the Cowherd became an immortal, wouldn't he get to be with the Weaver Girl every day?" Zhou Ling turned to smile at Zhang Shengli.

"To become immortal... That’s easier said than done!" Zhang Shengli shook his head with a bitter smile. It’s hard enough for mortals to rise above their birth and class, let alone bridge the gap between heaven and earth.

"Nothing in this world is too difficult, as long as you’re willing to climb!" Zhou Ling laughed again.

"Is heaven really better? If it is... Why would the Weaver Girl come down to seek the Cowherd?" Zhang Shengli frowned.

"That... They’re destined lovers from previous lives, of course the Weaver Girl would come to find the Cowherd!"

"Destined lovers from previous lives..." Zhang Shengli mused, falling silent.

Qinghu Township was just one long street; chatting, Zhang Shengli and Zhou Ling soon arrived at the supply station.

"Alright, you’d better go home and get some sleep!" Zhou Ling smiled at him, slipped through the little door, and vanished inside.

Zhang Shengli stood motionless in the moonlight on the long street for a long time.

The next day, it seemed everyone at the township government had heard that Zhang Shengli would be leaving next week; their glances grew stranger and stranger. Zhang Shengli remained calm, cooking and broadcasting as usual.

After lunch, Old Wang the driver drove out the 212 canvas Jeep, preparing to take Zhou Yun back to the city.

In 1988, there were no weekends—every workplace only had Sunday off.

Zhou Ling pulled Zhang Shengli into the back seat of the Jeep. Zhou Yun sat in the front passenger seat, smiling at Zhang Shengli, "Xiao Zhang, you’ve got all your registration documents?"

"Yes, I have them: photos, household registration, graduation certificate," Zhang Shengli answered nervously.

"Good, tonight you’ll stay at our house. Tomorrow Zhou Ling will go with you to register... Let’s go!" Zhou Yun waved his hand, and Old Wang drove the car out of the township compound.

Zhao Changqing and Huang Shigui, along with a group of others, stood frozen in the yard.

"Deputy County Chief Zhou actually said Zhang Shengli could stay at his house?"

"Looks like he’s taken a liking to Zhang Shengli..."

"That kid Zhang Shengli might really become the county chief's son-in-law..."

They whispered among themselves.

"Enough! Shut up, all of you! Day after day, never doing real work, just gossiping and spreading rumors!" Zhao Changqing glared coldly at them, shooting a particularly fierce look at Huang Shigui.

Huang Shigui lowered his head, his face dark as pig's liver.

The Jeep sped south out of Qinghu Township, passing through towns and villages.

Zhou Yun took out a pack of cigarettes and smiled at Zhang Shengli, "Xiao Zhang, do you smoke?"

"Thank you, I don’t," Zhang Shengli replied stiffly, sitting up straight.

"Dad, you shouldn’t smoke either—it’s bad for your stomach!" Zhou Ling called.

"Alright, I won’t smoke then." Zhou Yun smiled and put the cigarettes away.

Old Wang, the driver, tossed his half-smoked cigarette out the window.

Sand City Oasis is surrounded by sand on three sides, like a wedge driven into the desert. From the tip at Qinghu Township to the end at the county seat is seventy-six kilometers.

The Jeep was much faster than the bus and didn’t stop along the way; they reached the county seat just after nightfall.

On the wide avenues, many people rode bicycles, their bells ringing brightly. Under the dim streetlights, children played marbles, hopped on one leg in a game called “Kang Dong Dong,” flipped cigarette boxes stacked into triangles—an uproarious scene.

Back in Qinghu Township, people would already be preparing for bed at this hour, but Sand City’s county seat was still lively.

Zhang Shengli had only visited the county seat once before, back in eighth grade, when he accompanied his Chinese teacher to a county essay contest. It was a rushed visit; he hadn’t had a chance to take in the scenery.

To Zhang Shengli, the county seat was an entirely different world.

Now, riding in the Jeep and admiring the city’s nightscape, Zhang Shengli felt as if he were dreaming.

Could it be that his fate was truly about to change?

The Jeep turned into a small alley, stopping at the deepest house.

The gate tower was magnificent, with upturned eaves and carved beams, a striking sight.

Sand City Oasis was originally a pasture for nomadic peoples. In the Ming and Qing dynasties, the imperial court sent settlers to guard the frontier, and many people from Shanxi, Shaanxi, and Anhui migrated here. Their cultures blended, creating something unique—gate towers among them.

Every Sand City family, rich or poor, would build a gate tower with upturned eaves, called a “street gate tower.” It was a matter of pride.

Of course, a gate tower like Zhou Yun’s family’s, made entirely of wood with mortise joints and carved beams, was rare even in Sand City.

Zhang Shengli got out of the car and looked up. On the plaque above the gate tower were four large characters: “House of Lotus Love.”

This too was a local tradition: every family’s gate tower bore different inscription, known as “menle.”

For example, the Zhang family’s menle was “Yellow Stone Teaching,” the Wang family’s was “Legacy of Three Locusts,” the Yang family’s was “Purity Passed Down,” the Kong family’s was “Fragrance from Mount Ni”—each reflecting ancestral heritage.

An outsider could tell a family’s surname just by reading their menle.