Chapter 17: Writers Slack Off at Work Too

Under the shroud of night, the great mountains were swallowed in darkness; from afar, only their silhouettes or the canopies of several towering trees familiar to the locals could be made out. Fireflies danced among the wild grasses in the valleys, their glow intertwining with the stars that scattered across the sky like a jeweled tapestry.

From above, one would see that only the threshing ground of the Maiji Brigade was illuminated; elsewhere, there was not a trace of modernity to be found. In Shiling Commune, electricity had reached only the Shiling Brigade where the commune was stationed; the other twenty or thirty production brigades still relied on old-fashioned kerosene lamps.

After the movie ended, the commune members lingered on the threshing ground, reluctantly heading home, raising their voices now and then as they discussed scenes from the film. Soon after, the hillsides were filled with the crackle of branches and shrubs, mingled with laughter and playful curses—other villagers were taking shortcuts home.

"Yimin, your reputation is even better than steamed pork—thanks to you, the projection team gave us an extra show. If I join the army in the future, I want to be just like Commander Gao," said Li Lanyong, throwing his arm around Liu Yimin’s shoulders with delight.

"What if a real war breaks out?" Liu Yimin asked.

"Then I’ll be the first to fight. My big brother always says, being a soldier means fearing nothing, and if you’re afraid of death, you shouldn’t be a soldier. The Party and the people raise soldiers for a reason—so that one day, we can go to the battlefield. If I get wounded, I’ll pull the pin on a grenade and take the enemy with me," Li Lanyong replied, his words brimming with fearless resolve.

"But if I die, my father, my mother, my big brother, and my second sister will definitely be heartbroken."

"Stop dreaming of glory—you’re not worthy of being a martyr like my uncle. On the battlefield, even bullets would avoid you," Liu Yimin teased.

He did a quick calculation: If Li Lanyong joined the army this year, he’d be enlisted in December. That battle with the turncoat was in February of 1979; if Li Lanyong made it to the front, he’d be a green recruit.

Most of the troops deployed at the start of that war were second-class divisions—these were simplified, understrength units that took on many non-combat production tasks and had only half the personnel of the first-class divisions. Before deployment, they were reinforced with large numbers of new recruits. Had the fully staffed, highly trained first-class divisions been used, casualties would have been far fewer. Unfortunately, pressure in the north was too great at the time, and most of the first-class divisions were stationed there.

Liu Yimin shook his head. Whether Li Lanyong could even become a soldier this year was still uncertain.

The two parted ways by the river not long after. As Liu Yimin walked a few steps, sleepiness washed over him. He yawned, dragging his tired feet home—after riding the bicycle for so long, he was utterly exhausted.

Back home, just as he was about to sleep, Yang Xiuyun knocked on the door and handed him a remittance slip. "Yimin, keep this safe and don’t lose it."

"Mom, in a few days I’ll withdraw the money from the commune and leave some at home," Liu Yimin replied, calculating carefully. After taking the money out, he’d need to buy a bicycle first—life was too inconvenient without one. Even if he went off to school, Liu Fuqing could use it.

A brand-new Forever or Phoenix bicycle would cost about 160 yuan, leaving him with two hundred yuan or so. School wouldn’t cost much—he’d even receive a stipend from the state. Besides, he’d keep submitting work for publication; money would not be a problem.

He wanted to leave some money for the family. Liu Fuqing and Yang Xiuyun had lived a life of frugality; it was time they enjoyed some comfort. The trouble was, everything required tickets—bicycle tickets were especially hard to come by in the countryside, and other ration coupons were just as scarce. Even with money, there weren’t many places to spend it.

"You keep the money you earn. A young man can’t go around with empty pockets. Your father and I have money, and your big brother sends money home all the time—you don’t need to worry," Yang Xiuyun said, looking at Liu Yimin with satisfaction. At last, she no longer had to worry about her second son’s employment.

"If big brother sends money, so must I. He works too hard for it," Liu Yimin replied.

He had visited Liu Yiguo at the coal mine once. When he saw his brother, he had just come up from the shaft, covered in coal dust. Working conditions underground were harsh, and accidents were common.

Even so, finding such work was no easy feat. Rural folk without urban registration found it nearly impossible to secure a recruitment certificate. Because their uncle was a martyr and had no children, the authorities had given the family a special recruitment quota.

When Yang Xiuyun first saw the recruitment certificate, she was both happy and worried. Truth be told, the only happy moment was when she received the certificate.

While working at the mine, Liu Yiguo sent most of his earnings home, living frugally himself.

What worried Yang Xiuyun and Liu Fuqing most was that it was nearly impossible to find a wife at the mine. At the mere mention of a coal miner, most girls from decent families refused to marry. People joked that coal miners ate the food of the living but did the work of the dead.

After Yang Xiuyun left, Liu Yimin tumbled into bed and fell into a deep sleep. Normally, the summer heat would have forced him to wage a long battle of wits with the mosquitoes before he could fall asleep, but tonight, there was no such struggle.

When he woke the next day, his thighs ached dully. He pushed open the door to see the sun already high in the sky—Liu Fuqing had long since gone to work and hadn’t called him to join.

School was out for the holidays, the junior high class had been disbanded, and Liu Yimin sat on the threshold for a long time, uncertain what to do, not knowing when the exam results would come out.

After a while, he got up and went to the kitchen to cook, so that Yang Xiuyun and Liu Fuqing could eat as soon as they finished work.

The kitchen was a small earthen hut, its roof supported by wooden poles, atop which was a layer of wheat straw mixed with yellow mud. Inside, space was tight—two people could barely turn around without bumping into each other. The walls were blackened and gleaming from years of firewood smoke.

The days that followed blended into one another. Liu Yimin waited for his results and went to work with Liu Fuqing. The commune members often stared at him, then huddled together to discuss.

"This writer working the fields is no different from the rest of us—if anything, he slacks off even more," they’d say.

On the morning of August 1st, Liu Yimin had just gotten up when he spotted Liu Yiguo standing in the courtyard. Liu Yiguo was about the same height as Liu Yimin, but years of hard labor had made him sturdier.

He wore a white vest with bold red letters reading "Dig Coal for the Motherland." When he saw Liu Yimin, he turned at once, grinning broadly as he looked him up and down.

"Yimin, well done! Dad called to tell me all about it. Impressive! Sometimes at the mine, I read the mine’s newspaper. I used to wonder if you’d ever publish an article in the paper, given how much you love to write—and now you have.

"I asked the clerk at the mine, and he said being published in 'People’s Literature and Art' is a huge deal—you’ve broken the county’s record for writers!"

With that, Liu Yiguo happily pulled a box from his pants pocket and handed it to Liu Yimin.