63: Chapter 63 The Eve of the Storm

After the mysterious administrator account left the message "Can't understand," there was no movement for three whole days.

Every day when Yuki opened her computer, the first thing she did was check the status of that account. It was still there, lying quietly in the administrator list like a dormant spider, motionless.

Sometimes, staring at the account, she would wonder: What does the person on the other side of the screen look like? What are they thinking? How does he feel every day when he opens his computer and sees the constantly increasing comments, photos, and stories on the happiness map?

She didn't know.

On the fourth morning, the sun rose from behind the eastern mountains, stretching the shadow of the old locust tree long across the ground.

Lin Feng squatted under the old locust tree, watching the sun climb up bit by bit. The morning light fell on him, on that flattened straw, and on the blades of grass dampened by dew.

Margaret walked over with a cup of coffee and squatted beside him.

"It's been three days."

Lin Feng nodded.

Margaret asked, "What are they waiting for?"

Lin Feng thought for a moment and said, "Waiting for themselves to figure it out."

Margaret didn't understand, but she didn't ask again.

In the distance, the church bell rang—the bell that had been rusted for decades had been repaired by someone Tom hired. It rang three times a day—morning, noon, and evening—with a slightly hoarse sound, but it could be heard clearly. The hoarse tolling echoed in the valley, as if calling someone's name.

George walked out of the farm, holding a basket of freshly picked mushrooms. The mushrooms were snow-white and still covered in dew, glowing softly in the morning light. He walked slowly, each step steady.

Edna walked slowly toward the church, leaning on her cane. Today she was wearing a dark blue coat—the one her old man had bought for her when he was young. She had worn it for forty years, and the cuffs were frayed, but she couldn't bear to throw it away.

Mike opened the bar door and began to wipe the counter. He wiped it very slowly, stroke by stroke, as if he were wiping away time. The wood grain on the bar had been polished to a shine by his constant cleaning, yet he still wiped it every day.

Sam sat at the church entrance, tuning his guitar strings. He plucked one gently, listened to the pitch, and then twisted the tuning peg. He had played "Dandelion Song" hundreds of times, but before every performance, he had to retune the strings.

Jenny sat in the yard, sunning herself with the letters in her arms. She spread the letters out one by one, letting the sunlight shine on the handwriting. Someone had said this allowed the warmth in the letters to ferment, and she believed it.

Chris was watering the farm; the water from the hose shimmered in the sunlight like a silver snake. As he watered, he spoke to the mushrooms, "The sun is good today, get some extra sun."

Alex and Rachel sat in front of the computer, staring at the screen. Alex's fingers tapped lightly on the desk, and Rachel held a cup of coffee that had already gone cold; neither of them spoke. They knew the account was still there, and those people were still watching.

Tony sat on the other side of the old locust tree with a book, turning the pages one by one. He had been reading that book for three months and still hadn't finished. But he wasn't in a rush. Some books needed to be read slowly, and some questions needed to be pondered slowly.

Yuki walked out of the church, went up to Lin Feng, and handed him a note.

Lin Feng looked down at it.

There was only one line of text on the note, but Yuki had written it with such force that the pen tip had almost pierced through the back of the paper:

[They have started moving.]

---

On the top floor of that black glass building in Manhattan, the meeting began again.

This time, there were more people.

On both sides of the long table sat over a dozen people in suits. There were men and women, old and young, but their eyes were all the same—sharp, calm, like hawks staring at prey.

Mr. B sat in the center, with Mrs. V and Harold beside him. William sat in the corner, not saying a word. A glass of water sat in front of him, untouched.

On the projection screen was a huge map. Marked on the map were one hundred red dots—these were all the towns covered by the Xinfeng Town model. The red dots were dense, like a prairie fire.

Mr. B spoke, his voice colder than last time, like iron railings in winter:

"It's been three days. The division plan has failed completely."

Mrs. V opened the file in front of her, her voice dry, like sandpaper rubbing against wood:

"We have contacted one hundred and thirty-seven people. The number willing to cooperate is zero."

A slight commotion broke out in the conference room. Some people whispered to each other, some frowned, others shook their heads. A young man sitting in a corner muttered, "One hundred and thirty-seven people, and not a single one? That's impossible."

