Chapter 13: I’ve Become a Suspect

In theory, one person could operate a rotary tiller. But Huang Wei hadn’t used one in a very long time, so she was a bit rusty and fumbled with it at first.

The tiller ignited with a “putt-putt-putt” sound, like a tractor.

The ground was hard to walk on, and the rotary tiller had a strong pull. If Huang Wei didn’t control it well, she’d stumble.

After several wobbles, Huang Wei gradually regained her proficiency. She steadied the tiller and began turning the soil. The rotary tiller was far faster than manual labor. If she’d had to do this with a hoe, she would’ve died of exhaustion right there.

And land turned by machine was much better than land done by hand: it was flat, fast, and far superior to the uneven depth of manual work. Huang Wei focused entirely on the field, shutting out all sounds and distracting thoughts. All the restless ideas in her mind fell away, leaving only the act of turning soil.

The sun beat on her hat, still radiating heat around her head. Sweat streamed down Huang Wei nonstop. Some soaked into her clothes, drenching shirt and undergarments. Some dripped onto the tiller and quickly evaporated. But most just fell to the earth and disappeared in an instant.

She’d been working for an hour and a half when she had to stop and rest. She’d made a little distance from where she started—she could only see Cheng Luyun and Huang Chengcheng sitting in the shade far away. Huang Wei lightly stuck out her tongue to moisten her lips. That helped a lot.

Huang Wei raised a hand, pulled off her glove, and wiped the sweat off her face with her palm. She decided to take a break. It had been too long since she’d done farm work; suddenly throwing herself into such intense labor was too much. Huang Wei turned off the rotary tiller, left it in the field, climbed onto the ridge, and sat in the shade to catch her breath.

Before long, she saw Huang Chengcheng get up from the distant shade and come bouncing toward her. When Chengcheng reached Huang Wei, she offered her own water bottle. “Daddy, have some water.”

Huang Wei paused briefly. “Okay, thank you.” She took it with both hands, opened the cap, and gulped down several mouthfuls. A bit of water trickled down the corner of her mouth; she wiped it away with her hand. As the water flowed into her, Huang Wei felt like she’d come alive again.

Dehydration really was awful, but in this environment, it was so easy to get thirsty.

It was still early summer, not yet scorching hot. If it were later in the season, under the blazing sun you could die of heatstroke. Huang Wei raised her head to check the sky, estimating that it was probably around three in the afternoon now. Without a phone or a watch, she could only rely on past experience to gauge the time. Her earlier hour-and-a-half estimate was also based on the tilling speed and how much land she’d already covered.

That couple earlier had been so unwilling to work the fields—likely because Cheng Luyun normally forced them to work every day.

Farm work was always hard, even more so when done under compulsion.

Huang Wei sighed. She was talking about them, but also about herself. She never imagined that, having fled the countryside so long ago—never returning even for holidays, just occasionally sending money to her adoptive parents to prove she was alive—she’d one day find herself sweating in a field in early summer.

Huang Chengcheng heard Huang Wei’s sigh and squatted down in front of her. “What’s wrong, Daddy?”

Huang Wei closed the water bottle and handed it back. “I’m fine, just haven’t worked like this in a long time. A bit tired. I’ll put in more effort to turn the soil, then go back and make you something tasty.” At the mention of good food, Huang Chengcheng immediately cheered up. This was also just like Huang Wei herself.

Although her adoptive parents never went out of their way to cook tasty food for her, if their own children asked for something good, sometimes a little would end up in her mouth too.

So when Huang Wei was little and heard her adoptive parents tell their kids, “Back home we’ll make you something good,” she would feel happy too.

Huang Chengcheng really resembled her, down to the smiling expression. It was nice. If Chengcheng had also shown that same gentle smile Cheng Luyun always wore, Huang Wei would probably have bolted on the spot.

Cheng Luyun’s perpetual gentleness grew unsettling the longer you looked at it. It was like a mask welded to her face, impossible to remove.

It was only because Huang Wei could catch the tiny expressions Cheng Luyun tried to hide that she didn’t get goosebumps all over at that perpetual gentle smile.

A face that never changed couldn’t belong to a living person. It probably couldn’t belong to a ghost either—the other villagers had pretty varied expressions. If someone’s face didn’t change at all, they were probably a robot.

After resting for about half an hour, Huang Wei got up and resumed working. She did it without complaint, tirelessly. By the time the sun was almost down, she’d finally turned all three mu. Huang Chengcheng hadn’t taken a single sip from her water bottle; all of it had gone into Huang Wei.

By the end, Huang Wei could hear her stomach growling.

