The dust by the corner of the courtyard had just been stirred up by the wind, and before Lín Yè could even finish dusting off his shoes, his Second Brother's voice was right by his ear.
“Third Son, say it. Do you want to do this or not?”
He turned around, looking at Second Brother’s eyes. They didn’t seem to be pressuring him, but rather waiting for his nod so they could act immediately.
“You say it’ll sell for money, but this isn’t like selling eggs at a market. This is ‘setting up a stall’ – we could get criticized for it,” Lín Yè’s voice was not loud, but each word landed heavily.
Second Brother grinned, lowering his voice. “Who’s going to talk if nobody sees? We won’t set up outside the commune office. We’ll go to those back alleys in the old South Gate street, do our business, and leave. Besides, your craftsmanship is being wasted. Eldest Brother can turn his life around by farming, why can’t you turn yours around with your skills?”
Lín Yè didn’t reply. He looked down at his hands, noticing a few fresh red marks on his knuckles from sawing wood yesterday. He knew this skill wasn’t something that came from nowhere; it was crammed into his head, like someone had poured a whole set of rules into his mind while he slept. How thick to plane, how deep to chisel, how to fit the tenons – it was all crystal clear.
But clear as it was, actually selling it was another matter.
He recalled the carpenter’s stall he’d seen at the supply and marketing cooperative entrance a couple of days ago. A few worn oilcloths spread on the ground, with stools, sewing boxes, and small lunch pails laid out in a row. The man squatted by the side, and no one asked the price for a long time. Later, the militia came by for a stroll, and the man immediately packed up and ran.
“I’m not afraid of hard work,” Lín Yè finally spoke, “I’m afraid of causing trouble.”
“Where can you earn money without taking some risks?” Second Brother stepped forward, his tone becoming a bit impatient. “Your work is better than theirs, and you don’t have to pay for materials. Make ten or eight, that’s a few yuan. Right now, a work point is only worth a few fen a day, do the math!”
Lín Yè neither moved nor retreated. In his heart, he had already calculated it. One plank, planed smooth, trimmed, drilled, legs attached, would take at most two hours. The scraps at home could make five or six pieces. If he disassembled two old cabinet panels, making ten items wouldn’t be a problem. Ten fen to fifty fen, even if he only sold them for three fen each, he could earn three yuan. Three yuan was enough for the whole family to eat fine grain for half a month.
But whether this money could be brought home was the key.
“If you really want to do it, you have to listen to me,” Lín Yè looked up and fixed his gaze on Second Brother. “First, don’t shout around the village entrance. Second, hide the goods well; don’t let anyone know it’s us. Third, when we go to the county town, speak little, and leave as soon as we’re done selling.”
Second Brother paused, then smiled. “Alright, you’re quite organized. We’ll do whatever you say.”
“I still need to make a few things to test the waters first,” Lín Yè turned and walked towards the woodshed. “Don’t loiter here; Eldest Brother will ask questions when he gets back.”
Second Brother followed him inside. The light in the room was dim, with only a slanted beam filtering through cracks in the wall. The wood left over from yesterday was piled on the ground, varying in length, all scraps of pine and locust wood. Lín Yè squatted down, picked out two flat pieces, and then took out the borrowed plane, testing its edge. It was still sharp.
“Can you finish them tonight?” Second Brother squatted beside him and asked.
“Before tomorrow morning,” Lín Yè picked up a piece of charcoal and drew lines on the wood. “I’ll make a wooden box first, then a chopstick rest, and then a small stool. Three styles, to see which sells better.”
“What’s a stool?”
“A bench,”
“Oh.” Second Brother nodded, seeming to understand. “Then you get busy. I’ll come back later.”
“Don’t come too often,” Lín Yè said without looking up. “We have to act like nothing’s happening.”
Second Brother left. Lín Yè remained alone in the woodshed and began to work.
The plane slid down, wood shavings curling to the floor, releasing a faint scent of pine. His movements were not fast, but steady. Each stroke followed the dimensions in his mind, not an inch more, not a fraction less. When chiseling the holes, he deliberately used the damp cloth method for splitting, and indeed, it was much smoother than yesterday. The moment the tenons fitted, there was a soft click, a perfect match.
By midnight, all three items were done. The wooden box had a lid, its corners reinforced with copper sheeting and nails. The chopstick rest was cylindrical, with a small handle on top. The small stool was foldable, palm-sized when closed, and could seat a person when opened. He wiped them again and again with a cloth until the surface was smooth enough to reflect a person’s face.
