Within the commune office, the atmosphere was so heavy it felt as though even the air had thickened. Not a single man spoke at first. Faces darkened, brows furrowed.
No one could believe that the Commune Director would make such a hasty decision at the very last moment.
The office was packed tight. Members from both brigade committees had gathered shoulder to shoulder, leaving their field work with damp smell of field soil and winter wind. Even the Party Secretary was present, seated sternly at the far end of the long wooden table, his lined face unreadable beneath the dim yellow light.
At first, when the emergency meeting had been called, everyone had assumed it concerned tomorrow's autumn planting.
But the moment they saw even the Party Secretary had been summoned, unease spread through the room. It was unusual for the Party Secretary to attend ordinary commune matters. Unless something had gone wrong, he rarely interfered in daily agricultural discussions.
And now something had indeed gone terribly wrong.
Instead of continuing the wheat expansion plan, large sections of farmland would be shifted toward sweet potatoes, Chinese cabbages, and soybeans.
For one heartbeat, silence swallowed the office whole.
Then it erupted.
"What nonsense is this?!" one of the production team member slammed both palms onto the table. His dark face flushed red with disbelief. "Director Chen, are we hearing wrongly? Replace wheat with sweet potatoes?!"
Another immediately rose from his stool, "Fine-grain wheat with coarse sweet potatoes? What will our village gain from that?"
Murmurs of agreement exploded.
"Yes!"
"Exactly!"
"This is madness!"
One older committee member with a scar running across his jaw jabbed a trembling finger toward the Director, "It is stupidity to exchange high-profit grain for such cheap coarse crops." His voice grew harsher. "The State has given us incentives. Do you think they invested in our commune so we could grow sweet potatoes like starving peasants scratching dirt in the hills?"
Another man stood abruptly, his stool toppling backward, "Director Chen, I respect you greatly." His tone was still restrained, but bitterness leaked through every word. "For many years, we have followed your decisions. But forgive me for saying this, perhaps age has twisted your thinking."
The room sucked in a breath.
Even the Party Secretary narrowed his eyes.
Yet the man pressed on, "Only a few days ago, were you not happily saying we would make this commune an advanced commune? Did you not say we would produce enough grain to make the county notice us? To bring honor to our brigade?" He spread both arms in disbelief. "Then why this sudden change?"
His voice rose, "With sweet potatoes? With cabbages? With soybeans? Do you truly think the county will award us the title of Advanced Village for planting cheap coarse crops?"
"Enough!" Liu Zhenshen's voice cracked through the room like a whip.
The booming shout startled everyone. Conversations died instantly. His narrow eyes swept across the commune office, "Have you all forgotten who stands before you?" he barked. "This is Commune Director Chen. And beyond that, he is your elder. Is this how you speak? Pointing fingers, shouting like fishwives in a market? Have all of you forgotten even the most basic respect?"
Silence.
The few committee members who had spoken so fiercely moments ago stiffened and lowered their heads.
At the head of the table, Chen Deshun let out a slow sigh. He had expected this. Who in their right mind would willingly abandon fine-grain wheat for coarse sweet potatoes? To most of them, it sounded like madness.
Wheat meant prestige, reward, and political merit and Sweet potatoes was famine food. Food for surviving harsh winters, one ate only when wheat sacks had long gone empty.
Yet recalling the earlier warning, Chen Deshun hardened his heart. His weathered fingers pressed firmly against the edge of the wooden table, "I know all of you are confused," he said slowly, his voice no longer loud, but steady. "And I know many of you are angry. But this decision was not made in haste."
"The autumn sowing has already been delayed. The land has lost precious time. If we still force wheat into dry soil, there is no certainty we will harvest what we expect."
His voice lowered, "It may even backfire. If frost comes early, or if the fields fail, we may not harvest enough grain to feed even our own villagers."
A ripple of unease moved through the room.
Several men frowned and others silently exchanged glances.
Then Chen Deshun turned toward the elderly man seated beside the window, "Party Secretary Gao."
All eyes shifted.
Gao Tielin had remained silent until now. Dressed in a dark old Tang suit, his posture upright despite his age. His fingers tapped once against the armrest. Then he looked at Chen Deshun, "The county will never approve this. Do you understand that?"
Chen Deshun's jaw tightened.
Gao Tielin leaned back in his chair, "Wheat is what the state demands. Grain is what feeds the nation. Right now, people need staple grain, food that sustains a country, not merely something that fills a stomach."
His eyes sharpened, "We are already struggling. Yes. But does that mean we throw away grain production and replace it with coarse crops?"
His voice hardened, "Do you truly believe sweet potatoes will solve anything?"
Then Gao Tielin slowly turned his gaze toward Liu Zhenshen, "And you. You can silence these men here with authority. But later… can you silence the villagers? When they ask why fine grain was exchanged for coarse grain? When they curse because their labor no longer earns state praise? When they say the commune has abandoned prosperity for survival?"
Liu Zhenshen inhaled sharply, "Party Secretary Gao," he said, controlling his tone, "I understand everyone's concern. But this decision was made by Director Chen after much thought. It was not reckless."
