Chapter 14: New Year
Strings of bright red persimmons hung from the eaves, adding a festive touch to the joyous winter day. The golden-red fruits and vegetables easily brought to mind auspicious omens of good fortune.
This was Tangtang’s first New Year with the Su family. She had celebratory red strings tied into her braids, and that morning, Old Madam Zhu had made an exception and given each of them a boiled egg. A smile hadn’t left Tangtang’s face all day.
Last New Year, she had been in Waguan Village. She had worn old, thin clothes and had fallen while gathering firewood, bruising her knees and scraping her palms. When she returned from the mountains, she drank two bowls of cold, thin porridge and went straight to bed. But this year, she was wearing her new apricot-pink padded jacket, her hair was neatly braided, her belly was full, and she even got to eat a fragrant boiled egg. She was so happy she could have cried.
Only a family celebrates the New Year together. She was a Su family member now.
Tangtang stood on a stool to hang the last of the red persimmons. Su Juexiao helped her down. “Let’s go find some unexploded firecrackers.”
“Okay!”
There were always a few duds in a string of firecrackers. For the village children, the greatest joy of the New Year was hunting for these unlit treasures. During the holiday, adults tried not to give the children chores or scold them. Tangtang spent her days running all over the village with her three brothers and her cousin Wani.
“Cover your ears! I’m about to light them!” Su Juesheng called out, having set up three firecrackers in an open space.
Tangtang covered her ears. With a loud bang, a shower of sparks erupted before her, and the ground was littered with red paper scraps.
…
The daylight hours were shorter in winter, and by four or five o’clock, the sky was already a hazy white. The children were all called back home. Although traditional sacrificial rites were no longer in vogue, setting off firecrackers was still a grand and indispensable part of the celebration.
The Su family children lined up in the courtyard and knelt towards the southeast to kowtow. Tangtang dazedly followed her brothers’ lead. She later learned that this was because the family patriarch, their grandfather, was buried on the mountain in that direction.
After kowtowing, it was time for the firecrackers. A long string of them was hung from a bamboo pole. The task of lighting them fell to the eldest son, Su Jianjun. He held a stick of incense and, with a solemn expression, lit the fuse.
The firecrackers exploded with a deafening roar, like a thousand horses stampeding. Red paper rained down under the jujube tree by the gate. The string of firecrackers went on for a full five minutes, leaving everyone’s ears ringing. The children began to jump and cheer, “It’s the New Year! It’s the New Year!”
…
After the firecrackers came the New Year’s Eve dinner. Fragrant white steamed buns had been made that morning, and today, there were more than enough for everyone to eat their fill.
The family hadn’t slaughtered their own pig this year; the fattened animal had been sold whole to the slaughterhouse. However, Old Madam Zhu had specifically set aside some of the money to buy meat for the holiday. They had deep-fried crispy pork bites and made a rich, fatty steamed pork with rice flour. Underneath the steamed pork, slices of old pumpkin had soaked up all the savory juices, a sight that made one’s mouth water.
The vegetable dishes were simple boiled cabbage and radishes, which tasted fresh and sweet.
The New Year’s Eve dinner was the most important meal of the year, ensuring abundance in the year to come.
Tangtang ate a piece of the crispy pork. Her mother, Yu Juanfang, had made it. The batter was fragrant and crisp, the meat inside was tender, and it was dusted with pepper. It was savory and delicious without being greasy, and the children had nearly emptied the plate the moment it was set down.
The steamed pork with rice flour was Old Madam Zhu’s specialty. Thick slices of fatty pork were coated in rice flour, each bite tender and flavorful. The old pumpkin underneath was exceptionally sweet.
…
After dinner, the children of the third branch crowded into the south room to listen to Su Huimin tell stories from his school days.
“The Yuhuai Village Primary School was founded by the late Mr. Mei. He had studied in a landlord’s private school and saw that many of the older children in the village had no school to attend, running around in rags. He resolved to establish a village school, paying for it out of his own pocket and charging no tuition. I was already eleven or twelve when I started. In those days, after finishing four years of lower primary school in the village, we had to go to the Red Flag Commune for two years of upper primary. Yuhuai Village is over ten li from the commune, and there were no bicycles back then. Every morning, I’d drink two bowls of thin porridge, grab my books, and run to school, only returning late at night. For two years, winter and summer, I wore out more than a dozen pairs of straw sandals.”
“After graduating, I took the county-wide entrance exam for junior high and, to my surprise, was accepted with the second-highest score in the county. Your uncles didn’t pass, so the family let me continue my studies. There was no junior high at the commune then, and the one in the county seat was dozens of li away. I had to walk there, carrying a sack of dried sweet potatoes each week to give to the school cafeteria. Luckily, I could board at the school. The dorms were crowded, with broken doors and windows that let the wind whistle through. At twenty, I was admitted to a normal vocational school. I was the only student in my graduating class to get into a vocational school or a high school. After I graduated, I was assigned back here to teach at Yuhuai Village Primary School.”
