Chapter 7

In the summer of 1958, following the Beidaihe Conference, the central government called on the masses nationwide to establish People’s Communes and set up communal canteens.

This sparked a vigorous movement for the establishment of People’s Communes across the country.

The Yunshui County Government was restructured as the County Party Committee, dividing the area into more than twenty communes of various sizes.

Several courtyards under the steel mill were merged to form the Yunshui County Second Commune, while residents of neighboring Guihua Alley became part of the Third Commune.

Starting next week, the streets would run communal canteens, and everyone would dine there. Director Ge proclaimed that the communal canteen would serve delicious meals every day, including braised fish, white rice, and an unlimited supply of white steamed buns.

Once the communal canteen started, families would no longer need their iron pots.

The authorities encouraged everyone to bring their unused iron pots, hoes, and other scrap metal to the street committee to support the nation’s steel production.

When Zhang Cuilan returned, she discussed it with Lin Yao, “Yao Yao, the authorities are asking us to donate iron and steel. Our family has two iron pots, one new and one old. The old one has a hole at the bottom and hasn’t been used in ages. Should we donate both?”

Gu Chunmei, who was in her room styling her hair, chimed in. She had recently gotten a perm at the salon and was admiring her new curls in the mirror. “Mom, just donate them both. Now that we’re eating at the communal canteen, we don’t need the pots anymore.”

Lin Yao’s alarm bells immediately rang, “Sister Chunmei, this is not allowed.”

The communal canteens wouldn’t last long.

Soon after, there would be a severe drought not seen in decades, compounded by a fallout with the Soviet Union, leading to the three years of hardship.

Lin Yao couldn’t help but feel relieved. Fortunately, her space supermarket was stocked with tons of rice and flour, piled high like small mountains. With such an abundant supply, feeding herself, or even the entire Gu family of five, for decades wouldn’t be a problem.

With rice and flour available, cooking still required a good iron pot!

She quickly offered her suggestion, “Auntie, as the saying goes, better safe than sorry. Let’s donate the old pot and keep the new one. It’s a good pot, and food tastes so much better when cooked in it.”

Hearing this, Zhang Cuilan agreed. She rummaged through the house, taking the broken pot and two rusty axes to the commune.

Meanwhile, Uncle Mancang was working at the steel mill, and their mischievous son Dongzi was nowhere to be found. Lin Yao sat quietly in her room reading and thinking about knitting woolen gloves for everyone in the family when winter came.

Gu Chunmei continued fussing over her curls.

It was not enough for her to do it by herself, she excitedly tried to persuade Lin Yao to get a perm as well.

Lin Yao’s mouth twitched, and she bolted out of the room.

That evening, the commune secretary and local leaders held an enthusiastic mobilization meeting. As an outstanding senior employee of the steel mill and head of the Gu household, Gu Mancang was honored with the opportunity to give a speech.

Gu Mancang was stunned when he heard this. He had been born in the old society when his father fought in the war, and his mother struggled to raise him while eating wild vegetable cakes and bean curd residue to survive.

Having barely attended school, Gu Mancang joined a literacy class after liberation to improve alongside the younger workers. His mother, still alive at the time, had scoffed at the idea.

“You want to join a literacy class?” she asked, slamming her cane on the ground. “Fine, let me test you. What is a carrying pole when it falls?”

Gu Mancang was puzzled. A fallen pole is still a pole, isn’t it? How could it become something else? Surely not a golden pole?

When Zhang Cuilan returned from the pigsty, her mother-in-law posed the same question to her.

Zhang Cuilan, unimpressed, replied, “A fallen pole is a one. Even a five-year-old knows that. Which idiot can’t answer that?”^[1]In Chinese culture, this riddle is a wordplay rooted in the way Chinese characters are written. When a carrying pole (担, pronounced “dàn”) is upright, it visually resembles its … Continue reading

Idiot Gu Mancang: “…”

Feeling inadequate, Gu Mancang focused on being a diligent fifth-level fitter instead of giving speeches or taking leadership roles.

He adamantly refused to go on stage, shaking his head like a rattle drum.

The street committee member who came to inform him was exasperated.

“Uncle, giving a speech is such an honor. Why wouldn’t you want to go?”

“Director Ge said that one speech brings honor to the entire family!”

“By the way, Auntie, there’s a reward for giving a speech—half a jin of brown sugar!”

Zhang Cuilan’s eyes lit up. With finality, she declared, “Go! This is a mission from the Party. Our Gu family is loyal to the nation! For half a jin of brown sugar, we’ll go for sure. Xiao Ding, you can let them know—we’ll participate.”

Street Committee Member Xiao Ding: “…”

Fine, as long as Auntie agrees.

He could also give the director an explanation when he returned.

Xiao Ding, the cadre, wiped his face, and his twenty-year-old figure looked particularly worn out against the backdrop of the setting sun.

Lin Yao sympathetically watched Xiao Ding leave. This unlucky kid had suffered a lot of blows today.

