Chapter 16: So He Was the School’s Donkey
As dusk fell, the last streak of cloud on the horizon finally vanished. The air above the Liu household was thick with the rich aroma of oil, making neighbors of all ages salivate uncontrollably.
“How much oil did the captain’s family use to bake those oily flatbreads?” a cooperative member leaned lazily against their kitchen doorway, nose pointed toward the Liu house, greedily inhaling the fragrant air.
“There’s something to celebrate at the captain’s place, but the amount of oil they’re using is outrageous. How will they manage in the future?”
Oily flatbread was one of the few delicacies rural families in western Henan could offer. In times when meat was scarce, it was the most coveted food. Oil was poured onto the griddle, and the bread baked until golden and crispy, with chopped scallions folded inside.
It tasted of fragrant oil and fresh scallions—a delight, if only it weren’t so wasteful. The Liu family rarely made it, but today Yang Xiuyun used even more oil than usual.
She added a spoonful of pork fat to the stir-fried vegetables, a true leap forward in their daily life.
The family sat together in the center of the courtyard, enjoying their meal. Yang Xiuyun picked up a piping hot flatbread, blew gently to cool it, and quickly tore it in half—one piece handed to Liu Fuqing, the other to Liu Yimin.
“Yimin, try it. See how it tastes. With all this oil, it’s different—look how golden it is, glistening with oil,” Yang Xiuyun said with a smile.
Only after seeing Liu Yimin take a bite and declare it delicious did she tear off a piece for herself, still smiling.
“Yimin, your father and I don’t understand anything about being a writer. The path ahead is yours to walk. We don’t ask for riches, just don’t go against policy,” Yang Xiuyun said, worried.
Of writers, Yang Xiuyun knew only the word “writer,” nothing more.
As they ate, Li Lanyong and Li Dashan pushed open the gate and entered. Li Lanyong grinned so wide his lips barely contained his teeth.
Liu Fuqing and his wife took flatbreads from the sorghum rack and offered them to the guests, who waved them away. Li Lanyong patted his belly and said, “The film crew ate at my place today, so I got to enjoy a good meal along with them.”
The “rack” was a container made from sorghum stalks: two stalks crossed and sewn together, more added one by one, finally trimmed into a circle with scissors. Rural folk used it to hold flatbreads or dumplings.
Whenever the film crew visited to show movies, the brigade treated them to good food and drink, worried they might not show the films otherwise. Sometimes, if they were well entertained, they’d add a free screening, though the brigade never got one.
Li Dashan only hoped the crew would dutifully show the films.
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“Yimin, what kind of novel are you writing?” Li Lanyong asked, curious.
Li Dashan and Liu Fuqing wanted to know too.
“The novel is called ‘Lu the Water Donkey’!”
“Donkey, I know. Yimin, are you writing about our brigade’s donkey, or the commune’s?” Li Dashan asked.
Liu Fuqing jumped in, “It must be our brigade’s donkey; Yimin’s never seen the commune’s donkey.”
Liu Yimin, helpless, explained the story to them, saying he found inspiration in the abandoned primary school at the commune. He talked for a long while, but only Li Lanyong understood.
Liu Fuqing and Li Dashan exchanged glances—so it was about the donkey at the school before liberation. Suddenly, it seemed less interesting; if it were the brigade’s donkey, they could at least chat about which breed and color were best.
After dinner, Liu Yimin meant to sleep, but Li Lanyong insisted on dragging him out to watch the movie.
When they reached the threshing ground, the crowd was impenetrable, but as secretary and brigade captain, Liu Fuqing and Li Dashan already had seats reserved in the front row.
Li Lanyong had also arranged spots for Liu Yimin and himself, squeezing through the crowd.
“Make way!” Li Lanyong kicked a boy standing unmoving ahead of him.
The boy turned and glared, eyes fierce, as if ready to fight.
“Oh, getting bold, are you?” Li Lanyong teased.
A few young men surnamed Li and Liu nearby noticed and quietly edged closer. The boy’s surname was Han, son of Han Shaomin, the captain of Team One, named Han Deqiang.
The rivalry between the three surnames ran deep, and the children didn’t get along, often fighting.
Han Deqiang glanced warily at Liu Yimin, slowly stepped aside, and signaled to several Han youths nearby.
The film crew had erected two wooden posts in the middle of the threshing ground, attached a screen, and set up the projector at the right distance. Before the movie, they played a ten-minute news digest, much like the era’s news broadcast.
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[1978 No. 23 News Digest: 1. The 1978 university entrance exam will be held on July 20. All local admissions offices are called to ensure proper preparations for candidates, thoroughly implementing directives regarding political review. No violations are permitted. The Ministry of Education affirmed last year’s enrollment achievements and criticized the view that “selective admission only widens the three great disparities.” 2. Guangming Daily published a guest commentator’s article—“Practice Is the Sole Criterion for Truth”—sparked nationwide debate. 3. The Ministry of Foreign Affairs released a statement on the issue of YN expelling overseas Chinese, solemnly protesting the large-scale actions since early April. 4. On March 16, Italian Prime Minister Moro was kidnapped by the Red Brigades. After fifty-five days, he was killed on May 16.]
The news digest was not live, unlike later broadcasts, so most news was outdated, the latest nearly a month old.
After the digest ended, Li Dashan stood and announced loudly, “I have news from our Maiji Brigade. Liu Fuqing’s second son, Liu Yimin, has become a writer. This is not only an honor for Maiji Brigade, but for the County Revolutionary Committee and Shiling Commune as well.
We should learn from Yimin, balancing revolutionary and academic pursuits, working in the fields and writing at the same time. That’s all I have to say—enjoy the movie!”
People from other brigades who’d come for the movie were shocked, while Maiji Brigade members glanced smugly at them and thought, “How ignorant!”
“Is it necessary? Making it known everywhere?” Liu Yimin said, exasperated.
“Come on, at least my father didn’t mention you wrote about the donkey at the school before liberation.”
The murmurs of the various brigades were soon drowned by the sound of the movie, everyone’s attention drawn to the screen, watching scenes of blowing up enemy soldiers, with bursts of laughter and occasional curses: “Blow those little devils to bits!”
A war film, “Landmine Warfare,” followed by a play, “Chaoyang Valley”—both favorites among young and old.
When “Chaoyang Valley” finished and the audience was about to disperse, the film crew stood on benches and shouted, “To celebrate Maiji Brigade producing a writer, we’ll show an extra film—‘Campaigns North and South’!”