At lunch she’d been too reserved and eaten too little. For this level of physical labor, two big bowls of rice weren’t nearly enough.

Huang Wei collapsed on the ground, exhausted. Huang Chengcheng immediately came over and pressed up against her, using her little arms and hands to help Huang Wei up. Seeing this, Huang Wei was a bit speechless. For no other reason than this little girl was incredibly strong. Huang Wei even suspected Chengcheng could turn soil faster than she could.

Thank goodness for modern technology—rotary tillers had existed for over a decade, or she really would have died of exhaustion in that field.

Cheng Luyun walked over gracefully. She glanced at Huang Chengcheng, as if thinking having the child physically support Huang Wei wasn’t good, so she stepped forward and let Huang Wei lean on her, easily propping her up. This contrasted sharply with her earlier claim, “A woman like me just can’t hoe it all.” With that kind of strength, Huang Wei felt Cheng Luyun could just take over for her.

She thought it, but absolutely dared not say it out loud.

Leaning on Cheng Luyun, Huang Wei headed home.

When they reached the village, Huang Wei saw the players again. Not all of them—only four were present. She guessed they’d split into two groups of four. This group included the sturdy young man who’d spoken up yesterday, their leader, another scholarly-looking man, and a seemingly petite and cute girl.

They were also startled when they saw Huang Wei. Their group was a bit strange: two adults and a child, all female. A woman who looked gentle was supporting the Guide, while the little girl held a hoe in her arms. The sturdy guy scratched his cheek and asked, “Are you injured?” That was the only explanation for her being supported by someone else.

“…No,” Huang Wei denied. Then she said, “I’m just exhausted from working.”

The sturdy man nodded, then glanced back before looking at Huang Wei again. “Are you named Huang Weige?” At that question, Huang Wei was genuinely at a loss. Any way she answered would be wrong. In modern times, hardly anyone used terms like “Ge’er” or “Jie’er.” Even when Huang Wei was little, it was rare. Only because Huang Family Village was set in a timeline over a decade ago, with a remote location and old-fashioned customs, would they still use such archaic forms of address.

These players must have forgotten what “Ge’er” meant. They might have learned it in textbooks but never applied it in real life. Most people hearing “Brother Wei” would assume: they were calling Huang Wei by a childhood name—Huang Weige, nicknamed Weige’er. That would make sense.

But the truth wasn’t that, and Huang Wei didn’t know how to explain. Telling the whole truth would be even harder to explain. But maybe… she could use this question to drop some intel, making them realize something was off about Cheng Luyun. Just as Huang Wei was about to speak, she heard Cheng Luyun laugh.

“Where did you outsiders come from? ‘Ge’er’ isn’t the ge from ‘song.’ It’s the ge from ‘older brother.’ That’s how we speak around here. ‘Brother Wei’ means what it says. His name is Huang Wei, not some Huang Weige.” As she said this, Cheng Luyun’s face still bore a gentle smile, but her words were quite mocking, as if ridiculing them for not even knowing such basics.

The players were stunned. This person called Huang Wei was clearly a girl. Back outside the village, they’d called her “miss” and she hadn’t corrected them. Yet this mild-mannered woman said it was a term for men. Clearly, in her eyes, the Guide was a man.

No—not just her. Everyone in this village who called the Guide “Brother Wei” was convinced she was a man.

An entire village, aside from their group of players, held no doubts about her.

Huang Wei noticed their leader was now looking at her with scrutiny, and some suspicion.

She wasn’t sure if this situation was good or bad. On the bright side: they’d realized something was very wrong with this village and with her household. The bad side: oh great, I’m now their suspect.

Huang Wei was now certain Cheng Luyun knew she was a woman and hadn’t been fooled by whatever identity the System had assigned. Otherwise, why would she have pointedly reminded “a woman like me” before heading to the field? Even as she talked to the players earlier, her words had seemed to warn them, but in reality she’d been jabbing at Huang Wei.

That wretched, petty female ghost!

Huang Wei grumbled internally. She still wanted to say more, but Cheng Luyun gave an “excuse us” and led Huang Wei past the players. Back home, it was already late, darkness creeping outside. Cheng Luyun asked her, “Brother Wei, if you’re too tired, how about I cook dinner instead?”

She said it with a beaming smile, but as soon as the words left her mouth, even Huang Chengcheng looked a little aggrieved.

Huang Wei, who’d been flopped on the sofa, sat bolt upright as if she’d come back from the dead. “No, I’ll do it.”

She still wanted to live a few more days. With Cheng Luyun’s cooking, if tomorrow brought another round of today’s labor, she’d definitely kick the bucket.