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Just after Qingming Festival, Tianjing Village had become busy again.
As the saying goes, “Before and after Qingming, plant melons and beans.” During the day, the villagers were busy working in the communal fields, and even in the early morning or after finishing their work, they still tended to their private plots.
Outside the village, the fields buzzed with activity. Inside the village, aside from the barking of dogs and crowing of roosters, only the occasional sounds of children playing or elders scolding could be heard.
Tianjing Village was located by Yangcheng Lake. A few years ago, it had been lively thanks to the model opera “Sparks Amid the Reed Marshes.” Every adult and child in the village could hum a few lines from “Wit Battle.”
The village sat beside a river, a tributary of Yangcheng Lake, flowing east to west and splitting the village into northern and southern halves. A wooden bridge in the village connected the north and south.
It was around eight in the morning. The village was quiet. Two little girls were walking across the bridge from the south to the north.
The girls were about ten years old, each holding a handled dustpan and a wooden stick, with straw backpacks (called “chai bags” in the village) on their backs.
The taller one was Wang Xiaomei, nine years old. The shorter one was Zhu Jinhua, ten years old.
They lived on the east side of the southern village, neighbors. Their maternal grandparents were even siblings.
However, Xiaomei’s mother disliked Jinhua’s mother, a cousin known for sneaky behavior, and often told Xiaomei not to hang around Jinhua too much.
Even though Xiaomei was younger, she was taller and more assertive. Since their families were neighbors and often saw each other, she just treated Jinhua like any other playmate. After all, she’d never suffered losses when dealing with her.
Normally, nine- or ten-year-old kids in the village would be in school. Jinhua had gone for a few days last year but quit, saying she couldn’t understand the lessons. Her parents gave up trying. Because she was small, the team leader only allowed her to earn work points during harvest seasons. The rest of the time, she either stayed home or read.
All kids were subject to this rule—the minimum age for field work was thirteen. So Jinhua’s job was to help watch her grandma while she cooked. Her mother’s real reason was to keep Grandma from stealing food from their supplies.
Xiaomei, in contrast, loved to study. Unfortunately, the village only had two teachers, each covering two grades. Fifth graders went to town.
Due to limited resources, kids had to be at least eight to enroll. Xiaomei was born in September. Though technically still seven in August, she would turn eight in the second half of the year and could start school then. The rules weren’t strict back then.
Thanks to her father, a barefoot doctor, Xiaomei already knew a lot of characters.
So unlike Jinhua, she looked forward to September 1st, the start of school.
The two crossed the bridge and entered the courtyard of a home nearby.
In rural villages like this, most homes didn’t have private courtyards, so people could pass through freely.
Xiaomei and Jinhua kept their eyes on the ground. When they saw chicken droppings, they would scoop it up with the dustpan and a quick flick of the stick. Xiaomei would then dump it into her straw bag, while Jinhua would just toss it directly over her shoulder into hers.
Today was Jinhua’s idea—she invited Xiaomei to come along and pick chicken poop.
For farmers, chicken poop was valuable. It made great fertilizer for vegetables. Once dried, it didn’t even smell. Every household saved it, and kids would often go around the village collecting it.
During the farming off-season, the women’s team would even organize poop-collecting missions.
Xiaomei remembered the farthest she’d gone collecting chicken poop—into Su City itself, with her grandma.
Of course, there was no chicken poop in the city. Grandma had just used that as an excuse to visit relatives.
That relative was Wang Yanqin, a former educated youth who had been sent to their village and called Grandma her godmother. A few years back, she got into a worker-peasant-soldier university and the families stayed in touch.
That Suzhou trip opened Xiaomei’s eyes. She got a new outfit and two pretty hair clips.
When they returned, Grandma gave some chicken poop to the village team to report the “mission complete.”
Xiaomei’s mom liked collecting poop from her second sister’s house best. She’d always bring Xiaomei and her younger brother along.
That house was far away, six or seven villages over, all on foot. But Xiaomei never felt tired.
Her second aunt had a well-off home and only one daughter. Every time they visited, she’d prepare a lot of tasty food.
Xiaomei thought her aunt’s vegetables were always extra fresh and tasty. Before they left, her aunt would always fill her mom’s bag with chicken poop and even sneak in some boiled eggs, duck eggs, and roasted melon seeds.
So to Xiaomei, poop-collecting days were happy days.
Since they were out early today, the droppings weren’t dried yet and made the straw bag heavier. Xiaomei had to carry it by hand and walked slowly.
Jinhua, who had hers strapped on her back, walked faster and could find more poop ahead.
But she slowed down to walk with Xiaomei and chat.
She talked about Xiaomei’s third aunt and cousin Qingqing visiting a few days ago.
In Tianjing Village, daughters usually return home before Qingming. A few days ago, Xiaomei’s aunt and Qingqing came.
Her third uncle worked at the township agricultural station. They had only one son and one daughter, and were much better off than Xiaomei’s family.
“Xiaomei, did Qingqing give you anything?” Jinhua finally asked, unable to hold in her curiosity anymore.
“Not really,” Xiaomei replied, thinking to herself, even if she did, I wouldn’t tell you.
“I saw Qingqing wearing a black armband. Did someone die in her family?” Jinhua asked curiously.
Xiaomei glared at her. “Your family’s the one who died! That’s called mourning crepe, don’t say things when you don’t understand.”
She sighed. “Qingqing was really sad. She said someone very important died. A great man. They called him a leader. He had no children of his own and said all children in the country were his. When he died, Qingqing wore the band and bowed toward his home. She wore it again this Qingming. Sigh.”
“I wish I were a year older. Then I could go to school too. Schools helped organize the mourning. I could’ve been one of the leader’s children.”
Then she looked Jinhua up and down and added, “Why don’t you go to school? Then you could wear mourning crepe too.”
Jinhua rolled her eyes. “I don’t want to be someone else’s kid. And what’s so good about school? Isn’t it better to play at home?”
Xiaomei snapped, “I can’t talk to you!”
With that, she picked up her bag and tools and quickened her pace.
Jinhua hurried to catch up.
They bickered and laughed as they went, slowly approaching the western edge of the northern village.