Before he could continue a sudden laugh rang through the room.
Every head turned only to see Li Chengde.
He sat slightly slouched, one arm resting lazily over his knee, "So… You already made the decision?" His lips curled into a cold smil, "Then why are we here? Why call production team leaders? Why call brigade members? Why summon Party Secretary Gao? A meeting implies discussion. But this looks more like being informed after the knife has already fallen."
The accusation struck hard.
Then Li Chengde turned to Gao Tielin, "Secretary Gao, do you see? This is what it means to act first and ask later. If the decision is already made, what authority remains for you?"
At once, Liu Zhenshen's expression darkened. Chen Deshun's brows furrowed. Even Brigade Leader Shu straightened.
"Team Leader Li," Shu said quickly, trying to steady the room, "calm yourself. Let Director Chen finish. You will get your answers."
Li Chengde gave a polite smiled, but inside, resentment was smoldering like buried charcoal.
Such a massive decision and not one production team leader had been consulted. Yet Liu Zhenshen already knew. That alone revealed everything about who held influence, who was trusted and who merely sat in meetings to nod when told.
This gap had always existed but never had it felt so obvious.
He lowered his eyes, suppressing the bitter anger twisting in his chest and slowly resentment for Chen Deshun and Liu Zhenshen grew in his heart.
At the front, Gao Tielin's face turned colder. He slowly looked toward Brigade Leader Shu. His voice was sharp now, "He is not wrong. If the decision had already been made, then why call this meeting in the first place? And if you had such thoughts, then when the county cadres held a meeting yesterday, why did none of you speak of it? Why did you still accept the incentives they provided?"
His gaze swept across the room like a drawn blade, "Do you take the state for fools?" he asked coldly. "After accepting grain subsidies, labor support, new road and canal, you suddenly wish to change the planting plan? Is this not slapping your own mouth after speaking?"
The phrase made several committee members lower their eyes.
Chen Deshun's jaw tightened, yet his tone remained steady, "When the county cadres provided those incentives," he said, "they never once specified what exact crop had to be planted. They only urged increased production. If wheat cannot guarantee survival, then we plant sweet potatoes, soybeans, and cabbage. If the harvest comes, we still submit grain. Instead of wheat, we submit sweet potatoes. What is wrong with that?"
Before anyone else could speak, Gao Tielin slammed his palm onto the wooden table.
Bang!
"What is wrong with that?" Gao Tielin's voice rose sharply. "Everything is wrong with that!"
"Do you think county cadres came here simply to scatter benefits like wealthy landlords throwing coins during New Year? Do you think benifits fall from heaven?"
His narrow eyes darkened, "After the summer harvest quota was submitted, our village was reported as one of the few communes that still retained strong wheat seed reserves. The county knew we had enough seed to expand winter wheat production. That is why they were willing to invest so heavily in us. They expected this brigade to become a model wheat-producing village." His voice sharpened. "And now, after taking everything, you want to replace fine grain wheat with coarse sweet potatoes? How will the county explain that upward? How will I explain that upward?"
The room fell into a deep, oppressive silence. Even the usual scraping of chairs and rustle of sleeves seemed to disappear.
Chen Deshun's brows slowly furrowed and his weathered face hardened. He lifted his eyes and looked directly at Gao Tielin, "Who reported our reserves to the county?"
The question was simple, but it dropped into the room like a stone into still water.
Several heads turned.
For the first time, Gao Tielin's expression shifted just slightly. His fingers tightened together beneath the table. He had spoken too quickly. In anger, he had revealed more than he intended. Yet outwardly, he maintained a stern calm, "I did, What of it? Was it wrong? Should the state not know the true condition of its villages? When disaster strikes, who sends relief grain? Who dispatches labor teams? Who allocates fertilizer and irrigation funds? Is it not the state? Is it not the Party?"
No one interrupted him, but the room no longer felt as firm beneath him.
Chen Deshun's teeth clenched, "But those were our reserves. We submitted the state grain quota in full after the summer harvest. What remained was emergency seed grain and survival reserve for the villagers. That grain was not excess production, it was protection against drought, crop failure, and famine."
He stared directly at Gao Tielin, "Without discussing it with the commune, you reported those reserves upward as if they were usable surplus."
Everyone's faces changed as they looked at Gao Tielin with growing unease.
Because everyone in that room understood what Chen Deshun meant. In rural communes, reserve grain was not merely stored food, it was life. Seed grain for the next season, emergency rations if floods destroyed fields.
By reporting the reserves without explaining their purpose, Gao Tielin had made a grave political and practical mistake.
The county, seeing healthy wheat reserves, had naturally assumed this village had strong agricultural capacity and could expand wheat production. Based on that assumption, they poured benifits and expectations into the commune.
Now if the planting changed, it would not merely look like poor planning. It would look like the commune had accepted state resources under misleading pretenses.
Worse, if the county later demanded part of those reserves as emergency procurement, the village itself could be left without seed or survival grain.
