The Green Velvet Curtain on the Dunes

Wang Er'mangzi, ever since he was born, had a left eye that was black, and his right eye, well, it was light blue, like a cat’s eye in one of those foreign paintings. Here in Sand Ridge Town, where yellow sand filled the sky, his eyes were quite the "sight," not too big, not too small. The townsfolk were used to sandstorms, used to clods of earth; a sudden glance at Wang Er'mangzi's eyes always made them ponder a bit. Some said it was unlucky, others said it was a gift from Heaven, a pair of "divine eyes" that could see through sandstorms.

And Wang Er'mangzi himself? He felt these eyes were like an extra finger – not much use, and only invited gossip. His parents passed away early, and he was raised by his Third Uncle. Usually, he'd be on the dunes at the edge of town, the ones that looked like they were about to swallow the town whole, digging a few rows of half-dead sea buckthorn. Life, much like those sea buckthorns, was listless, lacking any real spirit.

But these days, strange things happened often. A few "cultural folks" came to town, carrying what looked like long guns and short cannons (cameras), saying they wanted to film a "documentary" showcasing the heroic spirit of the people of Sand Ridge Town in their battle against the sandstorms. They wandered around for a few days. The town mayor, all smiles, presented the town's few presentable "desert control models," but the visitors just shook their heads. Until they saw Wang Er'mangzi.

"He's the one!" exclaimed a lean man wearing a duck-billed cap with three cameras hanging around his neck, slapping his thigh. His eyes lit up, brighter than Wang Er'mangzi's blue one. "Him? Er'mangzi?" The mayor grimaced, about to say something, but was silenced by a glare from the man. "His look, it's so unique! Heterochromia, symbolizing a mysterious connection between man and nature! In the vast desert, a pair of all-seeing eyes leading everyone to plant trees – the visual impact is incredible!" The man grew more excited as he spoke, spittle flying onto the mayor's face.

And so, Wang Er'mangzi muddle-headedly became a "desert control hero." Duck-bill Cap – later they learned his surname was Liu, Manager Liu – got him a brand-new set of blue work clothes, a pair of shiny rubber shoes, and even bought a bottle of hair gel to slick down his nest-like hair until it was smooth and gleaming. "Er'mangzi, no, Teacher Wang," Manager Liu patted his shoulder, "when the camera is on you, carry this shovel, walk onto that dune. Your expression must be resolute, your gaze profound, exuding an unyielding spirit, understand?" Wang Er'mangzi nodded woodenly, wondering to himself: When I usually dig pits, why are there so many formalities?

The filming began. Dozens of half-grown saplings had been temporarily brought in by Manager Liu from the county nursery, their roots still balled with earth. A few idle townsmen, hired by Manager Liu, first dug pits on the dune, then carefully "planted" the saplings, and lightly covered them with soil to make them look "freshly planted." Wang Er'mangzi's task was to stand before the camera, carry the shovel, walk to a "freshly planted" sapling, make a show of patting down the soil a few times, and then, with his different-colored eyes, gaze deeply into the lens or into the distance, feigning a look of concern for the country and its people. "Good! Excellent! Er'mangzi, look this way, yes, a bit more melancholy in your eyes, think about this sand, think about the burden on your shoulders!" Manager Liu shouted from behind the camera. Wang Er'mangzi tried hard to think, thinking of his few acres of nearly drought-stricken sea buckthorn, of Third Uncle's face etched with wrinkles by the wind and sand, of when Sand Ridge Town would finally be free of wind. His heart truly felt heavy. And so, in the footage, he did indeed look somewhat like a "hero."

After a few days of filming, Manager Liu left, satisfied, with his footage. Before leaving, he stuffed five hundred yuan into Wang Er'mangzi's hand, making him so happy he couldn't sleep all night. This money could buy so many sea buckthorn saplings!

