The Key in the Wooden Cabinet"
Lin Jianguo woke up again.
Above him was still that smoke-blackened crossbeam, beneath him was still that patched earth bed, and on the wall was still that old newspaper pasted up—the date on the newspaper was still the same—October 10, 1978.
He lay still, staring at the dried red peppers hanging from the crossbeam, gazing at them for a long time.
The scene of his second reincarnation still flickered before his eyes: a torrential rain, a mudslide, the unquenchable fire at the warehouse entrance, and the golden butterfly on his mother's clothes. He saw her lowering her head to look at the charred hole, smiling as she said, "Just patch it up and it'll be fine."
But what happened afterward?
Did she patch it up?
He didn't know. He hadn't seen what came next.
Lin Jianguo slowly sat up, pulled the quilt aside, and barefooted himself onto the ground. The coolness of the soil crept up from his feet. He shivered but didn't move his feet, just stood there, dazed.
From the next room, his father's cough sounded. The noises of his mother moving around in the kitchen, the clattering of pots and bowls—just like every time he woke up.
He walked to the door, pushed aside the curtain, and glanced into the kitchen.
His mother was turned away from him, adding firewood into the stove. The firelight flickered on her side face, bright and dim alternately. She was wearing that floral cloth shirt—the one that had been burned with a hole yesterday. No, not yesterday, the last time. This time, that shirt was fine, no holes, no burn marks, as if nothing had happened.
Lin Jianguo stared at that shirt, his throat tightening.
He remembered that hole. If he hadn't rushed over to hold his mother last time, would that hole have become bigger? Would it have burned her? Would…
He didn't dare to think further.
His mother seemed to sense something, turned around, and saw him standing there, stunned. She paused for a moment: "Jianguo? Why are you standing there? Come eat."
Lin Jianguo didn't move, just kept looking at her.
His mother felt a little uncomfortable under his gaze, stood up, walked over, and touched his forehead: "What's wrong? Feeling unwell?"
He shook his head.
"Then why are you just standing there?"
"Nothing." He said, "Just… wanted to see you."
His mother smiled, gently patting his forehead: "Silly boy, I see you every day, isn't that enough?"
Lin Jianguo didn't reply.
Seeing her every day. But he knew, some sights could be seen multiple times.
After breakfast, Lin Jianguo didn't go out.
He waited until his parents went to work, then searched the house inside and out alone.
The wooden cabinet, drawers, the bed hole, wall cracks—every place that could hide something, he checked thoroughly. Finally, in the bottom of the wooden cabinet in the inner room, he found what he was looking for.
A key.
Made of iron, a bit rusty, with worn teeth. It was the key to the main door, usually hanging on a nail behind the door, taken by whoever went out. He plucked it off, clenched it tightly in his palm, and thought for a long time.
Then he walked to the rice jar, lifted the lid, and reached inside. The rice was brown rice, and the wrist felt itchy. He buried the key deep in the rice, making sure it was hidden from sight.
After hiding the key, he opened the wooden cabinet again, took out his mother's two pairs of cloth shoes. One was new, never worn; the other was old, with the soles worn thin. He stuffed both pairs into the back of the cabinet, under an old quilt.
Then he reached under the pillow and took out a small cloth bag.
It was a silver ring left by his grandmother for his mother. His mother had always worn it, never taking it off. But last night—the last night, the night before—she took the ring off and put it under the pillow, saying she was afraid of losing it while working.
Lin Jianguo opened the cloth bag. Inside lay the ring, silver-colored, tiny, with a plum blossom engraved on it. He picked up the ring, weighed it in his hand—it was cool, heavy.
He pressed it under the sole of the cloth shoes.
Having finished these, he stood inside the room, looked around.
Rice jar, wooden cabinet, pillow, cloth shoes, ring. Everything that needed hiding or collecting was done. The main door key was gone, so they couldn't go out; the cloth shoes were gone, so they couldn't walk far; the ring was gone—would his mother be searching everywhere?
He didn't know.
But he had to try.
Footsteps came from outside. Lin Jianguo quickly restored everything to its original place. Just as he sat down on the edge of the bed, the door was pushed open.
His mother entered, carrying a basket of vegetables. Seeing him sitting there, she paused: "Didn't go out to play?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"Nothing." Lin Jianguo stood up. "I helped you pick vegetables."
His mother looked at him, didn't ask further, set the basket on the ground, and sat down on a small stool. Lin Jianguo also moved a small stool and sat opposite her, helping her pick vegetables.
Sunlight streamed in through the window, shining on his mother's white hair. She lowered her head, skillfully pinching off yellow leaves and putting the good ones into another basket. Her movements were slow but steady, as if doing something very important.
Lin Jianguo watched her hands.
Those hands were full of calluses, with thick knuckles, and prominent veins on the back. It was these hands that sewed countless clothes for him, cooked countless meals, and during his fevers, stayed up all night feeling his forehead.
"Mom," he suddenly spoke.
"Hm?"
"Today, don't go out."
His mother looked up at him: "Why?"
Lin Jianguo thought for a moment, then said, "I… I had a dream."
"What dream?"
"I dreamed that you went out, and then…" He hesitated, not knowing how to continue.
His mother waited a moment, seeing that he wouldn't speak, then lowered her head to pick vegetables again: "Dreams are the opposite, don't overthink."
"It's not overthinking." Lin Jianguo said, "Today, just stay at home, okay?"
His mother's hand paused, then she looked up at him. There was a hint of confusion, worry, and perhaps something else in her eyes—maybe tenderness.
"Okay," she said. "Mom will stay at home today."
Lin Jianguo looked at her, opened his mouth to say more, but couldn't.
He lowered his head, continued to pick vegetables.