That was why several men now looked at Gao Tielin with mixed anger and disbelief.
He had not lied, but by reporting only numbers, and not their purpose, he had nearly tied the village's neck with its own rope.
Under everyone's gaze, Gao Tielin's spine stiffened. Still, unwilling to lose face, he slammed his sleeve against the table and shouted, "Do not try to divert the matter!"
His eyes flashed toward Chen Deshun, "Answer me first, if you truly feared this outcome, then why did none of you raise these concerns yesterday before the county cadres?"
Chen Deshun was so furious that he felt as though he might smash something straight across Gao Tielin's skull.
He slowly exhaled through his nose.
When he spoke again, his voice was low, restrained, "That is because yesterday we had not yet seen the full mountain behind the fog."
"At first, we thought only of delayed planting and poor field conditions. But after today's inspections and speaking with the elders, we understood something larger."
"There has been no rain this year. Not in our commune. Not in nearby brigades. Not even in counties hundreds of li away."
His tone darkened, "Winter is approaching quickly, and planting has already been delayed. If we continue forcing wheat under these conditions there is no guarantee the harvest will be enough even to feed those who plant it."
A deep silence followed.
The men around the table shifted uneasily.
Then Liu Zhenshen spoke, "Earlier today, we spoke with several village elders,"and also heard concerns from someone in the county. They believe this dry pattern may continue."
His eyes slowly moved across the room, "And if Heaven does not soften… there is a possibility of famine."
The final word struck like a hammer. Instantly, murmurs burst throughout the brigade office.
Several older committee members stiffened visibly. In rural China, famine was not merely a word, but a memory, a ghost.
It lived in empty grain jars, in swollen-bellied children, in winters where bark was boiled and roots became meals.
Gao Tielin slammed his palm onto the table.
Bang!
"Absurd nonsense! Famine?" he barked. "Do you treat such words like village gossip? How dare you spread baseless rumors in a Party meeting! To speak recklessly of disaster is to shake people's hearts. Do you understand what that means?"
But Liu Zhenshen did not flinch, "Then why do you think the state is being so persistent?"
Gao Tielin's lips parted, but no words came. For a fleeting moment, his composure cracked. Because inwardly, he knew the county's urgency behind the sudden agricultural push. He had already sensed the reason.
Higher officials feared instability, shortages and widespread agricultural failure due to no rain. And there were clear chances of famine. But strict orders had been passed downward. Such matters were not to be spoken of openly.
If panic spread among communes, labor discipline could collapse, hoarding could begin and worse, rumors could become anger and anger, in hungry public, could easily give rise to radicalism.
Gao Tielin slowly looked toward Chen Deshun and Liu Zhenshen. His fingers clenched tightly beneath the table.
He had not expected these two old peasants to see through the larger picture so quickly. A dark thought suddenly slipped into his heart, these two men cannot continue holding their position in the commune.
His expression remained calm, but inwardly, something hardened.
Liu Zhenshen continued, "We are not trying to spread rumors. We simply prepare for the worst before Heaven decides our fate. If the famine never comes, then extra preparation harms no one. But if hardship comes and we stand empty-handed…" He slowly shook his head. "Then regret will be useless."
Several heads lowered, even those loyal to Gao Tielin hesitated.
Then Chen Deshun nodded and continued, "We old men have spent our entire lives in the fields. We know how the wind shifts before frost and how dry roots smell before the soil dies."
His eyes darkened.
"We have seen flood years. We have seen worst in the past years. How can we ignore what lies before our own eyes? We are not defying the state. We will submit the mandatory grain quota. We will obey Party policy. But at the same time… we must also think of the survival of the villagers."
The words hung heavily. No one immediately spoke. Several men fell into deep thought. One old brigade member slowly nodded.
The mood of the room had shifted and Gao Tielin felt it instantly. Panic rose in his chest, if he lost authority here, then his control over the commune would weaken.
He stood abruptly, "Enough!" His voice was sharper than before, "Do not let wild fear cloud your judgment! We are no longer the broken country invaded by the Japanese! We are no longer the starving countryside of warlord years!"
"This is a Red Nation now. Under Chairman Mao. Under the People's Republic. The Party plans ahead. The state provides. We will not collapse like we did in the old days."
He turned, scanning every face, "Do not let baseless fears poison your thinking."
Liu Zhenshen slowly lifted his chin, "Secretary Gao, when nature turns cruel, even powerful governments and century old emperors must bend before Heaven's will."
The sentence made several elders glance upward, such phrasing was old-fashioned, dangerously close to traditional peasant fatalism, yet true enough to sting.
Liu Zhenshen continued, "We trust the Party. We trust Chairman Mao. But when hardship strikes a nation, priorities are always decided from the center outward."
His eyes narrowed slightly, "We are only a small commune in the northeast. Far from Beijing and other large cities. If grain becomes scarce, larger needs will be considered first."
The truth in the statement was uncomfortable.
"And did Chairman Mao not say that Chinese people must rely on their own efforts, and preserve the determination to struggle for survival? That is all we are doing."
Silence returned, this time, heavier than before.