Chapter 17: Lying Awake at Dawn, Listening to Wind and Rain

Night had fallen.

His mother returned home, her body weighed down with exhaustion, her entire spirit dulled by fatigue. Earning seven yuan a day was no easy feat. Wang Qiang watched her with a pang of pity, but no matter how he tried to persuade her otherwise, his mother only nodded and agreed in words; he knew well that she would go to work again the next day, just as she always did.

Mother and son exchanged idle words over dinner, which ended quickly. Afterward, Wang Qiang took a bath, lit a coil of mosquito repellent, drew the bed curtain closed, and lay down on his wooden bed to sleep. There was no soft mattress, no air conditioning, not even a fan to stir the air. The stifling heat spread through the room.

He picked up a split palm-leaf fan and waved it gently, trying to summon a breeze. Starlight poured through the mottled glass, spilling onto the earthen floor like liquid mercury. Tomorrow would surely be a fine day, he thought with relief. If it rained, he couldn’t set up his stall.

The day’s toil had worn him out; his body was utterly exhausted. Gradually, his eyelids grew heavy, his thoughts blurred, and before he knew it, he had slipped into sleep.

...

Soft snores rose from his bed; Wang Qiang was sleeping soundly.

Suddenly, a deep rumble echoed from outside, making the tiled house tremble. The sheer force of that sound seemed to defy human resistance.

What was that noise? Half-awake, Wang Qiang smacked his lips and rolled over, wanting to keep sleeping. Was it thunder? All at once, he sat bolt upright—thunder!

He hurriedly pulled aside the bed curtain, slipped into his plastic slippers, and strode to the window. When he pushed it open, he was met with utter darkness. Squinting, he could barely make out the thickening layers of cloud pressing lower and lower overhead, so close it seemed that from a tall building, one could reach up and touch them.

He watched as silent flashes of lightning churned within the blackness, and his heart sank—it was going to rain. Suddenly, a bolt of lightning split the darkness, illuminating even the corners of the room, as if a giant outside had torn the gray curtain to shreds.

Thunder crashed, again and again, resounding between heaven and earth. Then, rain poured down in torrents, like a vast waterfall sweeping across the delta plain from the southeastern coast, blotting out the sky and earth. Thunder rolled through the low clouds, shaking his eardrums to a roar. Blue-white lightning slashed the heavy night, revealing the water firs thrashing wildly in the storm. Raindrops lashed the ground like whips of fire.

In an instant, the light was gone; darkness reclaimed everything, swallowing all beneath its endless shroud. No tree shadows could be seen, no other sounds heard—only the thunder and the relentless drumming of the rain.

Wang Qiang’s heart sank.

It was over.

The turtle lines were surely lost. And if the rain kept on, he wouldn’t be able to set up his stall in the morning. Time was already so short—he cursed under his breath, “All day I needed rain, but it holds off; now I don’t need it, and it pours like this—what kind of damned weather is this?”

But cursing would do no good.

He could not alter the power of nature.

Suddenly, he heard footsteps outside—his mother’s footsteps. What time was it? Frowning, he fumbled for the light switch by the flash of lightning, then turned on the lamp and opened the door. His mother was sweeping the floor.

“Mom, you’re up already?”

“And why are you up so early?” she asked, glancing up from her sweeping. “Go back to bed. I’ll make breakfast and then leave for work.”

He mumbled an acknowledgment, closed the door, and glanced at the clock on the wall—it was already half-past five in the morning. The clouds had made the sky so dark it still seemed like night, and his mood grew even more dismal.

The rain had only just begun, and by the look of it, would last for some time. There was no hope of setting up his stall today.

One less day’s income.

The turtle lines were likely washed away and would have to be made again.

Wang Qiang lay back on the bed with a long sigh, his eyes fixed on the glowing bulb above, feeling frustrated.

His thoughts wandered.

After half an hour, the door creaked open and his mother entered. “Why aren’t you asleep?”

“I can’t sleep,” he replied absently.

She crouched by the cupboard, took out a raincoat, and said, “Breakfast is ready. Get up and eat a little later. It’s raining, so you probably can’t set your traps. I’m heading to work.” She shut the drawer with a thud.

Wang Qiang propped himself up. “Mom, it’s raining so hard. Don’t go to work today. It’s only seven yuan—there’s no need to push yourself like this.”

“Seven yuan isn’t money? You’ve got big ideas,” she retorted, bracing her hands on her knees as she stood, massaging her lower back as if it ached.

He sat on the bed’s edge. “But it’s storming out there. If you ride your bike, you’ll get drenched.”

“I have a raincoat,” she said, waving him off and stepping out the door.

Worried, Wang Qiang slipped on his slippers and followed her into the main room. He watched as she donned the raincoat, wheeled her bicycle outside, and tried to persuade her again, but she wouldn’t listen—she insisted on going to work.

The door opened, and she rode straight into the downpour, head lowered as she pedaled against the wind and rain.

Even standing in the doorway, Wang Qiang felt it would take all his strength to ride a single step forward. His mood soured further. There was nothing wrong with going to work, but as a son, seeing his mother braving such terrible weather for seven yuan left him feeling wretched.

No. I can’t wait any longer.

He felt the pressure of time—every day he delayed, his parents suffered one more day of hardship. He could not bear it. Gritting his teeth, he ran to the cupboard, grabbed the black oil-paper umbrella, and dashed out into the rain.

If his mother could work so hard, why couldn’t he do the same?

Wang Qiang resolved to retrieve his traps and set up his stall, no matter how fierce the weather. He had no time to waste.

...

The wind and rain battered him.

Even the short distance of several dozen meters was a struggle. His slippers were sucked into the mud again and again, forcing him to stoop and pull them free by hand. The umbrella was nearly torn from his grip several times.

By the time he reached the reeds, his bare chest was soaked, and his white shorts clung to his body, dripping with water.

Rain stung his eyes until he could barely see. He wiped his face with a wet hand, blinking until his vision cleared.

He set the lead bucket at the roots of the reeds, closed the umbrella, and faced the rain head-on, searching for the spots where he’d set the turtle lines yesterday.

Amazingly, none were missing; all were stuck into the riverbank by the water firs.

The rain pounded his face like pebbles.

He staggered to the first line, and because the soil had been loosened by the rain, he pulled it up easily—light, with no weight. No turtle.

Sure enough, the chunk of pig liver was still on the hook.

He reeled in the line and tossed it aside, moving to the second.

The same result.

The third.

The fifth.

Soon, he’d checked them all. Unlike yesterday, today not a single bait had been touched.

He gave a bitter laugh. Had the turtles swum elsewhere? That couldn’t be—he’d seen their tracks yesterday.

Resigned, he prepared to check his fish traps. He was already drenched; better to fetch the fish and head to market.

Just as he stepped into a puddle, something struck him as odd. He shook the water from his head and counted the lines on the ground. “One, two, three, four, five… Wait, I set six lines yesterday. Why are there only five?”

It had only rained for half an hour or so. The five lines were still there, not washed away, so the sixth should have remained as well. Where was it?

Could it be…

Wang Qiang realized there was only one explanation: the rain had loosened the soil, and a turtle, struggling, had pulled both the line and the pole into the river.

It was very possible.

In the cold rain, his heart began to pound, and energy surged through him.

Quick, find that missing line!

Gripping the reeds for support, he scanned the riverbank through the rain. Suddenly, he spotted a bamboo pole floating downstream, drifting southward.

There it was!

Without a second thought, he kicked off his slippers, lunged forward, spraying mud, and dove into the icy river with a splash.

I’m coming for you, turtle!