The pig farm stood at the northern edge of the village. It was not entirely isolated, yet neither did it lie amid the cluster of homes. The building had once been an abandoned house, and had been converted into a pig farm only the previous year under the village secretary’s leadership.
Inside were kept thirty pigs belonging collectively to the entire village. They were shared community property. The health and condition of these swine determined the quantity of meat and cooking oil available to every household throughout the year. For this reason everyone tended to the animals with great care.
Before the farm itself came into view, Shushu and her companions caught the distinct scent of pigs. To children raised in rural surroundings this smell was entirely familiar. Many households kept their own pigs, and the villagers had long grown accustomed to the odor.
“The pig farm is just ahead,” Ke Xiaohua said, bending down to speak to Shushu. The unmistakable smell meant their destination was close at hand. A quiet excitement stirred among the group. Once this final delivery of grass was completed, their work for the day would be done. No one was not glad to be finished.
A little further along the path, the farm building appeared before them. From the outside it looked no different from an ordinary dwelling. Had the squealing of pigs not drifted through the air, they might well have mistaken it for the home of some villager. An elderly man stood watch at the gate. He was a familiar elder, and the children greeted him in unison. The old man nodded with a kindly smile and gestured toward a corner within the gate. “Pile the grass there.”
They looked in the direction he indicated. A substantial heap of grass had already gathered there, the fruit of their own labor throughout the day. Obediently they added their load to the pile. The feeding portion of the day’s work had already been completed by those who had made earlier deliveries. With this final stack unloaded, their tasks were at an end.
“Is that all for us?” one child asked Chen Dafei.
“Wait a moment,” Chen Dafei replied. He hurried over to speak briefly with the elderly keeper, then returned and motioned for everyone to gather around. “We must sign to confirm that our work is done. Line up and come forward one by one.”
Before the old man stood a table with a broken edge. Upon it lay a ledger. The nature of the work performed and the number of work points earned had already been recorded. Each worker had only to affix their signature in the designated place to acknowledge the entry. Every child except Shushu was literate. Even those with the least education could write their own names. Signing was therefore a simple matter. As for Shushu, Chen Dafei signed on her behalf.
“I shall find time later to teach Shushu how to write her own name,” Ke Xiaohua offered.
“There is no need to wait. I can teach her this very evening,” said Shouhou. It was Shushu’s turn to stay with his family tonight.
“That will do,” Ke Xiaohua agreed. She considered Shouhou’s former profession and felt confident that whatever else he might lack, his handwriting was at least presentable. It would scarcely have been possible for him to pass himself off as a master calligrapher selling works at the scenic entrance otherwise.
“Let us go home!” The workday was at an end. Cheerfully the children scattered toward their respective homes. Shushu walked with Shouhou toward his dwelling. Before they had reached the doorway, a pair of hands lifted her suddenly from behind beneath her arms.
Shushu was accustomed to being passed from hand to hand. Even lifted suddenly into the air she felt no fear, only a momentary bewilderment. By the time she gathered her senses, she found herself seated astride someone’s shoulders. Raised so high, she instinctively wrapped both small arms about the head beneath her. Her fingers brushed soft smooth hair. She craned her neck to look down, yet could not make out who carried her. She saw only that it was a tall sturdy young woman.
The woman laughed aloud with pure delight. She gave the little girl a gentle bounce upon her shoulders. “Has Shushu been thinking of me?”
“I have,” Shushu answered readily. Even though she could not yet identify the woman, the response came naturally. She had been asked that very question countless times throughout the day, and knew well what answer was expected of her. Sure enough, the woman laughed all the more heartily. She carried Shushu cheerfully through the doorway. Happily the lintel was high enough, or Shushu might well have bumped her head.
“Auntie, please set Shushu down,” Shouhou called out anxiously, hurrying after them. “What if she should fall?”
“She will not fall. Never fear. Your aunt has a steady grip,” the woman replied.
She was none other than Shouhou’s youngest paternal aunt, Xiang Cuihua. Xiang Cuihua was eighteen years of age and stood one hundred and seventy five centimeters tall. In this era of scarcity and hardship, she was exceptionally tall by nature. Years of steady farm labor had given her a strong sturdy frame. Carrying a child as small as Shushu upon her shoulders was no burden at all.
“A household in the neighboring village was slaughtering a pig today,” Xiang Cuihua explained. “They invited your uncle to assist. In payment they gave him some offal and bones. He selected two large leg bones and sent them home with me. We shall make a rich bone soup for our supper tonight.”
“It is no festival or holiday. Why slaughter a pig?” Shouhou asked in some confusion. Then the answer came to him. “Is someone in the family getting married?”
“Precisely,” Xiang Cuihua confirmed. “The fifth son of the wealthy Liu household is taking a wife. They are killing pigs and holding a wedding feast.”
In these times, poor peasants were generally favored, yet households of greater means still existed. The Liu family was one such. They had six sons, every one of whom had found success in life. The eldest and second sons worked as laborers in the county seat. The third and fourth sons had joined the army. The fifth son had remained at home with his parents and was exceptionally capable at farming.
The sixth son was said to be a gifted scholar, currently attending high school, and destined to join his elder brothers in the city upon graduation. Not only villagers of their own village but families throughout the district looked upon the Liu household with undisguised envy.
“I remember that theirs was the first household in the region to earn ten thousand yuan after the reforms,” Shouhou remarked. “In later years their family became known as the wealthiest for miles around.”
