74: Chapter 74 Mark's First Day

Mark was awakened by the scent of mushrooms.

It wasn't a strong, intense fragrance, but a faint one, drifting through the air.

He opened his eyes and stared at the unfamiliar ceiling for three seconds before he remembered where he was.

Xinfeng Town.

On the church pew.

He sat up and rubbed his neck.

The pew was harder to sleep on than he had imagined, but strangely, he had slept very well.

Better than he had slept in that apartment in New York.

George poked his head in from the doorway.

"Awake?"

Mark nodded.

George tossed a towel over. "Wash your face. Come out for breakfast."

Mark walked to the church entrance; the sunlight made him squint.

Under the old locust tree, Lin Feng was already squatting there.

That straw was dangling in his mouth; it was hard to tell if it was a new one or the same one from yesterday.

Margaret walked over carrying a plate of mushrooms and squatted down beside him.

Sam was sitting on the steps playing the guitar, still that same song, "Heard It."

The door to Mike's bar was open, and the sound of glasses being wiped came from inside.

Chris walked out of the farm, holding a basket of freshly picked mushrooms in his hands.

Yuki was hugging her computer, squatting on the steps on the other side of the church.

Mark stood there, not knowing what to do.

George walked up behind him and patted his shoulder.

"What are you standing around for? Go eat."

Mark was taken to the restaurant.

The things Margaret brought out were simple—mushroom soup, roasted mushrooms, and a plate of raw mushroom slices.

Mark looked at the raw plate, a bit hesitant.

Margaret said, "Try it. Chris grew them, they're sweet."

Mark picked up a slice and put it in his mouth.

It was indeed sweet.

Not the kind of sweetness from sugar, but a fresh, crisp sweetness, like the taste of something just picked from the ground.

He chewed the mushroom and looked around.

There were a few people sitting in the restaurant—George, Edna, that young mother holding her child, and a few others whose names he couldn't recall.

No one was talking.

But everyone was eating.

Mark suddenly remembered the cafeteria at V Company.

He had been going to that place for seven years; every day at noon, hundreds of people sat together, quiet as a grave.

No one talked, no one looked at anyone else, everyone just stared at their own phones.

It was different here.

It wasn't that no one was talking; it was that there was no need to talk.

After breakfast, Mark stood at the restaurant entrance, again not knowing what to do.

In New York, his daily life was fixed—wake up, subway, company, data, data, data, subway, sleep.

Seven years, day after day.

Now he didn't know what to do next.

Yuki walked past him, stopped, and looked at him.

Mark looked at her too.

The two of them stared at each other for three seconds.

Yuki handed him a note.

Mark looked down; there was only one line of text on the note:

[Follow me.]

The place Yuki took him to was the open space behind the church.

There were a few people sitting in the open space—Martha, Henry, and a few others who had followed from Greenfield.

Each of them was holding a guitar, waiting for Sam.

Sam walked over, saw Mark, and paused for a moment.

Yuki pointed at Mark, then pointed at those learning the guitar.

Sam asked, "He wants to learn?"

Yuki nodded.

Sam looked at Mark: "Do you know how?"

Mark shook his head.

Sam smiled: "Then learn."

He handed a broken guitar to Mark.

The guitar was very old, the strings were rusty, but it could still be played.

Mark took it, not knowing how to hold it.

Sam squatted down and placed his hands in the correct position.

"Press here," he said, "Strum."

Mark pressed down and strummed once.

The guitar made a dull thud, so unpleasant that even he frowned.

The old ladies nearby laughed.

Martha said, "You're even worse than me."

Mark paused for a moment, then laughed too.

After practicing for an hour, Mark's fingers hurt unbearably.

He put down the guitar, sat on a nearby stone, and watched them continue to play.

They didn't play well either, often hitting wrong notes, but everyone was laughing.

Sam walked over and sat beside him.

"Fingers hurt?"

Mark nodded.

Sam said, "Normal. It hurt for me too when I first started."

Mark looked at his fingers; the spots where he pressed the strings were red and a little swollen.

Sam asked, "Do you still want to learn?"

Mark thought for a moment and said, "Yes."

Sam smiled: "Then continue."

At noon, Mark was taken to the farm again.

Chris was watering, and when he saw him, he waved.

"Come here."

Mark walked over and stood beside him.

Chris handed him the hose: "Hold this."

Mark took it, not knowing what to do.

Chris pointed to the mushroom racks: "Water them. Make sure every one gets watered, but don't water too much."

