After strolling around the village, Jiang Xuegong asked, “Are you two going to the market?”
Zhao Fengxia didn’t want to go, worried that the crowds would dirty her new clothes.
Ning An wanted to go—she had never been to a big market in this special era.
Before coming to this world, she had read some materials about that time period and quite a few novels, all of which said that private commerce was strictly controlled during this era, that private buying and selling was forbidden, and that everything had to be done sneakily. But after arriving in this world, Ning An had taken the time to look into the various policies and regulations here, and discovered that reality differed from what the novels described.
The “Regulations on the Work of Rural People’s Communes (Revised Draft)” promulgated in 1961, Chapter 6, specifically addressed “commune members’ household sideline occupations”: “While actively running the collective economy well, not hindering its development, and ensuring its absolute dominance, people’s communes should allow and encourage commune members to use their spare time and holidays to develop household sideline occupations, increase social products, supplement members’ incomes, and invigorate the rural market.”
“Commune members of people’s communes may engage in the following household sideline production: cultivating private plots, reclaiming scattered wasteland, raising livestock and poultry such as pigs, sheep, rabbits, chickens, ducks, and geese, and may also raise sows. Where conditions permit, they may also raise one or two large livestock. They may engage in household handicraft production such as weaving, sewing, and embroidery. They may engage in sideline production such as gathering, fishing and hunting, silkworm raising, and beekeeping. They may tend fruit trees and bamboo assigned to them by the people’s commune as private plots, and plant fruit trees and bamboo in front of and behind their houses—these crops belong to the commune members forever.”
“The management committees of people’s communes at all levels should provide necessary guidance and assistance to commune members in managing their household sideline occupations, and should not interfere arbitrarily.”
…
Of course, novels focus mainly on romantic entanglements between characters, so they don’t go into much detail on these matters.
Honestly speaking, the policies looked pretty good, and this area seemed to implement them well too. According to the original owner’s memories, there was a market every rest day for commune members, rotating among the nearby production brigades.
Xiao Juza could gather information from a wider range than she could. It told Ning An, “Some places have implemented things completely off track. There really are quite a few places where buying and selling is strictly forbidden, some places don’t allow raising pigs or sheep, and in some places you’re only allowed to keep one chicken. Some places don’t even have private plots. The people in those places live especially impoverished lives.”
“Sometimes it’s the commune leaders acting on their own.”
“Mm-hmm, An’an is right.”
Ning An took Zhao Fengxia’s arm and acted coquettishly: “Mom, let’s go to the market together. Let’s see if anyone’s selling chickens—I want to eat your stewed chicken.”
Last time, after talking with Jiang Xuegong about eating chicken, she’d forgotten to mention it at home. Now, hearing about the market, she remembered again.
“Who would sell a chicken at this time of year? It’s such a bad deal. If they raise it a bit longer, they can sell it for a good price at the end of the year.”
“Let’s just go look—what if someone is selling?”
Zhao Fengxia couldn’t win against her, so she followed along.
The market was packed with people, very lively. There weren’t many kinds of goods for sale—all things the farmers had made, grown, or raised themselves.
Zhao Fengxia, who hadn’t even wanted to come to the market, got excited the moment they arrived. Like a loach, she darted straight in, looking at one stall and asking about another. With so many people around, everyone had to shout to be heard.
She bought a broom for sweeping the floor, a pot brush, two smaller brushes for sweeping the bed, two big bamboo baskets, and a pile of dried beans, dried eggplant, and dried radish.
Hey! Someone was actually selling dried apricots and dried red dates. Zhao Fengxia’s eyes lit up—she’d buy them for the kids as snacks.
Ning An called out loudly to Jiang Xuegong, who was in charge of carrying things: “Dad, any regrets?”
Jiang Xuegong, with a big basket on his head full of dried vegetables and fruits, looked at his daughter, who also had a big basket on her head holding the brooms, brushes, and pot brush, and grinned from ear to ear.
They wandered from one end of the market to the other and finally reached the section selling livestock and poultry.
Zhao Fengxia said, “Hey! Our An’an really is blessed—she wants chicken and sure enough, there’s chicken for sale. And they’re selling rabbits over there too. Is that man with the goat selling goat milk?”