“So it is said,” Xiang Cuihua replied casually, attaching little importance to the matter.
“Auntie, does none of this stir any ambition in you?” Shouhou asked, his eyes gleaming with curiosity.
“What ambition should I have?” Xiang Cuihua rolled her eyes and saw straight through his scheming. She warned him plainly. “Do not go forming foolish plans. Your uncle and I are perfectly happy together.”
Even though in this life she had not yet met and married him, Xiang Cuihua had no intention of bartering herself for wealth. She remembered well how good and kind her husband had been to her in their past life. They had raised two daughters together, both dutiful and loving.
Her husband’s family possessed a hereditary skill in butchering swine. Through it he had earned welcome extra income from time to time, much as he had today. Their life had been modest yet contented. Xiang Cuihua asked for nothing more. Even if she were inclined toward ambition, there was no guarantee that such ambition would bear fruit. She would not barter away her surest happiness for a dream that might never come true.
“Shushu, shall we have noodles for supper?” Xiang Cuihua turned away from her nephew’s impractical musings. She lifted Shushu gently from her shoulders, held her close in her arms, and asked in a soft affectionate voice. “I have already set the bones to simmer. The broth will be delicious served over fresh noodles.”
“Yes,” Shushu agreed readily. She was not fussy about food and raised no objection.
With the menu decided, Xiang Cuihua returned to the kitchen to prepare the meal. Shushu was left in Shouhou’s care. Seizing the opportunity, Shouhou fetched paper and brush from his room and announced his intention of teaching Shushu to write her own name.
“This character is pronounced Song. These two characters are pronounced Shu. Together they form your name. We shall begin with your surname,” he instructed.
Under Shouhou’s careful guiding hand, Shushu traced the strokes of her own name. The characters stood somewhat uneven and tilted every which way.
“Wonderful! Shushu has written her own name! How clever you are!” Shouhou applauded with genuine delight. He praised her generously and clapped his hands to encourage her.
“Clever!” Shushu echoed happily and clapped her own hands in return.
“Come. Let us practice a few more times so that we may remember well,” Shouhou proposed. Whatever else might be said of him, Shouhou set great store by the art of calligraphy. Even while teaching a small child, he sought to instill in her a sense of proper form. Patiently and gently he guided her hand and corrected each stroke. Slowly the characters grew less crooked and began to stand upright. At last they were neat enough to be read and recognized.
Time passed pleasantly as teacher and pupil worked together. When the call came to gather for supper, Shushu looked up and saw that every member of the household had returned. Shouhou’s family was small. There were his grandmother, his parents, his aunt, and himself. He was an only child, a rarity in this era. It was not that his parents had chosen to have only one son.
They had simply been unable to conceive another child despite years of hope and effort. As they grew older, they had resigned themselves to having but one. In this renewed life however, they felt restored to their full vigor and had lately begun trying once again for a second child. Shouhou viewed their efforts with complete indifference. He was already a grown man in spirit. He could certainly welcome a newborn sibling into the world without jealousy. If his parents were blessed with another child, so be it. There would simply be one more mouth to feed at table.
The family of six gathered around the dining table and slurped their noodles together, conversing as they ate.
“In a few days I must travel to deliver the public grain levy,” Shouhou’s father announced. “I shall be traveling to the commune. Does anyone wish for me to bring anything back from the supply and marketing cooperative there?”
The commune lay four hours’ journey from the village. It was a full day’s journey to go and return. Villagers made a point of purchasing whatever necessities they might require while there. It seemed a wasted journey to return empty handed.
“Purchase one jin of brown sugar,” Shouhou’s mother said thoughtfully. “And if they have red cloth, buy some of that as well. Cuihua is to be married next month. She must have a gown of red cloth for her wedding attire.”
In their past life the family had been far too poor to provide such a gown. Now that circumstances were somewhat improved, it was only right and proper that she should be properly attired. Should there be any cloth remaining, enough would remain to fashion red hair ornaments for Shushu as well.
“There is no need,” Xiang Cuihua protested. “I shall simply wear a red blossom in my hair as I have always done.”
Her protest went unheeded. Her mother and sister in law were already deep in discussion, calculating whether their accumulated cloth coupons would suffice, whether they must seek additional coupons from neighbors, and whether red cloth might be found in the county seat if the commune cooperative had none in stock.
Shushu ate her supper quietly. When she had finished, she fetched the paper and brush she had used earlier and continued practicing the characters of her name. The novelty of writing had not yet worn off. Gradually conversation fell silent around the table. Every member of the household fell quiet of their own accord, watching her work and careful not to disturb her concentration.
Not long after the grass cutting assignment was completed, the children were given new duties. They were placed on watch duty at the grain drying grounds to guard the harvest spread out to dry. The pay was one work point per day. It was modest pay, yet the work was light.
For the greater part of each day they had only to sit in the shade and keep watch. Occasionally they must rise and turn the grain with wooden rakes so that it dried evenly. At intervals they must chase away flocks of sparrows that swooped down to steal grain. And if dark clouds gathered and rain threatened, they must run at once to summon adults to gather the crop indoors.
This routine continued for three or four days until the final stage of the summer harvest was complete. Once the grain was thoroughly dried, it was weighed and stored in sacks. The portion owed to the state was borne away for delivery. Whatever grain remained belonged to the villagers themselves.