Xiushan Village and Xiushui Village are separated only by a stream, each located at opposite ends of a valley. Being neighbors, they are obviously not very far apart. A person walking quickly can cross from one to the other in about ten minutes. However, because a forest lies between them, any noise or activity from the other side is unlikely to reach across.
Besides, in times like these, someone’s death isn’t considered a big deal. Old Master Hu had indeed shown small kindnesses to the people of Xiushan Village, which was true enough, but he had little connection with the people of Xiushui Village. His family understood this well—if they sent out invitations and no one showed up, it would be like shamelessly begging for attention. Besides, the family wasn’t poor and certainly didn’t need others’ contributions to cover funeral expenses. Therefore, they unanimously decided not to involve their neighbors. Thus, under the full moon of the fifteenth, white lanterns filled the sky on one side, while on the other side, the villagers were joyfully celebrating. To add to the festive mood, the village chief even broke tradition by playing several pleasant songs over the loudspeaker. Although most people didn’t understand what the female singer was chirping about, they still enjoyed the melodies, with some even humming along. Just a few hundred meters apart, and the difference was already so great!
On the village street, an old farmer wearing a mink hat shivered as he scratched his ears, which had become itchy from the cold. He exhaled a puff of white breath, warming his hands until they felt comfortably warm before picking up the vegetables he had prepared by the door and carrying them into his house. There was no helping it—this was simply how harsh winters always were in the Northeast.
Looking into his basket, there wasn’t much delicious food—these were tough times, with unpredictable weather and low education levels. Occasionally, there were a few people who could read or speak well, but they had already been appointed as clerks by the village chief. As a result, even if someone mentioned the new concept of greenhouse technology, the villagers would be completely confused, let alone growing seasonal vegetables. The basket contained nothing but Chinese cabbage. Of course, some elderly people, seeing their grandchildren arrive, gritted their teeth, stomped their feet, and spent months’ worth of savings to buy a bit of meat and prepare a hearty pork and vermicelli stew to treat the little ones. Indeed, on such a bitterly cold day, a steaming pot of pork and vermicelli stew was enough to stir anyone’s appetite and warm their hearts. However, such indulgences happened no more than twice a year, since even a teacher’s monthly salary was only a few dozen yuan—barely enough to survive, nothing like the comfortable lives we enjoy today.
The poor live poor lives, and the rich live rich lives, but the gap doesn’t stop people from pursuing happiness. Take him, for example—he’s living quite comfortably, isn’t he?
“Darn it! Just when the song was getting good, why’d it suddenly stop?” A boy of about twelve or thirteen lazily sat up from his bed inside a small house at the village entrance, grumbling. His eyes blinked mischievously with each breath, clearly identifying him as a troublemaker. Looking at his skin, it was fair and tender like a girl’s, so soft you could almost squeeze water out of it. Overall, he was quite handsome. But considering his facial features and eyes, didn’t he look suspiciously like our very own Liu Dashao?
That’s right—he was indeed Liu Dashao.
Today was a festival, and his parents were busy with preparations, leaving no time to attend to him. So they generously gave him a day off, telling him he could go wherever he wanted to play. Since his superiors had given the go-ahead, Liu Dashao naturally seized the opportunity. As soon as he got up in the morning, without brushing his teeth or washing his face, he grabbed a steaming white steamed bun and rushed out to hang out with the other mischievous boys in the village. Back then, resources were scarce, and there weren’t many games to play—shuttlecock kicking, jump rope, throwing iron blocks, and playing house. After a full day of playing, eating, and drinking, it was time to rest. But Liu Dashao was never one to stay quiet for long. His eyes darted around as he began plotting again. Similarly, his close friends—Tian Guoqiang, the village chief’s son; Xiao Mazi, Chen Mazi’s son; and Goudan, the neighbor’s kid—had the same idea. The four quickly hit it off and decided not to sleep that night. Each would bring some pocket money and play a game of Landlord. The loser would pay for snacks at the convenience store. However, all of them were quite cunning—they knew gambling couldn’t be done in plain sight. That would be like carrying a lantern into the toilet—asking for a beating. If caught, they’d not only have to write a self-criticism but also face a severe beating from their families. Just recently, a kid had tried this, and his heartless father had beaten his butt until it was split into eight pieces, leaving him unable to sit for days.
After much discussion, the four finally decided to meet at midnight at the village entrance and sneak up to the abandoned temple on the mountain to play cards. It was usually deserted there—so deserted that you’d be lucky to even see a rat.
Once the location was decided, the rest was easy. Tian Guoqiang, protected by his father the village chief, proudly promised to bring the playing cards and an oil lamp. “You guys just bring your heads,” he said. “But let’s get this straight—anyone who doesn’t show up is the son of Wang Cai’s dog!” (Chen Mazi had a pet mongrel named Wang Cai.)
Once the plan was set, everyone scattered to gather their gambling money. They rummaged through jars, checked their pants pockets, and even stole a few coins here and there. Then they lay in bed, resting their eyes and conserving energy for the long card battle ahead. Sure enough, Liu Dashao had just been daydreaming to the music from the loudspeaker when it suddenly cut off, leaving him extremely frustrated. He sat up and looked at the wall clock—it was nearly 11:30. He muttered a few words to himself, then slipped on his long underwear, wooden sandals, and his father’s fox fur coat and walked out the door.
