On the twenty-sixth day of the twelfth lunar month, it was time to slaughter the New Year pig.
This was the most important event in the village all year, even livelier than weddings or daughters getting married.
Early in the morning, three enormous iron woks large enough to cook a person in were set up on the threshing ground. Hardwood firewood was piled underneath, flames licking the bottoms of the woks. The water inside was boiling vigorously, steam mixing with the morning mist, shrouding half the village in a hazy veil.
The three fat pigs raised collectively by the village this year were the source of oil and meat for the hundreds of villagers throughout the year.
Qin Gang and Zhao Hongmei didn’t arrive early. By the time they got there, the threshing ground was already packed tight with people. The children, undeterred by the cold, ran around with runny noses, squeezing through gaps in the crowd, their eyes fixed on the fat pig pinned to the chopping board, squealing loudly. To them, it wasn’t just a pig—it was the braised pork that would fill their bowls during the New Year.
“Oh my, this pig is so fat, at least three fingers thick!” Li Guilan squeezed her way to the front, clutching a handful of sunflower seeds, cracking them and spitting the shells on the ground, her mouth never idle. “What a shame, though. Our family’s work points aren’t enough this year. We’ll only get three or five catties, barely enough to fill the gaps between our teeth.”
Beside her, Liu Dazui curled her lip. “Count yourself lucky. Your Gangzi’s salary is worth several laborers in the village. Why care about this bit of pork?”
Li Guilan’s eyes widened, and she was about to retort when a crackle came from the loudspeaker, followed by the grating voice of Village Party Secretary Wang Mantun.
“Testing, testing? Hey… everyone, quiet! Old Guaitou drank too much last night, got up too fast this morning, and threw out his back! He can’t handle the meat distribution today!”
The crowd erupted into chaos.
Old Guaitou had been the village’s butcher for decades. His skills were unmatched, and more importantly, he was fair when distributing the meat. Every cut he made, whether a few catties or ounces, was trusted by everyone.
Now, with the pigs already slaughtered and ready to be deboned and distributed, the main butcher was down. What were they going to do? Who would distribute these hundreds of catties of meat? If it wasn’t divided fairly, a fight was bound to break out.
“Secretary, what do we do now? It’s freezing cold—we can’t just stand here drinking the northwest wind, can we?” someone shouted.
Wang Mantun stood on the high steps, holding a half-smoked cigarette, squinting as he scanned the crowd. Finally, his gaze settled on Zhao Hongmei, who had just squeezed her way in.
“Hey… Gangzi’s wife! Hongmei! Come up here!”
That shout drew hundreds of eyes toward Zhao Hongmei. Qin Gang, who had been shielding his wife from the crowd, was taken aback.
Li Guilan stopped cracking her seeds, her mouth hanging open. “Why call Hongmei? She hasn’t done anything wrong.”
Zhao Hongmei patted the dust off her clothes, her expression unchanged. She stepped forward calmly. “Uncle Wang, you called me?”
“Hongmei,” Wang Mantun tossed his cigarette butt to the ground and stomped on it. “A while back, at the Qin family’s banquet, I saw your knife skills—they were truly exceptional. Old Guaitou can’t do it today. Can you take on this responsibility?”
The surrounding crowd burst into murmurs.
“What? Let a woman distribute the meat?”
“Exactly! Distributing meat isn’t like chopping vegetables. You have to debone it, separate the legs—not an ounce can be off, or who’d be happy?”
“Has the secretary lost his mind from panic?”
The voices of doubt buzzed like flies. Li Guilan couldn’t hold her composure any longer and tugged at Qin Gang’s sleeve. “Gangzi, hurry and pull your wife back. Isn’t this pushing someone into a pit of fire? If she does it well, she gets no credit; if she messes up, she’ll be cursed by the whole village. Let’s not do such a foolish thing!”
Qin Gang also hesitated, looking toward Zhao Hongmei.
But Zhao Hongmei just smiled, took off her scarf, and handed it to Qin Gang. She briskly rolled up the sleeves of her cotton-padded jacket, revealing two pale, slender wrists.
She nodded at Wang Mantun. “Since Uncle Wang trusts me, I’ll give it a try. But let me be clear upfront—my knife is sharp, and my hand is heavy. If any uncle, aunt, or elder feels it’s unfair, speak up right then and there, and we’ll make up the difference on the spot.”
With that, she didn’t take Old Guaitou’s greasy butcher knife. Instead, she pulled out a cloth bundle from her bosom. Unwrapping it revealed a bone-picking knife that looked quite old. She had specifically taken it to the blacksmith’s shop a couple of days earlier to be sharpened, and its blade now gleamed with a cold, bluish light.
