1
The morning after the woman fixed her drainage channel, three people were waiting at Tomás's door.
He opened it, still rubbing sleep from his eyes, and found them standing there like a small delegation. Two women and an old man. All holding baskets. All looking at him with that same expression he had seen the day before: hope mixed with uncertainty.
Behind them, Wei Chen stood with his arms crossed, trying not to smile.
Tomás - he said - You have patients.
Tomás looked at the three villagers, then at Wei Chen, then back at the villagers.
I'm not a doctor - he said in Spanish, then caught himself - I mean... I only know plants. Not people.
Wei Chen translated this, or tried to. The villagers nodded anyway and held out their baskets.
Inside each basket, a plant. Or rather, a sick plant. One had yellow leaves with black spots. Another had stems that bent strangely, almost broken. The third had tiny white insects crawling on the underside of the leaves.
Tomás sighed. Then he smiled.
Okay. Let's see.
2
The first woman, young and shy, showed him her plant. It was a type of vegetable he had seen before, similar to spinach but with thicker leaves. The yellow leaves with black spots were unmistakable.
Fúngico - Tomás murmured in Spanish - Fungus.
He looked at the woman and pointed to the black spots.
This is a sickness. From too much water, maybe. Or from plants too close together.
She did not understand the words, but she understood the gesture. She nodded, worried.
Tomás thought for a moment. In his world, he would recommend a fungicide. But he had no fungicide here. He had only what the village offered.
He looked at Wei Chen.
Ask her: does she have garlic? Or something that smells strong, like the qīngliáng cǎo?
Wei Chen translated. The woman nodded and pointed to her house.
Good. Tell her to crush garlic with water, like I did with the qīngliáng cǎo. Put it on the leaves. Not too much. And separate the sick plants from the healthy ones. Give them space.
Wei Chen translated. The woman listened carefully, then nodded and hurried away.
Tomás turned to the second woman.
3
The second woman was older, with hands that showed years of work in the fields. Her plant was a small bush, maybe for tea or medicine. The stems bent at strange angles, and the leaves were small, pale.
Tomás examined it closely. The stems were not broken. They were... twisted. As if something had pulled them while they grew.
He looked at the soil in her basket. It was dry, very dry, almost like dust.
Water - he said - Too little water. The plant is thirsty. When it grows without enough water, the stems become weak. They bend.
He made a drinking motion. The woman understood. She pointed to the sky, then to the ground, making a gesture of "but it hasn't rained."
Tomás nodded.
Yes. You need to water it. Every day, a little. Not too much, like the other woman, but enough. And maybe put some... - he searched for the word - ...straw? Dry grass? Around the base. To keep the water in the soil.
The woman nodded slowly, processing. Then she pointed to her plant and made a questioning gesture: will it recover?
Tomás shrugged honestly.
Maybe. Some will. Some won't. Remove the worst ones. Give the others time.
She nodded again, thanked him, and left.
4
The old man was last.
He was maybe seventy, with deep wrinkles and eyes that had seen many seasons. He did not look hopeful like the women. He looked skeptical. When he held out his basket, it was almost an accusation.
Inside, a plant covered in tiny white insects. They crawled slowly over the leaves, over the stems, over everything. The plant was dying, its leaves curling and brown.
Áfidos - Tomás said quietly. Aphids.
He looked at the old man and pointed to the insects.
These are the problem. They eat the plant. They drink its... its life.
The old man said something sharp. Wei Chen translated:
He says: "I know. I have farmed for fifty years. I know the insects. What I don't know is you. Why should I listen to a foreigner who appears from nowhere?"
Tomás looked at the old man. There was no anger in his eyes, just suspicion. The kind of suspicion that comes from a lifetime of seeing things come and go, of watching strangers arrive with promises and leave with empty hands.
Tomás thought for a moment. Then he pointed to the plant.
You know these insects. You have seen them before. What do you do when they come?
The old man shrugged and said something. Wei Chen translated:
"Nothing. They come, they eat, they leave. Sometimes the plant dies. Sometimes it lives. That's how it is."
Tomás nodded slowly.
That's how it has always been. Yes. But what if there was another way? What if you could make them leave earlier, so the plant lives more often?
The old man looked at him with narrowed eyes.
How?
Tomás pointed to the qīngliáng cǎo, still growing near the forest edge.
There is a plant. It smells strong. Some insects do not like strong smells. If you put it near your plants, or make a water with it and put it on the leaves, maybe the insects go away.
The old man was silent for a long moment. Then he said something short.
He says: "Show me."
Tomás nodded.
Tomorrow. I will show you. Today, I need to prepare.
The old man looked at him for another long moment, then nodded once and walked away.
5
That afternoon, Tomás sat with Wei Chen by the Shenmu, reviewing the day.
Three patients - Wei Chen said - Three different problems. Fungus, water, insects. You knew all of them.
Tomás shook his head.
I didn't know. I guessed. Based on what I saw. The black spots, the dry soil, the insects. It's not magic. It's just... looking.