Harold pushed up his glasses and said slowly and methodically:

"It's not that they aren't willing. It's that they aren't afraid."

Mr. B looked at him.

Harold stood up, walked to the projection screen, and pointed at the red dots. His fingers were slender, his nails cut very short, like a doctor's hands.

"The conditions we offered were enough to shake anyone. Ten times the salary, development in New York, expert allowances, independent producer status—anyone would hesitate when faced with these conditions. But they are not shaken. Why?"

The conference room fell silent.

Harold continued, "Because these people have already obtained something we cannot give."

Mrs. V asked, "What is it?"

Harold was silent for three seconds, then said, "I don't know. But I know that thing is more valuable than money."

William looked up, watching Harold's back. This man, who used to conduct psychological warfare for the CIA, was standing in front of the projection screen, revealing a look of confusion for the first time.

---

That afternoon, the third wave of attacks began.

This time, it wasn't division; it was encirclement.

Millfield, Ohio.

Dave was working on the farm, his hands covered in dirt. He squatted beside the mushroom racks, checking the mushrooms one by one. He picked the big ones and left the small ones to keep growing.

Suddenly, the phone rang.

He wiped his hands, walked into the office, and picked up the phone.

"Mr. Dave? I'm from the State Health Department. We received a report that your mushrooms might be toxic."

Dave froze. His hand gripping the phone tightened slightly.

"Toxic? We've been growing them for half a year and have never had any issues. People in the neighboring town eat our mushrooms, and no one has had any trouble."

The voice on the other end was bureaucratic, like a machine speaking:

"The report is anonymous, but we have a duty to investigate. The inspection is routine procedure. We will send someone over tomorrow at nine in the morning. Please have all production records, test reports, and employee health certificates ready."

Dave opened his mouth, wanting to say something, but the other party had already hung up.

He put down the phone, walked out to the farm, and looked at those snow-white mushrooms. They glowed under the lights, growing quietly.

He squatted down, picked one, put it in his mouth, and chewed.

The taste of the mushroom spread across his tongue—sweet, soft, and carrying the scent of the earth.

"Not toxic," he said to himself.

But his hands were shaking.

---

Carbon, West Virginia.

Tom was editing footage, his fingers flying across the keyboard. On the screen, the faces of those elderly people flashed by one after another—crying, laughing, dazed, singing. He was editing them into a new film, for which he had already thought of a name: "The People Who Look Up."

Suddenly, a commotion came from outside. People shouting, cars stopping, footsteps.

He ran out to see three pickup trucks parked at the edge of town. Seven or eight people got out, wearing various uniforms—green for the Environmental Protection Agency, blue for the Department of Labor, black for the Fire Department.

The leader held a folder and walked over with long strides.

"Mr. Thomas Wilson? We are the state government joint task force. We received a report that there are safety hazards here."

Tom froze, "What hazards?"

The man opened the folder and read a long list:

"Fire safety facilities not up to code, working environment not meeting standards, land use violations, missing building permits..."

Tom listened to those words, not understanding a single one. But he knew these people were not here to help.

He glanced back.

The old people in town were coming out of their houses, standing on the main street, watching. In their eyes, there was worry and confusion, but more than that—a kind of indescribable firmness.

---

Coal Creek, Kentucky.

The group of old miners was sunning themselves at the church entrance. The sun was warm, shining on their wrinkled faces. The oldest one, an eighty-seven-year-old man, was squinting, as if he were asleep.

Suddenly, a car stopped at the edge of town. Several people in suits got out, holding documents, and walked over with long strides.

"Everyone, this land belongs to the state government. You have no right to use it."

The old man opened his eyes and looked at those people. His eyes were cloudy but bright.

"We have used this land for eighty years."

The man in the suit was expressionless, like he was wearing a mask:

"Eighty years doesn't represent ownership. You don't have a deed, no usage permit, no legal documents of any kind. There will be a formal eviction notice next week. Please be prepared."

The old man leaned on his cane and stood up slowly. His movements were slow but steady.

He stood there, watching them. The wind blew over, messing up his white hair.

He didn't speak.

But his hand gripped the cane tightly. His knuckles turned white, and veins bulged.

The old miners beside him stood up one by one, standing behind him.

No one spoke.

But their eyes had already said everything.

