That night, Lin Jianguo didn't sleep well.
He lay on his bed, staring at the dark ceiling, but his ears were always alert, listening for any movement from the next room. His father was snoring steadily, one sound after another, evenly. His mother's breathing was light and hard to hear clearly, but occasionally she would turn over, and the bedding rustled softly.
He listened to these sounds and gradually drifted to sleep.
He didn't know how long he had been asleep when he suddenly woke up.
It wasn't a natural awakening; he was startled by a sound—very faint, very small, like something being gently dragged across the floor. He pricked up his ears, but the sound was gone.
He waited for a while, but didn't hear it again. Just as he was about to turn over and continue sleeping, he suddenly remembered something and sat upright abruptly.
He tiptoed out of bed, jumped down from the kang (a traditional Chinese heated bed), and ran to the window.
The moonlight was bright, illuminating the yard in a silvery glow. The shadow of the jujube tree fell on the ground, swaying gently in the night breeze. He saw a figure climbing out through the back window.
It was his father.
He was wearing that old padded jacket, moving quietly as he landed on the ground, looking around, then crouching low and slipping toward the yard gate.
Lin Jianguo's heart tightened suddenly.
He turned and ran outside into the yard. He saw his father already at the gate, about to latch it.
"Dad!"
Lin Dazhuan froze and turned back.
Under the moonlight, his face was hard to see clearly, but his posture looked guilty—like a child caught red-handed doing something wrong.
"Why are you awake?" he asked softly.
Lin Jianguo ran over and grabbed his sleeve. "Where are you going?"
Lin Dazhuan hesitated briefly. "Nowhere, just… just going out for some air."
"For air?" Lin Jianguo stared into his eyes. "In the middle of the night, for air?"
Lin Dazhuan felt a bit uncomfortable under his gaze, struggled slightly but couldn't break free. He sighed and softened his tone. "Alright, alright, I'm just going to the forest farm to check on something. Old Zhang's family sent a message today, saying there's a little issue at the warehouse. I'll take a look and come back."
"What's the matter?"
"Nothing serious, just…" Lin Dazhuan paused, "a bit of work."
Lin Jianguo didn't believe him.
He knew his father was lying. Why would he have to do some work in the middle of the night? Why couldn't it be done during the day?
But he couldn't stop him.
He held tightly to his father's sleeve, as if clutching something important. He knew he couldn't hold on forever, but he just didn't want to let go.
Lin Dazhuan looked down at his hand and then up at his face, silent for a moment.
"Jianguo," he said softly, "I know you mean well. But some things, I can't hide from."
Lin Jianguo said nothing.
Lin Dazhuan reached out and gently pried his hand away.
"Go back to sleep," he said. "I'll be back soon."
He unlatched the door, slipped out, and disappeared into the night.
Lin Jianguo stood at the yard gate, staring in that direction for a long time.
Then he ran back to his room, put on his clothes, and chased after him.
The moonlight was bright, illuminating the road in a white glow. He ran along the path toward the forest farm, stepping carefully, nearly falling several times. Halfway there, he saw a figure ahead—his father, walking quickly forward.
He slowed his pace and followed from a distance.
His father reached the forest farm, but instead of heading to the warehouse, he took a turn and headed toward the back mountain. Lin Jianguo followed, increasingly uneasy.
What's in the back mountain?
He remembered the first cycle—fire starting from the hillside. The second cycle—mudslides rushing down from the back mountain. The back mountain, still the back mountain.
His father stopped in front of a hillside.
There were a few households there—temporary shelters for the forest workers, simple huts where a few recently arrived workers lived. Lin Jianguo saw his father walk over, say a few words to someone, then bend down and help that person carry something.
Firewood. A pile of firewood.
His father helped him carry the firewood to the edge of a hut, stacked it neatly, said a few more words, then turned and headed back.
Hiding behind a tree, Lin Jianguo watched his father pass by him, descend the hillside, and walk back to the village.
He didn't move, continued hiding there, watching those households.
The pile of firewood was right next to the hut, less than two meters away. The hut was made of wood, with a tarred felt roof, ready to burn once dry.
In the distance, smoke drifted from the valley.
A faint wisp, almost invisible under the moonlight. But Lin Jianguo saw it. The smoke rose from the valley, drifting hazily, coming from nowhere and going nowhere.
He stared at that wisp of smoke for a long time.
Until the smoke dispersed, he turned and headed down the mountain.