Chapter 607: Saving Life is Important
The biting north wind blew the broken snow across the adobe walls of Zhoujiazhuang. Zhou Yimin walked on the icy stone road, taking two steps at a time to hurry to the old party secretary's house.
The hem of his cotton-padded jacket was lifted by the wind, and the cold air that poured into his collar made him shrink his neck involuntarily. However, the residual warmth of the telephone receiver in his palm reminded him of the urgency of the situation.
Pushing open the wooden door of the old branch secretary's house, the firewood in the stove was crackling and sparks were flying up the chimney.
The old branch secretary sat on the edge of the kang, rubbing his pipe repeatedly in his palm, and a long piece of ash accumulated in the pipe bowl.
"Old Party Secretary!" Zhou Yimin stepped over the threshold, and the white air he exhaled condensed into tiny water droplets in the house.
"The truck from the steel mill will arrive the day after tomorrow, but it will only take two hours to load!"
The old branch secretary's pipe fell onto the kang table with a clang.
He slammed his calloused hands on the edge of the kang, shaking the kerosene lamp. "Two hours?!"
The old branch secretary was thinking that two hours was a bit tight, but if he gritted his teeth, he could still finish it. At most he could just send more people and start picking earlier.
"Yimin, it's getting late now, why don't you stay for dinner?"
Zhou Yimin declined the old branch secretary's invitation to stay for dinner and turned around and stepped into the snow.
The cold wind blew scattered snow particles onto Zhou Yimin's face, and he wrapped himself tightly in his cotton-padded jacket and walked home.
When passing by the old locust tree at the entrance of the village, I suddenly heard a series of tinkling sounds. Looking in the direction of the sound, I saw Lai Fu and a few young people gathered together.
"Laifu, what are you doing?"
Lai Fu was frightened by the sudden voice. He turned around and saw Zhou Yimin, who greeted him enthusiastically: "Big Brother!"
He grabbed the homemade ice can at his feet, the tip of the can gleaming coldly in the sun, and shook it casually: "Brother, we're going to play ice can, do you want to join us?"
Bingga, also known as spinning top, ice monkey or ice game, is a traditional children's ice game popular in Northeast China.
The gameplay is to whip the wooden ice hockey stick with a whip to make it spin on the ice surface, usually including racing, collision and other competitive forms.
According to historical records, Chuobingga originated in the Qing Dynasty. It was first popular among the children of aristocrats and later spread to the general public.
As a special winter entertainment activity, ice-sucking is widely carried out in natural ice rinks in Northeast China. It is both competitive and interesting and is still popular among the people.
The core prop of Bingga is a wooden Bingga, which is usually a round pointed bottom structure with iron nails or round iron beads embedded in the bottom to reduce friction.
There is a circle of concave carving in the middle of the Bingga, which is used to wrap the whip rope.
During the game, the player wraps the whip rope around the concave part, places it on the ice surface, swings it, and continuously whips it to keep the ice spinning.
Common ways to play include competing for rotation speed or duration, and stopping the opponent's ice by collision.
The young men behind him blushed and gripped the cowhide whips hidden behind their backs even tighter.
Zhou Yimin's eyes swept across the corner of the wooden board exposed in the carriage, then looked at the evasive eyes of the teenagers, and finally fell on the back of Lai Fu's hand that was cracked from the cold.
He exhaled white mist, rubbed his hands, and said with a smile: "I don't want to play, you guys can play! But you have to be safe while playing."
As he spoke, he bent down and picked up the ice that had rolled to his feet. The metal spike felt heavy in his palm. "There are many cracks on the ice. Don't run to the center of the lake."
Lai Fu nodded quickly, biting his lower lip with his back teeth until it almost bled - what was hidden in the carriage were clearly modified sled parts. He had wanted to test them secretly without telling the adults, but now he was almost exposed.
Seeing Zhou Yimin turning around to leave, he blurted out: "Don't worry, brother! We'll play on the ice at the entrance of the village!"
"Laifu, come over for dinner tonight!" When Zhou Yimin's voice was carried by the wind, the young man froze in place.