---

Mill Town, Pennsylvania.

Two cars were parked in front of Edna's house. One was a FOXX news van, with a white body, a huge logo, and a tall antenna standing high. The other was a state government car, black, with no markings, looking very serious.

A person in uniform knocked on her door. He was wearing a hat, the brim pulled low, making it impossible to see his expression.

"Ms. Edna, someone reported you for illegally occupying public space. That 'Ear' sculpture built at the church entrance—that land belongs to the town government. You did not obtain any approval procedures."

Edna stood at the doorway, leaning on her cane, watching him. Her back was very straight, like an old tree.

"That 'Ear' is for people to use to speak."

The person in uniform shook his head, his movements mechanical:

"No matter what it's used for, without approval, it's an illegal structure. There will be a demolition notice next week. Please cooperate."

Edna didn't speak.

She just watched those people, watching for a long, long time.

Then she smiled.

That smile made the person in uniform freeze for a moment. He had been in this line of work for ten years and had seen anger, tearful pleas, begging, and numbness, but he had never seen a smile like this.

It wasn't a bitter smile, not a cold smile, not a mocking smile.

It was an indescribable smile.

It seemed as if what she was looking at wasn't them, but something else.

---

That new town in Tennessee.

The young mother holding her baby was hanging laundry in the yard. The sun was nice, the breeze was light, and the child was asleep in the cradle behind her.

Suddenly, she heard a commotion outside. Engine sounds, footsteps, voices.

She walked out to see several cars parked at the edge of town, and dozens of people getting out, holding various documents, instruments, and measuring tools.

Someone was shouting through a megaphone, the sound amplified, piercing like a knife:

"Residents, this area is about to undergo development planning adjustments. All buildings may face demolition. Please prepare for relocation."

She froze.

The child in her arms was woken up and started crying. The crying was sharp, like needles pricking her heart.

She held the child, standing there, watching those people.

Those people were busy—measuring land, taking photos, taking notes, like a colony of ants. They walked around, talked on walkie-talkies, and wrote on documents; no one looked at her.

She looked down at the child. The child was still crying, her little face flushed red.

She gently patted the child's back and whispered, "Don't be afraid. Mama is here."

The child slowly calmed down, resting on her shoulder, sobbing.

She looked up, watching those people.

The sun was blinding, but she didn't flinch.

---

Starry Sky Town.

The old lady named Jack was sitting by the edge of the mine pit.

She came here every day at this time, sat on that stone, looked into the bottom of the pit, and talked to Jack for a while.

Today, she said to Jack, "Old man, the sun is nice today. Can you feel the warmth over there?"

Suddenly, the sound of engines came from the distance.

Several cars were driving toward them.

She stood up and turned around.

Several off-road vehicles were driving along the mountain road, kicking up dust all the way.

A few people got out of the cars, wearing outdoor gear and holding instruments, measuring the mine pit.

The man leading them walked over, holding a tablet computer without even raising his head: "This land belongs to a mining company. You have no right to enter."

The old lady stood in front of him and looked at him.

"I have lived here for sixty years."

The man finally raised his head and glanced at her.

There was no malice in his eyes, nor kindness, only a professional indifference: "Sixty years does not equate to ownership. We have checked the records; the property rights for this land belong to a mining company and were transferred fifty years ago. You do not have the right to use it."

The old lady said nothing.

She just stood there, watching those people busy themselves.

They used instruments to measure depth, took photos with cameras, and recorded data on the tablet.

The wind blew up from the bottom of the pit, feeling a bit cold.

She took out the photo from her pocket and glanced at it.

Jack was smiling in the photo.

It was taken on the day they got married; he was wearing a borrowed suit that was too big, with the sleeves covering half his hands, smiling foolishly.

She smiled too.

She put the photo away and turned to walk back.

After a few steps, she looked back.

Those people were still there, busy.

She continued walking.

Her steps were a little slower than when she came, but very steady.

Xinfeng Town.

George was in the farm, squatting and watching the mushrooms.

He would squat like this for a while every day, doing nothing, just watching.

Suddenly, he heard someone shouting outside.

The voice was far away, but very loud.

He stood up and walked out of the farm.

Seven or eight cars were parked at the entrance of the town.