Mark held the hose and started watering.

When he reached the third row, he noticed someone squatting nearby.

It was Henry, the man who had come from Greenfield.

He was squatting by the rack, staring at the mushrooms, his eyes unmoving.

Mark asked, "What are you looking at?"

Henry said, "Watching them grow."

Mark squatted down too, looking at the mushrooms.

They were stark white, cluster after cluster, gleaming under the lights.

He watched for a long time.

Then he asked, "When will they be fully grown?"

Henry said, "Every day."

Mark was stunned.

Henry continued, "Every day they are a little better than yesterday. If you watch, you'll know."

In the afternoon, Mark was taken to the church.

Jenny was sitting there with those letters spread out in front of her.

She looked up and watched him.

"Sit," she said.

Mark sat down opposite her.

Jenny took a letter from the box and handed it to him.

"Read it."

Mark took the letter and began to read aloud:

"Hello, stranger in Xinfeng Town. My name is Martha, seventy-three years old. My husband died fifteen years ago. I live alone. I learned to play the guitar, though I don't play well..."

As he read, he stopped.

He remembered the old lady who was learning guitar this morning; it was Martha.

Jenny looked at him: "Continue."

Mark continued reading.

After finishing one letter, Jenny handed him another.

This time it was Henry's.

"Thank you for teaching me to grow mushrooms."

Mark finished reading, looked up, and looked at Jenny.

Jenny asked, "How does it feel?"

Mark thought for a moment and said, "They exist. They are alive."

Jenny nodded.

In the evening, Mark sat under the old locust tree.

Yuki walked over and squatted beside him.

The two of them squatted there, watching the sunset.

After a long time, Mark spoke:

"I used to think that data was everything."

Yuki listened.

Mark continued, "User behavior, consumption habits, emotional fluctuations—they could all be explained by data. I thought that as long as there was enough data, there was nothing that couldn't be understood."

He paused.

"But I can't understand this place."

Yuki didn't speak.

Mark looked at her: "Do you understand it?"

Yuki thought for a moment, took a note from her pocket, and handed it to him.

Mark looked down. There was only one line of text on the note:

[No need to understand.]

Mark stared at that line of text for a long time.

Then he smiled.

That smile was different from yesterday's.

It wasn't a smile of sudden realization, but one of finally being able to relax.

He returned the note to Yuki.

"Keep it," he said.

Yuki paused for a moment, then took it and put it back in her pocket.

At night, Mark was pulled into the bar by Mike.

"The first day is over," Mike said, "gotta have a drink."

Mark sat at the bar, watching Mike mix a drink.

Mike's movements were slow but steady, as if he had been doing it for decades.

Mike pushed the glass in front of him.

"Try it."

Mark took a sip. It tasted strange, but not bad.

Mike asked, "How is it?"

Mark said, "What is this?"

Mike smiled: "I mixed it myself. No name. If you think it tastes good, call it 'First Day'."

Mark took another sip.

Then he asked, "How long have you been mixing drinks?"

Mike said, "Forty years."

Mark was stunned.

Mike continued, "The first drink, no one drank it. The second, no one drank it either. The third, an old man took a sip and said, 'It's alright.' So I kept mixing."

He looked at Mark: "What you are drinking now is from the fortieth year."

Mark stared at that glass of wine for a long time.

Then he downed it in one gulp.

"It's alright," he said.

Mike smiled.

Late at night, Mark was sitting under the old locust tree again.

Lin Feng was still squatting there.

Mark walked over and squatted beside him.

The two of them squatted there, neither speaking.

After a long time, Mark spoke:

"Lin Feng."

Lin Feng turned his head to look at him.

Mark said, "Today I learned guitar, watered mushrooms, read letters, and drank a glass of wine called 'First Day'."

Lin Feng nodded.

Mark continued, "My hands hurt, my clothes are dirty, and I can't do anything well."

He paused: "But I seem... quite happy."

Lin Feng looked at him for three seconds.

Then he said, "That's enough."

Mark stood up and walked toward the church.

After a few steps, he turned back: "What about tomorrow?"

Lin Feng said, "The same as today."

Mark paused.

Then he smiled.

He walked into the church, lay down on the pew, and looked at the ceiling.

The scent of mushrooms drifted in, faint.

His hands still hurt, but he didn't mind.

He closed his eyes.

Outside, the leaves of the old locust tree rustled in the wind.

He fell asleep.

[Chapter 74 End]