Memories suddenly came to my mind. The braised pork I had at Zhou's house last time was fat but not greasy, the ribs were stewed until so soft that the bone marrow was soaked with oil, and even the white rice was coated with the aroma of lard.
He swallowed and said in a trembling voice: "Okay, big brother!"
When Zhou Yimin's back disappeared in the snow and fog, Lai Fu excitedly kicked his dazed partner beside him and said, "Let's go! Let's go play ice hockey!"
The young men cheered and rushed towards the ice. The sound of the cowhide whip breaking through the air startled the sparrows under the eaves. The ice chips raised by the spinning ice formed tiny galaxies in the sunlight.
As the setting sun dyed the ice surface amber, Lai Fu's bullwhip was still waving in the air.
Bingga was spinning rapidly in the circle formed by the crowd, and the ice chips it brought up splashed on the trouser legs and instantly solidified into white frost.
"One more round!"
The shouts of his companions mixed with the cold wind poured into his ears, but he stared at the sun setting in the distant valley, thinking about Zhou Yimin's invitation.
At this time of day or so, he would play until the moon climbed above the treetops before going home, but today, the hand holding the whip loosened unconsciously.
"I have to go first!" Lai Fu shouted at the top of his lungs, his voice echoing on the empty ice surface.
His teammates booed in disappointment, but he ignored them and ran home on the ice.
The cotton shoes rubbed against the ice, making a "crunching" sound, and the white mist exhaled condensed into tiny ice crystals before my eyes.
When I pushed open the wooden door of my house, the firewood in the stove was crackling. My mother was kneading dough by the stove, and the flour fell onto her apron.
"Dad! My eldest brother asked us to go to his house for dinner!" Lai Fu shook off the snow on his shoes and rushed into the inner room without even taking off his cotton jacket.
Zhou Xuqiang sat on the kang and scratched his chin with his calloused hands: "Got it, wash your face and wait."
He said it casually, but quietly sped up his action of mending the net. From the corner of his eye he saw his son walking around the stove, his red nose almost touching the steamer.
When dusk completely enveloped the village, Zhou Xuqiang and his family of four walked out on the snow.
Lai Fu walked in the front, and his cotton shoes deliberately made a "clicking" sound, which made his sister giggle.
When passing by the threshing ground, he saw his friends still whipping bingga. The sound of the cowhide whip breaking through the air mixed with the noise of laughter, but he did not feel sorry at all - after all, at this moment, what was more tempting than the bingga was the fragrant stove in Zhou Yimin's house.
The cold wind blew snow particles onto his face, but he walked faster and faster, as if he could already smell the sweet aroma of the braised pork and hear the crisp sound of the enamel bowls colliding.
As soon as the cotton door curtain of Zhou Xuqiang's house was lifted, the cold air wrapped in snow particles rushed into the main room, but dissipated instantly when it touched the hot air rising from the stove.
Zhou Yimin's grandmother was squatting in front of the stove adding firewood. Sparks flew up the chimney to the beams, causing the ice crystals on Lai Fu's nose to melt.
Zhou Xuqiang's wife put Lai Di in her arms on the head of the kang without saying a word, rolled up her sleeves and went into the kitchen.
Washed vegetables were placed on the earthen stove, water droplets shone silvery under the kerosene lamp, and the fungus soaked in the ceramic basin looked like black peonies.
When she picked up the kitchen knife to cut the onions and ginger, the blade and the chopping board made a crisp rhythm, startling the baby birds in the swallow's nest on the beam and making them flap their wings.
Zhou Yimin's grandmother poured lard into the hot pot, and with a "sizzling" sound, the aroma of sautéed green onions instantly filled the whole house.
"Auntie, look at this braised pork!" Zhou Xuqiang's wife lifted the lid of the casserole, and steam gushed out with a sweet sugary aroma. The fat and lean pieces of meat bubbled in the sauce, and the fat on the skin trembled with the heat.
Zhou Yimin's grandmother poked the pork skin with chopsticks and nodded with satisfaction: "The heat is just right. It will be more flavorful if it is stewed for a while longer."