There were white, black, and blue ones, printed with various logos—Department of Health, Environmental Protection Agency, Department of Labor, Fire Department, Land Management Bureau.

Dozens of people were walking in.

They wore different uniforms and held different documents, but the expression on their faces was the same—professional, emotionless.

Mike ran out of the bar, stains of alcohol still on his apron.

Sam put down his guitar and stood up.

Jenny walked out of the yard, clutching those letters.

Chris dropped the water hose; the water was still flowing, but no one cared.

Alex and Rachel stood up from the computer, the code on the screen still scrolling.

Tony closed his book and looked up.

Yuki walked out of the church and stood on the steps.

Lin Feng was still squatting under the old locust tree, not moving.

The group walked to the center of the town, and the one leading them shouted through a loudspeaker.

The voice was amplified by the speaker, echoing over the town: "Dear residents, we are the State Government Joint Law Enforcement Team. We have received multiple reports of various violations in Xinfeng Town. We are now conducting an on-site inspection. Please everyone cooperate."

George walked over and stood in front of them.

His hands were still stained with soil, and there were traces of mushrooms on his clothes.

"Inspect what?"

The leader opened a folder and read a long list.

His voice had no inflection, like a machine reading a script: "Land use violations, lack of building permits, food safety hazards, substandard fire facilities, non-compliant working environments, unauthorized water usage, non-compliant waste disposal..."

George listened to those words, one by one, like nails being driven into his ears.

He looked back.

Edna stood at the church entrance leaning on her cane, her back straight.

Mike leaned against the doorframe of the bar, arms crossed over his chest.

Sam held his guitar, fingers resting on the strings.

Jenny clutched those letters, holding them against her chest.

Chris stood at the entrance of the farm, clenching his fists.

Alex and Rachel stood by the computer, Alex's hand resting on Rachel's shoulder.

Tony held his book, standing on the other side of the old locust tree.

Yuki stood on the steps, motionless.

And there were those who came from other towns—those who came to learn, to help, to thank, to stay—hundreds of people standing on the main street, in front of the church, at the bar entrance, by the side of the farm, in every place where one could stand, watching those people.

No one spoke.

But everyone's gaze fell on those people.

Those gazes were light, very faint, like the wind.

But the leader felt a bit uncomfortable being watched.

He cleared his throat, his voice a little lower than before: "The inspection begins now. Please cooperate."

No one moved.

Those people stood there, watching.

Lin Feng stood up from under the old locust tree.

He walked through the crowd, step by step, to the man.

The man froze for a moment, looking at him.

This person who had been squatting under the tree was now standing in front of him; he was a bit shorter, but for some reason, he felt this person was very tall.

Lin Feng said nothing.

He squatted down—right in front of the man, looked up, and stared at him.

The man was bewildered by this action.

He took a step back, then felt it wasn't right, so he stood forward again.

"What... what are you doing?"

Lin Feng said: "Squatting and watching."

That night, the church was full of people again.

George stood before the altar and recounted today's events.

Those inspections, those notices, those words.

He spoke very slowly, every word clear.

Edna, leaning on her cane, told them about the demolition notice.

Her voice was calm, as if she were talking about someone else's affairs.

Mike, Sam, Jenny, Chris, Alex, Rachel, Tony, Yuki, one by one, told everything they had encountered today.

Every town, every person, every event.

Ohio's health inspection.

West Virginia's safety hazards.

Kentucky's eviction notice.

Pennsylvania's demolition of illegal construction.

Tennessee's development plan.

Starry Sky Town's property rights dispute.

And those people in Xinfeng Town—those people wearing different uniforms, holding different documents, with no expression on their faces.

Finally, everyone looked at Lin Feng.

Lin Feng was squatting in the corner, with a straw in his mouth, saying nothing.

There was a long, long silence.

In the church, there was only the sound of breathing and the sound of the wind blowing through the old locust tree in the distance.

Then George spoke.

His voice was hoarse, but loud: "Lin Feng, don't you want to say something?"

Lin Feng thought for a moment and said: "I have one sentence."

Everyone waited.

Lin Feng stood up and looked at them.

His gaze swept across George's face, across Edna's face, across Mike's, Sam's, Jenny's, Chris's, Alex's, Rachel's, Tony's, and Yuki's faces, and across the faces of those who came from other towns.