Su Huimin had an honest and steady personality, which was why he had been able to focus on his studies. His only regret was that he had passed the exams for both the vocational school and a regular high school, but because the vocational school was free, he had chosen it, thereby missing his chance to go to a university.
Seeing the children listening intently, Su Huimin smiled. “Juesheng, Juexiao, Juesheng, Tangtang, all of you must study hard. In the future, you must strive to get into high school, and then take the college entrance exam to get into a university, understand?”
Su Juesheng asked curiously, “What’s a university?”
“A university is a place for higher education. It’s a place to study, to meet like-minded friends, and to cultivate your abilities. A university is romantic and free, a much wider world. After you graduate, you can use the knowledge and skills you’ve learned to realize your dreams and make greater contributions to our society and our country.”
The boys were only half-listening, as university seemed a lifetime away. But as Tangtang listened to her father speak, she felt her heart begin to beat faster, and a bold, seemingly unrealistic idea began to form in her mind.
If she had never before thought about what she wanted to do with her education, she was certain now.
One day, through her own efforts, she too would get into a university.
…
In the spring of 1966, the Yuhuai Village Primary School suddenly implemented a new educational system. Classes were held in the morning, and in the afternoon, the teachers organized labor activities. Campaigns to “learn from the military, learn from the peasants” were in full swing, creating a chaotic and noisy atmosphere.
Red flags were planted everywhere outside the school. Construction sites were established, and crowds of people swarmed like ants. The blare of high-powered speakers was constant, dust filled the air, and production slogans were chanted with feverish intensity.
In addition to their work for the production team, each household also had to send someone to work on the commune’s construction projects. Yu Juanfang had spent the entire day hauling rocks and felt that her arms no longer belonged to her. Tangtang gently massaged them for her. Su Huimin had gone to a criticism session at the county school at noon. It was now eight o’clock at night, and he still hadn’t returned.
He finally came back at eight-thirty. The children were already asleep, and Yu Juanfang was dozing against the wall.
She woke at the sound of his return. “Have you eaten?”
“Not yet.” Su Huimin took off the army-green satchel slung over his shoulder.
“I saved dinner for you in the kitchen, but it’s cold by now. I’ll go heat it up.”
Su Huimin stopped his wife as she stood. “I can heat it myself. You go on and sleep.”
“Let me. I’m quicker. You’ll get to eat a hot meal sooner.”
Hearing this, Su Huimin didn’t stop her. Yu Juanfang threw on a shirt. After sunset, the wind was chilling. The village was silent, save for the occasional bark of a dog.
She had saved him three dark flour buns and a bowl of potatoes. There was still a little water in the wok. She placed a steaming rack over it and set the buns on top of the bowl of potatoes. The steam quickly heated the food.
Su Huimin had been past the point of hunger, but the smell of the food brought it rushing back. He grabbed a bun and took a bite, but his throat was so dry from not drinking all day that he nearly choked.
“Slow down!” Yu Juanfang frowned and smacked the back of his hand, pouring him a bowl of water.
He gulped it down in one go and finally felt better.
“In a couple of days, I’ll go to the cooperative and buy you some biscuits. You can keep them in your pocket and have a bite when you’re hungry. It’s bad for your stomach to go hungry for too long.”
Under the dim candlelight, Su Huimin ate while Yu Juanfang used a needle to trim the lamp wick, making it brighter. The house was usually so noisy; it had been a long time since the two of them had sat together in such peace.
“Sigh,” Su Huimin let out a long breath.
“Why the long sigh?”
“A new directive came down. Starting this year, the universities will stop enrolling new students. Children from ordinary families will no longer be able to enter university through the Gaokao.”
Yu Juanfang wasn’t interested in such things. The Gaokao, university—these were distant concepts for a rural woman like her. “Well, the schools can’t just stay closed forever, can they? Without the Gaokao, there might be other ways to get into a university.”
For her, as long as their family was safe and together, that was all that mattered.
“It’s not the same! Cough, cough…” Su Huimin became agitated, and a piece of unchewed bun went down the wrong way. He coughed violently for a long moment, his face flushing red. “It’s not the same! The Gaokao is the fairest method of educational selection in our country today. Suspending it doesn’t just mean the universities will stop enrolling students; it means the collapse of the educational system!”
As he spoke, a look of grief crossed his face. The abolition of the Gaokao had slammed a heavy door shut on the future of this generation of hardworking rural children.
As for when that door would reopen?
The answer was perhaps… a time indefinitely far away.