The two of them cooperated well, one was stir-frying the vegetables while the other added hard firewood to the stove. The firelight cast their shadows on the earthen wall, making them look like the two immortals of harmony and unity in the New Year pictures.
Lai Fu in the inner room couldn't sit still any longer.
He clung to the kitchen door frame, his nose tip almost touching the rising steam, his Adam's apple rolling up and down uncontrollably.
The younger brother came and grabbed his sleeve, muttering softly: "Brother, I smell the aroma of meat."
My younger sister Lai Di was lying on the edge of the kang, pointing with her little hand at the dishes and chopsticks placed on the table - there was white rice in the blue-rimmed porcelain bowl, and a piece of crystal lard was lying on the rice grains.
Zhou Yimin was holding Qianqian, whom he hadn't seen for a while. Qianqian was already over one year old and could walk.
Qianqian was staggering in front, and Zhou Yimin followed behind, fearing that Qianqian would lose her balance and fall.
Time passed quickly. When the last stewed fish was served on the table, milky white soup overflowed from the moment the fish meat was broken. Lai Fu felt that his saliva almost dripped onto his shoes. He hurriedly wiped his mouth with his sleeve, but caught a glimpse of his sister's bright eyes, which reflected the flickering candlelight and swaying aroma of food on the dining table.
The kerosene lamp on the eight-immortals table cast a warm yellow glow across the entire tabletop, and the rising heat condensed into water droplets on the glass lampshade.
As soon as Zhou Yimin brought the greasy braised pork to the table, Lai Fu's Adam's apple began to roll up and down uncontrollably, his nose tip almost touching the edge of the bowl. The pork skin was trembling with thick sauce, shining an amber color under the light.
Lai Cai's hand holding the chopsticks was shaking slightly. He stared at the ribs bubbling in the casserole. Even the sound of swallowing his saliva was particularly clear.
"Let's eat!" Before Zhou Yimin's grandmother finished speaking, Lai Fu had already picked up the trembling piece of meat.
The moment he bit down, the soft and glutinous meat skin melted on the tip of his tongue, and the sweet and salty sauce slid down his throat, burning him so much that he gasped, but he was reluctant to let go.
He didn't care about his burned lips and started to chew the ribs impatiently. The marrow was sucked out with a "whoosh", and he didn't even notice the oil splashing on his coarse cloth.
Lai Di held a bowl that was bigger than her face. There was trembling fish meat piled on the white rice, and the rice grains were wrapped in milky white fish soup. She ate with the soup covering the corners of her mouth, like a kitten stealing fishy food.
Zhou Xuqiang and his wife just picked up the dishes with a smile and added more rice to the children from time to time.
Zhou Yimin put a piece of the most delicious Dongpo pork into Lai Fu's bowl and said, "Eat slowly, there's more in the pot!"
Before he finished speaking, Lai Fu had already stuffed the meat into his mouth, mumbling "delicious".
His cheeks were bulging as if they were stuffed with walnuts.
Lai had just finished gnawing on the last bone, licking her fingers reluctantly, her eyes fixed on the casserole. Lai Di held the empty bowl and looked at Zhou Yimin eagerly: "Brother, can I have another half bowl of rice?"
The firewood in the stove crackled, mixed with the sound of bowls and chopsticks colliding and sighs of satisfaction.
Lai Fu unbuttoned his cotton-padded jacket, slumped back in his chair, touching his round belly, and burped with a meaty burp.
In the glow of the kerosene lamp, the three siblings’ shiny lips and bulging bellies showed the joy of the feast clearly on their faces.
The day agreed with the steel plant arrived. At dawn, the sound of Zhoujiazhuang's bangzi cut through the cold night, startling the crows roosting on the treetops.
The old branch secretary was wearing a patched cotton jacket, and he pounded his jujube wood walking stick on the icy stone road, urging everyone, "Hurry up!"
More than twenty villagers carried bamboo baskets and burlap bags and rushed to the greenhouse, breathing out white air. The soles of their shoes rubbed against the frozen soil, making a "crunching" sound.