Then he said: "They are anxious."

The church was quiet for a second.

Then someone laughed.

It was Mike.

He leaned against the bar counter, covering his mouth, and laughed out loud.

Then it was Sam.

He held his guitar, his shoulders shaking with laughter.

Then it was Jenny.

She clutched those letters tighter, laughing until tears came out.

Then Chris.

He was squatting on the floor, shaking all over with laughter.

The scene shifted to Alex and Rachel; they were hugging each other, laughing and stomping their feet.

And Tony, the corners of his mouth curled up, laughing softly.

Then Yuki.

She lowered her head, her shoulders heaving, and that face that never had any expression now had a smile.

Finally, those from other towns.

One by one, they laughed out loud.

George laughed so hard he slapped his thigh, his voice echoing in the church: "Anxious! They are really anxious!"

Edna laughed until tears streamed down, wiping them with her sleeves but unable to stop: "I'm over eighty years old, and this is the first time I've seen such a big commotion! Dozens of people coming to our town just to inspect a few mushrooms?"

Mike leaned against the bar counter, laughing so hard he couldn't straighten up, his apron crumpled by him: "They don't know that the more they inspect our mushrooms, the whiter they get."

Sam held his guitar and played a cheerful chord, the melody jumping as if dancing: "They can inspect theirs, we'll sing ours."

Jenny hugged those letters, laughing until she swayed back and forth, the letter paper rustling as she crumpled it: "They can demolish theirs, we'll listen to ours."

Chris squatted on the ground, shaking with laughter, his toolbox beside him, the tools inside shaking along: "I'll water my water, they can inspect theirs."

Alex and Rachel hugged each other, laughing and stomping their feet, the floor thumping: "They can't understand the website, they can't dig away the people, so now they're coming to inspect?"

Tony's mouth curled up, and he said softly: "It's good that they are anxious."

Yuki raised her head, tears still on her face, but the corners of her mouth were curled up.

She didn't speak, but her eyes were smiling.

Lin Feng looked at them, and the corners of his mouth curled up too.

He turned and walked out of the church, squatting under the old locust tree.

Margaret followed him out and squatted beside him.

"Lin Feng."

Lin Feng turned to look at her.

Margaret said: "This time is different. They have really taken action."

Lin Feng nodded.

Margaret asked: "Aren't you afraid?"

Lin Feng looked at the starry sky in the distance.

Stars lit up one by one, as if someone had scattered a handful of crushed diamonds.

He said slowly: "What is there to be afraid of?"

Margaret said: "Afraid that they will really tear down Xinfeng Town."

Lin Feng shook his head: "They can't tear it down."

Margaret asked: "Why?"

Lin Feng pointed to the people in the church who were still laughing.

The laughter drifted out of the windows and carried very far in the night wind.

In the laughter, there was George's hoarseness, Edna's old age, Mike's boldness, Sam's clarity, Jenny's tenderness, Chris's honesty, Alex and Rachel's youth, Tony's calmness, and Yuki's silence.

Those laughs mixed together like a song.

"Because they can't tear it down."

Late that night, another message popped up on Yuki's computer.

It was still that mysterious administrator account.

This time, it left a line of text.

The text flashed on the screen, very slowly, as if it had taken a long time to type: [ Still don't understand. ]

Yuki stared at that line of text for a long, long time.

She imagined the person on the other side of the screen—he might be sitting in an office in some city, surrounded by cold computers and files.

He might have been looking at the messages, photos, and stories on the happiness map for three days.

The more he looked, the more confused he might be; the more he thought, the less he understood.

She typed a line of text, deleted it, typed another line, and deleted it again.

Finally, she only replied with one line: [ Keep watching. ]

The other party did not reply again.

Yuki turned off the computer, walked out of the church, and went to the old locust tree.

Lin Feng was still squatting there.

The moonlight shone on him, illuminating the straw he was holding in his mouth.

Yuki squatted down beside him and handed him a note.

Lin Feng looked down.

There was only one line on the note, written by Yuki slower than usual, every word written very carefully: [ They are still watching. ]

Lin Feng smiled.

He folded the note and put it in his pocket.

There were already several notes in there, folded neatly.

"Then let them keep watching."

[ Chapter 63 End ]