Mrs. Yi took a bus to the county town to buy medicine.

Not many people were riding the bus, so everyone had a seat. Next to her was a peasant woman with a little girl.

“Your little daughter is adorable,” Mrs. Yi said to the mother.

“But she doesn’t eat properly. Yanzi, do you hear me? The doctor says you won’t grow up if you don’t eat!” the mother said to the girl with a smile.

“I don’t want to grow up!” The girl rolled her eyes at Mrs. Yi. “It’s too hard to be a grown-up.”

“She has a point. She’s a little thinker.” Mrs. Yi looked at the girl curiously.

The mother and daughter soon got off the bus, leaving the seat next to Mrs. Yi empty. Suddenly, someone spoke to her from the empty seat.

“Mrs. Yi, did you notice . . . ,” a man’s voice whispered.

“Notice what?” Mrs. Yi asked softly.

“The child who just got off told the secret of generations of Yun Village.”

“Her point was fair enough. We adults do work really hard. But who are you?” Mrs. Yi asked blankly to the air.

“I’m the kind of invisible person who’s not supposed to be seen. Sorry, I have to get off now.”

The bus stopped. Mrs. Yi bent to look but did not see anyone get off.

After arriving at the town, Mrs. Yi was in a trance as she went to the herb market to buy some traditional Chinese medicine. And she was in a trance as she took the bus back to Yun Village.

What happened in the afternoon seemed unreal to her. Were there actually some invisible people in Yun Village? How did the man manage to become invisible? Maybe he wasn’t invisible. Maybe he had just sat in the back, and she hadn’t noticed him? While in town, she had also sought out the former barefoot doctor training center. The place was deserted; one-third of the red-brick building had collapsed. An old man on the second floor beckoned her. He was the former director of the training center, but now he couldn’t even speak clearly.

“Are you still holding on? I knew back then that you had potential.”

“This is my life, director. How are you?” she asked, concerned for him.

“You’re determined to do it all your life? Good. I’m dying. I often dream of the good old days. I remember that the sight of blood used to make you sick, but later you got over that. You, you have potential . . .” He coughed violently.

Mrs. Yi walked a good distance, the old director’s voice ringing in her ears. He used to be a capable, middle-aged doctor specializing in obstetrics and gynecology. Mrs. Yi had learned midwifery from him. In those days, she had had sort of a crush on him. Mrs. Yi shed tears as she recalled the old days.

Was she afraid of hard work? Of course not. It apparently gave her something to look forward to. What kind of something was she looking forward to? Hadn’t even her baby Shanbao left her? But as soon as she got down to work, she felt an indefinable anticipation. Perhaps this was what the director meant by “potential.”