Before long, Wang Er'mangzi "blew up." First, a video appeared online with a sensational title: "Heterochromatic Teen Battles the Sea of Sand Alone, Vows to Turn Desert into Oasis!" Clicked it open, and wasn't that him, Wang Er'mangzi! In the video, his gaze was like a torch, sweat poured down like rain, and behind him were "swathes" of newly planted saplings, gleaming golden in the sunset. Paired with stirring music and a moving narration, Wang Er'mangzi was molded into an indomitable desert control hero. The mayor was grinning from ear to ear, saying this was the glory of Sand Ridge Town. Television stations came, newspapers came; Wang Er'mangzi's dilapidated courtyard was bustling for the first time. Facing the cameras, he repeated his usual few words: "Plant more trees, control the desert, it's good for everyone." But his heart was in a flutter; he always felt this "hero" title wasn't quite real.

Manager Liu also returned, with more "projects." He said he wanted to set up a "Desert Control Fund" for Wang Er'mangzi, calling on everyone to donate and support the greening efforts of Sand Ridge Town. And indeed, many people donated – big bosses from the city, as well as ordinary citizens. Money poured in. Manager Liu's pockets bulged, and the town's accounts looked a bit better. And Wang Er'mangzi? He still wore those blue work clothes, but the confusion on his face had deepened.

Good times didn't last. The people from neighboring Wang Family Camp weren't having it. "On what grounds? How many trees did that Wang Er'mangzi plant? Those patches of forest were clearly dug out by us from our camp decades ago, one shovel and one pickaxe at a time! And now he's the hero?" These words spread like wildfire through the surrounding villages. Then, even more explosive news came: the few idlers who had helped Manager Liu with the "staged filming," due to an unfair division of money, spilled the beans. They said the trees were bought temporarily, the pits were pre-dug, and Wang Er'mangzi was just responsible for standing there and striking a pose. This time, all hell broke loose!

The tide of online opinion turned faster than the weather in Sand Ridge. Yesterday it was all praise; today, it was nothing but ridicule and curses. "Fraud! Best Actor!" "Exploiting everyone's kindness!" "Different-colored eyes? I say he's blind in his heart!"

Manager Liu, seeing things had gone sour, packed his bags and fled overnight; the whereabouts of the foundation's money also became unknown. The mayor was so anxious that blisters erupted around his mouth. He went everywhere explaining that the town was also a victim. And Wang Er'mangzi? He returned to those dunes. He took off the blue work clothes and changed back into his old, patched garments. No one called him "Teacher Wang" anymore, nor did anyone spare a second glance for his different-colored eyes, as if it had all been a farce. The curtain had fallen, the audience dispersed, leaving him alone on an empty stage. He carried his old shovel, digging pit after pit in the sandy ground. This time, he truly, genuinely wanted to plant something. He took a few sea buckthorn seeds from his pocket, carefully placed them in the pit, covered them with soil, then fumbled for a chipped clay pot from his bosom and tremblingly poured a little water. That water, he had walked several li to fetch from the well.

The sun blazed down, scorching the earth. On Sand Ridge, there was nothing but the sound of the wind. Wang Er'mangzi straightened up, wiped the sweat with his sleeve, and gazed into the distance. His eyes, one black and one blue, looked somewhat weary and bewildered in the sunlight. He didn't know if those "planted" seeds would survive. He didn't know what tomorrow would bring. He only knew that this sand still needed to be controlled. Whether anyone was watching, whether anyone praised him, this work had to be done by someone. The wind blew, swirling up yellow sand that stung his eyes. He rubbed them, and his blue right eye seemed even bluer than before, like a patch of sky washed clean by tears. And that meticulously arranged "green velvet curtain" had long since been blown away by the wind and sand, leaving only bare dunes and a solitary figure upon them. The affairs of this world, ah, sometimes they're stranger than the wind on Sand Ridge. You think you see an oasis, but when you peel it back, it's still sand underneath. But under the sand, perhaps, there are truly a few seeds wanting to sprout. Who knows?