Zhao Hongmei walked over to the chopping board. The entire side of freshly scraped and cleaned pork was still steaming, the glistening white fat looking delightful.
She didn’t rush to make the cut. First, she ran her hand along the pig’s spine, as if examining the animal. Then, with a flick of her wrist, the sharp knife seemed to have eyes of its own. With a soft “shhh,” it slid smoothly along the bone seam.
There was none of the teeth-grating sound of chopping bone, only the subtle noise of the blade slicing through skin and flesh, severing tendons and membranes. Zhao Hongmei’s hand was extremely steady. Wherever the knife tip passed, ribs were ribs, and cavity bones were cavity bones. She cleanly extracted the entire spine, leaving not a single shred of meat clinging to it.
“Bravo!” someone in the crowd shouted.
When an expert makes a move, you know right away if they have the skill. Just this bone-picking technique was no worse than Old Guaitou’s, who had decades of experience—it even looked more nimble and efficient.
Next came the most difficult part: dividing the meat.
The division was based on each household’s registration and the number of family members. One household got three jin, another five jin and two liang, and there were requests for fatty cuts, lean cuts—it was chaotic.
“Liu Degui’s family, five jin and three liang!” the accountant called out, holding the ledger.
Liu Degui’s wife, Liu Dazui, had long since squeezed to the front with her basket, eyes wide open. “Hongmei, Auntie has always treated you well. Cut me a fatty piece, don’t be stingy. Even a slab of leaf fat will do.”
Zhao Hongmei raised her knife and brought it down, slicing off a piece of hindquarter meat and tossing it onto the scale pan.
The accountant adjusted the sliding weight and raised it high. “Five jin and three liang! Full measure!”
Liu Dazui took a look. The meat was indeed good—well-marbled with thin skin. But she couldn’t shake her habit of trying to gain an advantage and muttered, “Why no little extra? I see some scrap fat over there…”
Zhao Hongmei ignored her. With a flick of the knife tip, a small piece of waste meat attached to lymph nodes was flicked away, landing right in the nearby slop bucket.
Then she laid the knife horizontally on the chopping board and said with a smile, “Auntie, I cut this meat along the grain. When you take it home, you won’t need to bother trimming it—it can go straight into the pot.”
“If you really want that scrap fat, that’s fine. But then I’ll have to cut a strip off this good piece to make up the weight. After all, this is public property. An extra liang or two would mean taking advantage of everyone.”
Liu Dazui took one look at that perfectly square piece of good meat and couldn’t bear to let anyone cut into it further. He quickly scooped it up, saying, “No need, no need! This is just fine!”
Next was Second Uncle’s household. The elderly man’s teeth weren’t in the best shape, so Zhao Hongmei deliberately picked out a piece of plum blossom pork for him—tender meat that wouldn’t turn tough no matter how long it was stewed. Second Uncle nodded approvingly, raising a trembling thumb as he praised, “This girl is thoughtful and fair-handed!”
Over two hours, three pigs, and hundreds of households.
Zhao Hongmei didn’t pause for even a moment to catch her breath. Sweat beaded on her forehead, chilled instantly by the cold wind, yet the knife in her hand grew steadier by the minute.
For those who were easygoing, she cut the meat into neat, square pieces. For the difficult and picky ones, she remained patient and unruffled, laying out the reasoning clearly in just a few words. Paired with her precise, unwavering knife skills, she left no room for anyone to find fault.
By the time the last household’s share was distributed.
Wang Mantun walked over, his face crinkling into a wide grin as he took in the clean and orderly scene.
“Well done, Gangzi’s wife! You handled today’s task splendidly! Even neater than Old Guaitou!” Wang Mantun announced loudly, as if afraid others wouldn’t hear. “As per tradition, the master cutter deserves a token of gratitude. Take this slab of pork fat and this pair of kidneys home with you!”
This was no small gift. In these times, which household wasn’t short on cooking oil? That slab of fat, once rendered, would yield a large jar of lard, enough to last half a year. And pork kidneys were prized for their nourishing properties.
Zhao Hongmei didn’t refuse. She accepted them graciously, saying, “Thank you, Uncle Wang, and thank you all for your support.”
Li Guilan had long since pushed her way to the front. Seeing that large, snow-white slab of fat, she was so delighted she couldn’t close her mouth. Without a care for its weight, she snatched it up and hugged it to her chest, her face glowing with pride, even happier than when she’d received her own share of meat earlier.
“Look! Just look!” Li Guilan tilted her chin up, showing off to Liu Dazui beside her. “It has to be our Hongmei! Who else has such skill? Even the village secretary praised her! With this big slab of fat, think of all the cracklings we can fry at home!”