Gu Mancang tried to reason with his wife again. Rubbing his large hands, he was about to say something, “Cuilan, I have something to say…”

Zhang Cuilan shot him a glare. “What nonsense do you have to say! Whatever you want to say today, swallow it back! What, you can’t write a speech? It’s no big deal. Yao Yao is educated, let her write you a speech. Just memorize it like a blueprint. Yao Yao, what do you think?”

Lin Yao, who was called out: “…It’s not impossible, but will Uncle Mancang agree?”

Zhang Cuilan said that if Comrade Gu Mancang didn’t agree, she’d make sure he understood why flowers are so red!

“……”

Comrade Gu Mancang didn’t want to know why flowers were so red.

Lin Yao quickly wrote a concise speech. Gu Mancang memorized it word by word, and also asked his youngest son to be the audience.

Lin Yao taught Uncle Mancang a trick: when going on stage, treat the audience as silent, short winter melons. If you talk to the commune members nervously, pretend they are short winter melons. Maybe you won’t feel as nervous.

So, the mobilization meeting that night was exceptionally successful.

Director Ge began with an uplifting opening speech, saying things like “The People’s Commune is great, and happiness lasts forever,” “No cost for meals, just work hard to produce.” The applause from the commune members was thunderous.

Gu Mancang was the first to give his speech. Although it wasn’t as eloquent as Director Ge’s, and his speech was a bit stuttered, it was brief and to the point. These days, most people hadn’t had much education, so when the others spoke, their flowery language made everyone’s head ache.

No one understood what nonsense they were saying!

Everyone gave five-point applause for Director Ge and Gu Mancang, while the others received only sparse applause—it was just for show.

In short, the mobilization meeting ended successfully.

Director Ge was very satisfied with it, especially with Gu Mancang. He specifically praised the Gu family.

As a reward, the Gu family received half a jin (about 250 grams) of extra white sugar.

That day, the Gu family was as joyful as if it were the New Year.

Early the next morning, Zhang Cuilan decided to be generous and went to the supply and marketing cooperative to buy some pork belly, a good mix of fat and lean. She originally wanted to take some pork from the pig farm, as the pigs raised there were far better than those raised at home. The pig farm fed them with bean dregs and cakes, and the pigs ate well, so the meat was also delicious.

But luck wasn’t on her side. A few days ago, the pig farm had just slaughtered two pigs, and before the meat could be warmed up, it was snatched up.

So, Zhang Cuilan had to get up early and queue at the cooperative to buy meat. She hurriedly took it home before heading to work.

Gu Shidong kept the meat fresh by placing it in well water, and around midday, Lin Yao called him to bring the meat up. She and Gu Chunmei each grabbed a knife. After cleaning the pork belly, they finely chopped it and mixed it with wood ear mushrooms and dried shiitake mushrooms that Zhang’s uncle had sent from the countryside earlier in the year. They soaked and boiled the mushrooms, then mixed them with spinach to make a stuffing, adding sweet bean paste, green onions, and ginger, and stir-frying the filling. They wrapped the mixture into dumplings with fragrant shiitake mushroom sauce.

In those days, common people liked to buy fatty pork. It had to be the kind that was so greasy that a single cut would make oil drip down. This fatty pork was rendered into lard, and the extra lard was stored in a jar.

In the large courtyard, when the housewives fried rice, they would dip a piece of gauze in the lard jar and rub it on the pot, then use it to stir-fry vegetables. That was how they added oil. The resulting dishes tasted bland and were as unappetizing as boiled vegetables.

Even if it tasted awful, they had to eat it.

After all, everyone was poor.

If they didn’t eat like that, they’d starve to death.

So, when anyone had meat tickets, they liked to buy fatty pork because it was a good deal.

Lin Yao herself preferred lighter foods, but considering the tastes of the Gu family, she added a spoonful of lard to the filling.

The large pot in the Gu family’s kitchen steamed for a few minutes. By the time the steel factory workers were off work, the scent of mushroom meat dumplings had already wafted far away.

The steel mill workers earned good wages, but they weren’t rich enough to afford meat dumplings unless it was a special occasion. Moreover, the commune canteen was about to open, and many people were waiting to eat the government-supplied food.

Which wife would be crazy enough to make such delicious dumplings, especially with meat?

Were they not going to live well anymore?

Zheng Dacheng’s wife from the front yard of the courtyard was walking home with a basket, her face downcast.

Her vegetables were criticized for being stale, and she failed to “sneak” steamed buns from the factory canteen. She was upset.

As soon as she entered the yard, she smelled the fragrance in the air. Zheng Dacheng’s wife sniffed and spat on the ground, “Pah, showing off! Only your Gu family has meat tickets to buy meat, huh? A poor, fifth-grade fitter. My Dacheng is a chef at the factory canteen. Tomorrow, we’ll close the door and eat pig’s feet!”

Since tomorrow was the day the commune canteen would open, Gu Mancang came home earlier than usual.

Gu Shidong kept swallowing his saliva, staring at the dumplings in the pot.

Just as the Gu family was about to wash their hands and eat, an old man from the steel factory’s gate came to call.

“Mancang, there’s a phone call for you, it’s from the army!”