122: Chapter 122 Rainbow Mushroom

The applause from the Stone Concert had not yet fully faded when George left the crowd.

He walked very slowly, bypassing the church, crossing the main street, and returning to the farm.

The sky had darkened, and the mushrooms on the racks gleamed white under the lights.

He walked to the furthest corner, crouched down, and looked at that brown mushroom.

It was still the same as yesterday—the cap curled, the color unchanged, hard, like a small stone.

George reached out, touched it, and it was cool.

He withdrew his hand, stood up, picked up a watering can, and poured a little water on it.

Water droplets fell onto the cap, rolled off, and seeped into the soil.

The mushroom did not move.

"When will you grow?" he asked softly.

The mushroom did not answer.

He stood for a while, then turned and left.

The next morning, Sarah was the first to discover that the mushroom had changed.

She pushed open the farm door, walked to the front of the rack, and prepared to pick mushrooms.

She glanced at the corner and froze—on that brown mushroom, a faint circle of red had appeared on the edge of its cap.

It wasn't completely red, just a circle, as if painted on.

She crouched down and leaned in to look.

The red was very faint, like a stroke gently drawn on paper with a watercolor pen.

She reached out, didn't dare to touch it, and ran out to find George.

George was at the church entrance looking at those stones, and was dragged by Sarah toward the farm.

He crouched in front of the mushroom and saw that circle of red.

He looked at it for a long time, then reached out and touched it lightly.

It was cool, hard, just like yesterday.

But the color was different.

He stood up, said nothing, and continued watering.

When the news reached the Coffee Shop, Molly was brewing coffee.

Lin Xiaohe ran in and said that George's brown mushroom had turned red.

Molly put down the coffee pot, untied her apron, and ran to the farm.

She crouched in front of the mushroom and saw that circle of red.

It was very faint, but it was indeed red.

"Will it turn into a rainbow?" Lin Xiaohe asked, crouching nearby, her eyes bright.

Molly shook her head.

"I don't know. But it has changed. After waiting a day, it has changed."

In the afternoon, the mushroom had added a circle of orange.

The red was still there, with the orange next to it, circle by circle, like a target.

Sarah ran to check it every hour, and every time she came back, she shouted: "Another circle!"

Yellow, green, blue, indigo, violet—by the time the sun set, that mushroom had turned into rainbow colors.

Red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, violet, circle by circle, extending from the edge of the cap toward the center.

The very middle was still brown, but it had been squeezed down to just a tiny dot.

The farm was packed with people.

People from Millfield, Greenfield, and Xinfeng Town.

Eric crouched at the very front, holding a white mushroom in his hands, his eyes fixed on the rainbow mushroom, not blinking once.

Martha stood behind him, holding her guitar, not playing.

Sam crouched beside Martha, his fingers resting on the strings, not plucking them.

The cat crouched on the top shelf, looking down at the mushroom, its tail tip swaying gently.

No one spoke.

Everyone was looking at the mushroom.

The light shone upon it, and the rainbow-colored cap reflected iridescent light, falling onto the white mushrooms nearby, onto the soil, and onto people's faces.

George crouched at the very front, reached out, and touched the cap lightly.

It was cool, but not as hard as a stone anymore.

He withdrew his hand, stood up, took a small knife from his pocket, crouched down, and along the edge of the cap, gently sliced off a small piece.

The rainbow-colored mushroom slice fell into his palm, thin, like a piece of colored paper.

He put the mushroom slice into his mouth and chewed.

It was sweet—not the sweetness of sugar, but a fresh sweetness, like the taste of something just picked from the ground.

But it was different from ordinary mushrooms—as he chewed, he suddenly remembered the day he first went down into the mine.

Eighteen years old, standing at the mine entrance, looking down, it was pitch black, and he couldn't see anything.

His heart was beating fast, and his palms were full of sweat.

The wind from the mine shaft surged up from below, cool, damp, carrying the smell of coal dust.

He closed his eyes, then opened them, and jumped down.

That was not the taste of a mushroom.

That was the taste of memory.

He swallowed, opened his eyes, and saw everyone staring at him.

"It's sweet," he said, "For everyone who eats it, the taste is different."

Eric took that piece of rainbow mushroom from his hand and put it into his mouth.

He chewed, and remembered the afternoon he wrote his first letter.

The paper was white, the characters were black, and he wrote very slowly, having to think for a long time for every single character.

When he finished writing "My name is Eric," his hands were shaking.

He folded the letter, put it in an envelope, and handed it to Old Zhou.

Old Zhou took the letter, glanced at him, and put it into his canvas bag.

He stood at the town entrance, watching Old Zhou ride his bicycle further and further away.

The wind blew past his ears, and the trees on both sides of the road rustled.

He felt as if he had mailed something out, but he didn't know who he had mailed it to.

He swallowed and opened his eyes.

"It's sweet. I remembered the time I wrote my first letter."

Martha took the piece of mushroom from his hand and put it into her mouth.

She remembered the afternoon she first played the guitar.

The guitar was big; she couldn't hold it, and the headstock rested on the ground.

She crouched down, leaned the guitar against her knee, reached out, and lightly plucked a string.

The string sounded, very muffled, not pleasant to hear.

But she smiled.