Afraid she might go buy goat milk, Ning An quickly shouted, “Mom, buy me a rabbit.”
Those people drank the milk fresh on the spot, right after milking—she couldn’t stomach that.
“What? You want to eat rabbit?”
Sure enough, Zhao Fengxia stopped paying attention to the goat milk.
“No, I want to buy one to raise as a pet. Mom, buy me a pair.”
“Alright, alright, we’ll buy you one.”
She bought a big rooster and a pair of rabbits, but in the end she still made her way over to the goat milk seller and asked, “Which production brigade do you live in? Could I come buy from your home?”
Seeing that she was dressed decently, with a chicken in one hand and a cage of rabbits in the other, and accompanied by a well-dressed man and a young girl, the seller instantly classified her as a big customer and smiled until his face wrinkled: “Sure, you can come buy at my place. I live in Erdaoliang, right at the edge of the village. Just ask around for the goat raiser when you get there—I’m the only one in our brigade who raises goats. Everyone else raises pigs.”
“Will do.”
Having gotten the information, Zhao Fengxia happily went on her way.
On the road, she told Ning An, “Mom knows you’re particular about hygiene and don’t like sharing a bowl with so many people—I’d never buy it and make you drink it there. But I’ve heard goat milk is good for your health. We’ll take our own little basin, buy it, and boil it at home for you to drink.”
“You and Dad should drink it too.”
“Everyone will drink it. It’s just that this stuff won’t last long—once the goat stops giving milk, there won’t be any more to drink.”
After one trip to the market, Ning An got a real sense of the purchasing power of money in this era!
The big rooster cost less than two yuan, the two rabbits cost three yuan altogether, and the whole pile of stuff she and her dad carried on their heads came to just one yuan in total.
Plenty of people weren’t even using money—they were bartering. Some traded eggs for vegetables: one egg could get you an “armful” of spinach. An “armful” meant however much the vegetable-selling farmer’s six-year-old son could hold with both arms spread wide. The boy was very honest—he always gave a full armful every time.
Back home, they set everything down and patted the dust off each other’s clothes. Zhao Fengxia then used a damp towel to wipe the dust from Ning An’s hair and her own.
She said to Ning An and her father, “Change out of your new clothes—no need to wear new ones at home. We’re going to kill a chicken soon, and I don’t want blood splashed on them.”
With that, she led the way by changing into old clothes herself.
Ning An and Jiang Xuegong obediently changed too. Their old clothes were actually pretty good compared to other people’s—not a single patch on them.
While her parents busied themselves, Ning An sat on the doorstep watching.
Jiang Xuegong went to heat water, and Zhao Fengxia sharpened the knife. When the water was nearly boiling, she grabbed the rooster by the neck, gave it a quick slash, and tossed it aside. The rooster flapped its wings and struggled for a moment before going still.
Then Zhao Fengxia picked up the rooster to drain its blood.
In Erdaogou, there was a custom of not eating chicken blood—all of it was drained out. The rumor was that eating chicken blood would give you pockmarks on your face.
Of course, this claim had no scientific basis whatsoever, but it had persisted in Erdaogou for ages.
After draining the blood, she poured boiling water all over the chicken to make the feathers easier to pluck.
Zhao Fengxia worked quickly and efficiently—she was an expert at killing chickens. As she plucked the feathers, enduring the heat, she chatted with Ning An: “Can’t you go get a stool to sit on? Doesn’t it hurt sitting on that doorstep?”
“Nope.”
She turned to Jiang Xuegong: “Heat some more water and fill up the thermos. Let’s brew a pot of tea.”
“Alright.”
Turning back, she continued smiling at Ning An: “Are you watching because you want to learn how to kill a chicken? Let me tell you—a young girl like you shouldn’t learn this. When you get married someday, if you want to eat chicken, just have your mom come kill it for you, or I’ll buy one, kill it, and bring it over. You won’t need to do it yourself. The best chicken-killer in our family is me—even your dad can’t compare.”
Ning An burst out laughing.
Zhao Fengxia and Jiang Xuegong laughed along too, clearly remembering the past. Once, Jiang Xuegong had tried to kill a chicken, but his single blow only wounded it slightly. It ran flapping all over the yard and wouldn’t die for the longest time. In the end, Zhao Fengxia had to catch it and finish it off with another cut.