The ice flowers condensed on the plastic film of the greenhouse reflected tiny rays of light in the morning light. The old branch secretary lifted the thick cotton curtain, and hot air blew in his face with the fragrance of soil and vegetable leaves.
"Hiss" Erzhu tore open the collar of his cotton jacket, and his coarse cloth shirt was instantly soaked with sweat.
"It's warmer than the warm bed at home!" Everyone took off their scarves and gloves, and some even rolled up their sleeves.
Zhou Dahui touched the green peppers hanging on the vines, and water drops slid down his fingers: "At this temperature, the vegetables will grow fast!"
The picking work started instantly.
Zhang's wife stood on tiptoe to pick the cucumbers with flowers and thorns on them. Soon the bamboo basket was filled with emerald cucumbers. Wang Quezi half-knelt on the ground and cut the lettuce close to the roots with scissors. The fresh and tender leaves trembled slightly in the basket.
Zhou Dahui was in charge of the loading. His shoulders ached from the sacks filled with cabbage stalks, but he gritted his teeth and trotted: "The old branch secretary said that time is tight for loading, so we have to hurry!"
The old branch secretary stood at the entrance of the shed holding an enamel pot, his cloudy eyes closely following the progress.
When the first ray of sunlight climbed up the plastic film, he took out his old pocket watch and looked at it. The pipe bowl made a rapid sound on the rim of the pipe: "Everyone, work harder! In another hour, the steel plant's truck should be here!"
Before he finished speaking, there were responses from the shed, the clicking sound of scissors, the rustling of vegetable leaves, and the heavy breathing of the villagers.
When the morning light slanted into the greenhouse, the moment Zhou Yimin lifted the cotton curtain, the hot and humid smell of vegetables mixed with turbid air hit him in the face.
The shed was filled with mist, and the inner wall of the plastic film was covered with water droplets that formed streams, dripping onto the tender green leaves. He glanced at the tightly closed vents, and his heart suddenly tightened. The hemp rope tied the curtain tightly, and the air in the shed had already stagnated.
"Untie the curtain quickly!" He rushed forward in two steps, pulling the knot hard with his frozen fingers.
When the biting cold wind blew in, the villagers who were picking fruits shivered.
Zhou Dahui straightened up, the sweat on his forehead instantly condensed into ice, and he rubbed his arms in confusion: "Uncle Sixteen, the cold wind is blowing in, everyone is going to freeze!"
There were echoes from the shed. Zhang's wife hurriedly pulled her cotton jacket tighter. Wang Quezi muttered, "We finally managed to warm up the shed."
Zhou Yimin wiped the sweat from his forehead and pointed at the water film condensed on the leaves: "Look at these leaves, the water vapor can't dissipate, it will rot in less than half a day. What's more important is..."
He paused, his eyes sweeping across everyone's puzzled faces: "We work in there, and the air we exhale contains carbon dioxide. If too much of this stuff accumulates, people will be poisoned if they stay there for too long!"
"Poisoned?" Zhou Dahui's hand holding the vegetable basket trembled slightly.
“What is carbon dioxide poisoning?”
"Just like." Zhou Yimin thought for a moment, took out a lighter from his pocket and lit the paper. The flame quickly became weak in the closed shed.
"Look, if the air doesn't circulate, the fire won't burn well. If people inhale too much of this kind of air, they will feel dizzy and have chest tightness. In serious cases, they will also..."
His unfinished words caused the shed to fall silent instantly, with only the sound of the cold wind whistling through the vents.
The old branch secretary banged his pipe against the door frame: "Yimin knows more than we eat salt! Don't complain about the cold, it's more important to keep the food and people alive!"
As he spoke, he personally untied the curtain on the other side. The biting wind blew in snow particles, but it blew away the stagnant heat.
Zhou Yimin looked at the seedlings that had straightened their backs again and shouted in a louder voice, "It's a bit cold, but we have protected both the vegetables and our lives!"
(End of this chapter)
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