His house was right next to the big locust tree, a popular gathering spot for aunties, uncles, and old men. Even at this late hour, two old men were still sitting on the stone steps, puffing on their long pipes and chatting lazily.
Liu Dashao squinted and recognized them—Old Man Wang and Bald Bai. The two old men were chatting nonsense, and just then they were discussing why the village loudspeaker had suddenly stopped working.
This topic struck a chord with Liu Dashao’s mood, so he couldn’t help but chime in, “Damn it! Who knows what’s going on? Maybe there was an earthquake that cut the village’s power lines!”
“Nonsense! Don’t go hoping for earthquakes! I haven’t even held a great-grandchild yet!” Old Man Wang shot him a look.
Hearing this, Liu Dashao nearly burst out laughing. Come on, Old Man Wang’s grandson was only six years old! The old man was practically halfway in the grave and still hoping for a great-grandson? The older they got, the more afraid of death they became. Liu Dashao stuck out his tongue and teased, “Don’t worry, sir—you’ll definitely live to see your great-grandson, even your great-great-grandson! You’re like a thousand-year-old turtle or a hundred-year-old hedgehog. You’ve got plenty of life left in you!”
“You—!” Old Man Wang couldn’t get a word out, his face turning red with anger. Clearly, this brat had pushed him to the edge. But after a moment of silence, he calmed down, turned his head, and ignored Liu Dashao. A glint of mischief flashed in his eyes. Sure enough, after a few tensed seconds of silence, Old Man Wang suddenly turned back with a flourish, scraping his shoe on the ground and pointing dramatically at the ground beneath him, “Oh my! Whose money is this? Looks like a whole bill! My eyes are getting old, I can’t see clearly anymore!” His voice was full of temptation, as if he were trying to make sure Liu Dashao heard him.
“Money?” At the mention of this exciting word, Liu Dashao’s interest was instantly piqued. His eyes widened like two 50-watt light bulbs as he quickly bent down, searching the ground with his hands. “Where? Where? Did I drop it?”
“Hehehe!” Seeing the little rascal fall for his trick, Old Man Wang’s wrinkled face broke into a grin. He thought to himself, “You think you can outwit me? Don’t you know that old ginger is always spicier?” In a flash, he swung his pipe and gave Liu Dashao a solid whack on the head, right on target. Liu Dashao yelped in pain, his eyebrows furrowing tightly as tears welled up in his eyes.
“Old fart! Why’d you hit me?!” Liu Dashao shouted, clearly upset after being ambushed. It’s one thing to call someone “grandpa” after being hit, or to count money for someone after being tricked—it’s another to be a fool who lets others take advantage. So Liu Dashao quickly straightened his posture, exuding a strong aura of defiance (though it smelled a bit sour from not changing his clothes in days). With one hand on his hip and the other clutching his head, he began to curse like a fishwife.
“Tsk! If I don’t hit you, you won’t learn. You’re just a little dog—can’t expect pearls to come from a dog’s mouth,” Old Man Wang replied calmly, clearly enjoying the moment. Clearly, the two had exchanged many verbal jabs before.
“You’re the dog!” Liu Dashao shot back, muttering to himself, “You old bastard, just you wait. You tricked me and hit me! I won’t let this go. I’ll get even with your grandson—I’ll beat him so badly even you won’t recognize him!”
“Haha!” Old Man Wang chuckled, blowing a perfect smoke ring right in Liu Dashao’s face, making the boy feel even more humiliated and furious.
Rubbing the lump forming on the back of his head, Liu Dashao was nearly furious enough to explode. “Damn it! This old man really hit hard! If I weren’t so tough-skulled, he’d have cracked my head open!” His lips pouted so far they resembled a boiled duck—still stubbornly refusing to admit defeat.
“Hmph! My grandma told me that when I was born, a blind fortune teller said I was missing a soul or two, but I was destined to be a godly figure. With me around, this village won’t suffer any earthquakes!”
“Actually, that’s true,” chimed in Bald Ma, the spectator, poking at the embers in his pipe with a small stick. “I remember it well.”
“See! Even Bald Ma agrees!” Liu Dashao smiled, though after hearing Bald Ma’s explanation, he almost wanted to cry.
“You see, the year you were born, the land god’s temple in the north of the village collapsed. That same year, there was an outbreak of chicken plague—only our village’s chickens died. The next year, the chickens were almost all gone, and then there was a pig plague—only our village’s pigs died. The following year, the pigs were gone, and then came the sheep plague—only our village’s sheep died. Then a blind fortune teller came to the village and said a god had descended among us.”
“Are you serious? You old man, why do you always pile on when someone’s down?” Liu Dashao glared at the two scheming old men, gritting his teeth. He was about to retort, “Didn’t you almost die during the pig plague?” but when he saw that Bald Ma’s pipe was even bigger than Old Man Wang’s, he swallowed his words.
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