Wei Chen was quiet for a moment. Then he said:
The old man. His name is Chen Guang. He has farmed here longer than anyone. His family has farmed here for generations. He does not trust easily.
Tomás nodded.
I noticed.
But he said "show me." That is more than he gives most people.
Tomás looked at Wei Chen.
Why? Why me?
Wei Chen thought about this.
Because you are different. Not just your face, your language. Your way of seeing. You look at things and you ask why. We... we don't ask why. We ask what. What plant? What sickness? What do we do? But you ask why is it sick? Why does this work? It is... strange. But also... useful.
Tomás smiled.
That's the nicest thing anyone has said to me here.
Wei Chen did not understand the joke, but he smiled anyway.
6
That evening, Tomás prepared for the next day.
He went to the forest edge and gathered more qīngliáng cǎo. He crushed it with water, the same way as before, and filled a small clay jar with the green liquid. Then he found some dry grass and tied it into small bundles, the way Granny Liu had shown him for storing herbs.
He was working when Xiao Wang appeared.
Tomás! - the boy ran up, excited - What doing?
Tomás held up the jar.
Medicine. For insects.
Wang's eyes widened.
Medicine for bugs? Bugs can get medicine?
Tomás laughed.
No, no. Medicine for plants. To keep bugs away.
Wang thought about this. Then he pointed to himself.
Wang help?
Tomás hesitated. Then he handed the boy a small bundle of dry grass.
Okay. You can help. Hold this.
Wang took it seriously, as if it were the most important job in the world.
They worked together until the sun set, preparing jars and bundles. Wang asked a hundred questions: What is this? Why this plant? How does it work? Tomás answered as best he could, with simple words and gestures.
When they finished, Wang looked at the small pile of supplies with pride.
Tomorrow - the boy said - We show old Chen Guang. We show him Tomás way.
Tomás smiled and ruffled his hair.
Yes. We show him.
7
The next morning, they went to Chen Guang's field.
The old man was already there, standing among his plants, watching them approach with that same skeptical expression. His field was large, larger than most, with rows of vegetables that spoke of years of careful work. But among the healthy plants, there were patches of dying ones, covered in white insects.
Tomás walked to one of the affected patches and knelt. He examined the plants closely, noting the extent of the damage. Then he looked at Chen Guang.
I will show you two ways - he said - First, the qīngliáng cǎo water. Second, the dry grass.
He took out his jar of green liquid and, using a small cloth, dabbed it onto the leaves of one plant. The liquid was strong, and the smell filled the air. Then he took a bundle of dry grass and placed it around the base of another plant, creating a barrier.
The water makes the leaves smell strong. Insects do not like it. The grass makes it hard for insects to climb from the ground. They have to go through the smell to reach the leaves.
Chen Guang watched in silence. Then he pointed to the plants.
And now we wait?
And now we wait - Tomás confirmed.
The old man nodded slowly. Then he said something to Wei Chen.
Wei Chen translated:
He says: "I will wait. But if it does not work, I will not come to you again."
Tomás nodded.
Fair.
8
Three days later, they returned.
The plant with the qīngliáng cǎo water had fewer insects. Not zero, but fewer. The leaves were still green, still alive. The plant with the dry grass barrier also had fewer insects, though some had clearly found a way around.
Chen Guang walked slowly around both plants, examining them from every angle. Then he looked at Tomás.
Not perfect - he said, in Chinese so Tomás could understand - But better.
Tomás nodded.
Not perfect. But better. That's the goal. Better than before.
Chen Guang was quiet for a long moment. Then he said:
Show me how to make the water. Show me how to make the grass bundles.
Tomás felt a small warmth in his chest.
I will. Tomorrow. I will show you.
Chen Guang nodded once, the same sharp nod as before. But this time, there was something different in his eyes. Not trust, exactly. Not yet. But maybe... respect.
As they walked back to the village, Xiao Wang tugged at Tomás's sleeve.
Tomás - the boy said - Old Chen Guang said "better." He never says "better." He only says "bad" or "not bad." "Better" is... big.
Tomás looked at the boy, then back at the field where Chen Guang still stood, examining his plants.
Yeah - he said - I think it is.
9
That night, by the fire, Wei Chen sat beside him.
You did it - the scholar said - Chen Guang is the hardest person in this village to convince. If he accepts you, others will too.
Tomás looked at his notebook, full of new observations, new words, new questions.
I didn't do it to convince anyone. I just... wanted to help.
Wei Chen smiled.
That is why it worked.
They sat in silence for a while, watching the fire. Then Wei Chen said:
Tomorrow, I want to learn more words. Your words. The ones for... for what you do. "Experiment." "Control." "Hypothesis."
Tomás looked at him, surprised.
You want to learn science?
Wei Chen considered the word.
I want to learn why you do what you do. Not just what.
Tomás smiled.
Deal.
Wei Chen repeated the word, as he always did.
Deal.