Yan Lianke - The Four Books

For the sake of these forty-eight wheat plants, I sliced myself forty-eight times on my fingers, palms, wrists, arms, and legs. I don’t know how much blood I ended up giving those wheat plants, but by the time I was tending to the final dozen or so, the blood wouldn’t flow from my arm on its own, and instead I needed to squeeze it out with my other hand. I had layer upon layer of bandages on my hands, wrists, calves, and thighs. In the end, when I couldn’t squeeze another drop of blood from my arms or legs, I had no choice but to use my left hand to cut open the vein in my right wrist, allowing the blood to flow into a tea cup, a rice bowl, and a small basin. Eventually, when I became incredibly dizzy and felt as though I were about to float away, I used a string as a tourniquet to tie my wrist, then used the blood to fill the holes around the remaining wheat plants. I didn’t feel any pain in those forty-eight wounds, and instead only felt that my entire body was so numb I could barely support myself, and so weak that I didn’t have an ounce of energy. When I was refilling the last several holes, I didn’t use a hoe, and instead sat down and kicked the soil with my feet.

The sun went down, and apart from a reddish glow in the western horizon, there wasn’t any light left. In the cultivated area of the sandy plateau, the silence was broken by a mysterious sound of footsteps heading toward the dune. Under the final rays of sunlight before nightfall, the only sound was the buzzing of mosquitoes. As the daytime heat was beginning to dissipate and the steam trapped underground was being released, bringing with it the scent of the blood I had buried at the roots of each plant, the entire area became full of that thick smell of blood and wheat. Crickets jumped out of the wheat plants, and even landed chirping on my feet. I felt extremely dizzy and weak, and could barely stand up. In order to minimize my dizziness and weakness, I rolled over to a sand dune and positioned myself so that my head was at the bottom of the dune and my legs were elevated, and the blood in my lower body flowed back to my head.

The moon came up and I was attacked by a wave of hunger, but I simply couldn’t move. Instead, I wanted to sleep right here. I did in fact doze off, and when I awoke the moonlight was raining down on my face like water. In the depths of night I could hear the ears of wheat sucking the blood right out of the ground. Every wheat plant was sucking it up like a straw. I no longer felt gladdened by the sound of plants feeding, and in fact I had become rather annoyed. I rolled over and stared resentfully at those tall wheat plants, then crawled toward my shack. It occurred to me that if I stood up I should be able to walk back, but I didn’t want to. Instead I wanted to crawl back, and in the process show all of the wheat plants how much I had sacrificed for them, like parents who exaggerate their illness in order to get their children’s sympathy.

When I returned to my shack, I drank several gulps of water, ate half a bowl of leftover rice, and then went to sleep. The next morning, I was awakened by a flock of sparrows. The sound of those wild sparrows was initially indistinct, but then became clearer and clearer, until eventually it poured into the hut like a thunderstorm. I sat in bed staring blankly for a while, then rubbed my eyes, grabbed a branch, and ran screaming toward the fields. When I arrived, those hundred or so sparrows flew away, but there were thirty wheat ears that had either fallen to the ground or were hanging, broken, from the stalk, like someone’s head that had gotten cut off and was now hanging by a thread.

Of the forty-eight plants, now I had only eighteen left.

Stunned and inconsolable, I stood next to the field. I remained there until the sun was high in the sky, and only then did I pick up two of the ears of corn that had fed on my blood. I cut one of them open and squeezed out a grain of wheat — and discovered that after only a single night the grain had become much fatter and firmer. In fact, the grains were bright red and larger than any wheat grains I had ever seen. They were approximately the size of ripe peas. I put the grain in my mouth and chewed it, and my mouth was immediately filled with the taste of wheat and blood — a taste that lingered for the rest of the day.

After cooking and eating the unripe grains from those thirty ears of wheat, I moved my cot from my shack to the thatched hut right next to the field, and then proceeded to guard my remaining eighteen wheat plants around the clock. After seven days of blazing sun, those eighteen wheat plants were finally ripe. Two-thirds of the leaves were still green, and there were some ears that were as firm as a wooden pole. Standing under those eighteen wheat trees with their enormous heads of wheat, I knew that the Child would be so pleased when I gave him these wheat ears, the smallest of which was larger than an ear of corn. When I felt the first of these ears, my heart started to pound with excitement, as the grains of wheat dug into my palm like so many pebbles. When I pinched the second and third ones, the hardness of the grains left me delirious with joy. By the time I brought over a stool and used it to peer at the ears of the two tallest plants, which had drunk the most of my blood, my eyes were welling up with tears.

The two tallest and sturdiest wheat plants from this third plot were completely dry, their stems as firm as bamboo poles and their ears tied to a three-legged frame. In just seven days, the ears had gone from the size of typical ears of wheat to that of ears of corn. The grains of wheat visible from outside the shell were as large as peas or peanuts, and even more firm. They emitted a dark red glow and were lined up like so many troops standing at attention. Because the weight of the ear pulled the top of the wheat plant down, it was therefore hanging on the stand, dangling in the air like a deformed gourd.

Gazing at those ears of wheat that were each as hard as a stick, my eyes poured out tears.

After I had finished crying, I climbed down from the stool, then suddenly squatted on the ground and began sobbing again, though this time without any tears. Initially I was just sniffling quietly, but soon I was openly wailing. After I finished, I was completely hoarse, and excitedly climbed to the top of the sand dune and peed into the air. Then I shouted in the direction of the ninety-ninth,

“I want to go home!. I want to go home!. ”

“I want to return home!. I want to claim my freedom!. ”

I don’t know how many times I shouted these words, but eventually I went to the shack and dug up all of the flour, in order to treat myself to a heaping bowl of noodles. I added a lot of garlic oil, and ate until my belly was completely swollen. Then, as I considered calling the Child to present him with these ears of wheat, I began to worry about what the sparrows might do if no one were watching the field. Another possibility would be to sun the ears for another couple of days, and then cut them down and take them to the Child. Then he would surely award me the hundred and twenty-five red blossoms that would leave all of my comrades from the ninety-ninth utterly speechless, or perhaps he might simply give me five pentagonal stars. But I also wanted to invite the Child to come see them for himself, and also invite my comrades to come as well, so that they, too, could see these ears of wheat that were even larger than ears of corn.

I wanted them to see for themselves how I had earned those five stars, and how I was able to return home — openly and before their very eyes. That afternoon, I began using newspapers to wrap up those ears of wheat, to prevent the sparrows from eating them after I left. When I ran out of newspapers, I used my own clothing and bedsheets. Only after all eighteen ears were tightly wrapped, with each stalk looking like a wounded arm wrapped in bandages, did I dare return to the ninety-ninth. As I was leaving, I didn’t forget to collect those several dozen pea-sized wheat grains with which I intended to give the Child an enormous shock and leave my comrades speechless, so that they would have no choice but to come back with me to the sand dune to see the plants for themselves.