She played for the whole afternoon, her fingers rubbed raw into blisters, but she didn't stop.

She remembered Old Zhou standing behind her, waiting for her to finish playing, handing her a letter, and saying, "It's from Millfield."

She opened it, and it was written by Eric— "Your guitar, I want to learn it too."

She swallowed and opened her eyes.

"It's sweet. I remembered the first time I played the guitar."

Sam took the piece of mushroom from his hand and put it into his mouth.

He remembered the night he first sang at a bar.

There were only three old men in the audience, dozing off.

He sang a song he had written himself, and when he finished, the three old men looked up, glanced at him, and then lowered their heads to continue dozing off.

He held his guitar, standing there, not knowing whether he should continue singing.

Then he saw someone crouching in the corner, holding a straw in their mouth, listening.

That person didn't clap, didn't speak, just crouched there, listening.

He sang a second song, and that person was still there.

He sang a third song, and that person was still there.

When he finished singing, that person stood up, dusted off his bottom, and left.

That was Lin Feng.

He swallowed and opened his eyes.

"It's sweet. I remembered the first time I sang."

Lin Xiaohe took the piece of mushroom from his hand and put it into her mouth.

She remembered the afternoon she first wrote on the wall.

The chalk was white, the wall was gray, and she wrote the character "Listen," crooked and wobbly.

She didn't know why she wanted to write this character, but she felt the wall should know.

Jenny walked over and asked what she was doing, and she said she was telling the wall, "I am listening."

Jenny touched the character and said it would know.

She swallowed and opened her eyes.

"It's sweet. I remembered writing the 'Listen' character."

The cat jumped down from the rack, crouched at George's feet, looked up, and meowed.

George sliced a small piece of mushroom, placed it in his palm, and handed it to the cat.

The cat lowered its head, licked it, chewed it, and swallowed.

It didn't remember anything—it was just a cat.

But it licked its lips, rubbed against George's palm, then jumped onto the rack, crouched beside the rainbow mushroom, and its tail tip swayed gently.

The news spread throughout all of Xinfeng Town.

It wasn't that anyone specifically went to spread it; it was the people who had eaten the rainbow mushroom who went back and talked about it.

They said that the mushroom was sweet, and the sweetness each person tasted was different.

Some said they remembered their childhood, some said they remembered their hometown, some said they remembered people who had passed away, and some said they remembered their living selves.

George left the rainbow mushroom on the rack and did not pick it.

Every day he sliced off a small piece and shared it with those who came.

Everyone ate a piece, and everyone remembered one thing.

Some remembered the first time they planted mushrooms, some remembered the first time they wrote a letter, some remembered the first time they came to Xinfeng Town, and some remembered the first time they saw that wall.

The cat crouched beside the rack every day, waiting for George to slice a piece for it.

It ate it, licked its lips, rubbed against George's hand, then jumped onto the rack and crouched beside that mushroom.

The mushroom did not get smaller.

Every day a piece was cut, and the next day a new one grew.

The rainbow-colored cap was still that big, and the colors were still that vivid.

George didn't know how long it could grow, but he knew it was still growing.

That evening, Lin Feng was crouching under the old locust tree.

Margaret came over carrying a plate of mushrooms and crouched beside him; there was a piece of rainbow-colored mushroom on the plate.

"Have you eaten it?" Lin Feng asked.

Margaret nodded.

"I have. I remembered my husband. When he was alive, he also liked to eat mushrooms."

She handed the plate to him.

"You try it too."

Lin Feng took the piece of rainbow mushroom and put it into his mouth.

He chewed, and remembered the day he first activated the system.

Crouching on a street corner, holding a cup covered in emojis, handing it to an intern who had just been scolded to tears by their boss.

The intern smiled, and the system credited ten thousand dollars.

He crouched there, watching the intern walk away, and suddenly felt that this world didn't seem so bad.

He swallowed and opened his eyes.

"It's sweet."

Margaret looked at him.

"What did you remember?"

Lin Feng thought for a moment.

"The first time I made someone smile."

Margaret smiled.

"You were crouching back then too?"

Lin Feng nodded.

"Always crouching."

The next morning, Old Zhou came to deliver letters.

He parked his bike at the church entrance, didn't go in, and turned to the farm first.

George was slicing mushrooms, saw him enter, and sliced a piece to hand to him.

Old Zhou took it and put it into his mouth.

He chewed, and remembered the day he first rode this bicycle.

The bike was new, the chain was shiny, the tires were black, and the bell rang the moment it was pressed.

He rode it, starting from the Post Office, riding through Millfield, riding through Greenfield, riding to those places whose names he didn't know.

Back then, the roads were still dirt roads, full of potholes, and riding them made his bottom ache from the bumps.

But he felt it was fast, much faster than walking.

He swallowed and opened his eyes.

"It's sweet."

He placed the letters next to the mushroom, turned around, and left.

The bicycle creaked, and he rode it slowly forward.

The road wound and stretched into the distance, and the wind messed up his hair.

He rode very slowly, but very steadily.

He thought of that rainbow mushroom, thought of those people who ate the mushroom, and thought of the things they remembered.

Those things, some were distant, some were near, some were happy, some were sad.

But they were all sweet.

He smiled and continued riding forward.

[ Chapter 122 End ]