He hid the items under a straw mat and tidied the tools. Before leaving, he oiled the plane blade lightly and wrapped it in an old cloth.
The next morning, he borrowed a carrying pole and a bamboo basket under the pretense of going to the Li Family’s to repair doors and windows. Second Brother also came, bringing a yellowed oilcloth and half a coil of hemp rope.
“This is what my dad used to carry goods with,” Second Brother unfolded the oilcloth. “It’s a bit old, but it’ll cover the items.”
The two met on a barren slope outside the courtyard. Lín Yè took out the three samples and arranged them on the oilcloth. The wooden box in the center, the chopstick rest to the left, and the small stool placed upright on the right. It didn’t look like much, but it didn’t look shabby either.
“What about the prices?” Second Brother asked.
“Five mao for the wooden box, three mao for the chopstick rest, and four mao for the small stool,” Lín Yè said. “We’ll test the market first; if they don’t sell, we’ll lower the price.”
“You dare to sell them so expensive?” Second Brother raised an eyebrow.
“The cheap goods at the supply and marketing cooperative are four mao. Ours are well-made; people will buy them.”
“Alright, we’ll do as you say,” Second Brother nodded. “So, shall we go tomorrow?”
Lín Yè looked at the three items before him, his fingers lightly brushing over the seams of the wooden box. He knew this trip might not go smoothly, they might run for nothing, or even get into trouble. But he also knew that relying on farming or exchanging grain on the black market would only allow them to barely survive. And these items represented his first chance to earn money through his own skills.
“We’ll set off before dawn tomorrow,” he said. “We’ll leave before the morning market disperses.”
“Okay!” Second Brother slapped his thigh. “I knew you could do it!”
“Only you and I know about this,” Lín Yè stared at him. “Hide the tools well and clean up any traces before we get back.”
“Don’t worry,” Second Brother rarely let go of his casual demeanor, speaking seriously. “If we lose, I’ll carry it. If we profit, it’s for everyone.”
Lín Yè didn’t say anything more. He put the samples into the bamboo basket one by one, covered them with the oilcloth, and tied them tightly with the hemp rope. Then he picked up the carrying pole and tested its weight. It wasn’t heavy; he could carry it.
On the way back to the village, he passed by his own courtyard and paused. His mother was cooking in the kitchen, smoke rising from the chimney, the smell of food drifting out. Eldest Brother was walking towards the fields with a hoe, his steps steady. Younger Sister was squatting by the door playing with stones; she looked up when she saw him and called out, “Third Brother.”
He responded and kept walking.
That night, he wrapped the tool bag in coarse cloth and hid it at the very back of the woodpile. He then neatly piled the remaining lumber again, sprinkled it with ash, covering the fresh planing marks.
Late into the night, he sat by the wall in the main hall, without a lamp. His fingers flexed unconsciously, as if still pushing the plane. His mind ran through tomorrow’s route repeatedly: out of the village, take the west road, bypass the brigade headquarters, follow the riverbank to the highway, hitch a ride into town, turn east at the third alley on the old South Gate street…
He knew that once he took this path, there would be no turning back.
But he also knew that some paths, sooner or later, had to be trod.
The next day, before the rooster crowed, he was awake. He got dressed in the dark, put on his jacket, and gently pushed open the main hall door.
The courtyard was very quiet. He stood at the doorway and looked back at the house. No lights were on; everyone was asleep.
He turned and walked out, his footsteps light.
He went to the woodpile, bent down, pulled out the tool bag, and held it in his arms. The cloth bag was heavy, pressing against his arm.
As soon as he stood up straight, he heard footsteps behind him.
He turned around and saw that Second Brother was already standing at the courtyard gate, holding a carrying pole and with a bamboo basket slung over his shoulder.
“I’ve been waiting for you for a while,” Second Brother smiled. “Shall we go?”
Lín Yè nodded.
The two walked out of the courtyard side by side, heading out of the village. The sky at the horizon was just beginning to turn gray, and the wind felt a bit cool on their faces.
They walked past the threshing ground, circled the big willow tree, and stepped onto the small path leading to the highway.
Lín Yè, holding the tool bag, walked steadily.
He knew they might not make any money today.
But he also knew that they had to go today.