Volume One, Chapter Five: The Private Plot

“Big brother, it’s so stifling in the township office, that miserable job isn’t worth keeping anyway!” Zhang Xuewen sat on the crossbar of the bicycle, letting the countryside breeze wash over him and gazing at the lush green crops along the roadside. All his previous frustrations vanished, replaced by a light, carefree mood.

But Zhang Shengli said nothing, pedaling in silence. The family had bought this secondhand bicycle just so he could get to and from work every day. Yet, after barely a dozen days on the job, he'd already been shown the door.

“That fat guy is Huang Shigui’s brother-in-law. Clearly, he got in through the back door and took your job...” Zhang Xuewen grumbled again, “Big brother, you were such a good student. If only you’d gone to high school, you’d have gotten into college for sure and become an official bigger than the county chief!”

“What are you daydreaming about?” Zhang Shengli laughed, rubbing Zhang Xuewen’s head. “If you’ve got what it takes, let’s see you get into college one day!”

“I... Just finishing middle school is enough for me. Our family... we don’t have the money for college,” Zhang Xuewen sighed like a little adult.

Though he was the youngest, he’d learned early to understand certain things.

“You haven’t even finished elementary school yet, why worry about all that?” Zhang Shengli paused, then added thoughtfully, “But now the country is opening up, life keeps getting better. As long as you study hard, your father and I will do whatever it takes to put you through college, no matter how tough it gets.”

“Alright, then I’ll study hard, get into college, become a big official, earn loads of money, and make sure our family lives well!” Zhang Xuewen nodded solemnly.

“Talk is cheap. Getting into college isn’t easy—you’ll need to work for it!” Zhang Shengli warned.

“I’ll study, I promise!” Zhang Xuewen hollered, then started chanting a rhyme the village kids liked to make up: “Study, study, study again, study well and be a cadre; become a cadre, eat white bread; eat white bread, tell white lies! Ha ha ha!”

When they returned to Yangcao Village, the folks lounging by the southern wall began to tease them.

“Well, look who’s home early—from the government office, no less!”

“It’s just after lunch, are the township leaders skipping dinner today?”

“Government workers never come home before dusk. This is odd...”

Zhang Shengli ignored them, rode straight home, and found the family had just finished their meal. Li Ying was in the kitchen helping his mother with the dishes.

“Shengli, how come you’re back so early?” Li Ying poked her head out, drying her hands. “Aren’t you supposed to cook dinner for the township leaders this afternoon?”

“Did Little Wu give you trouble and you had to bring him home?” Zhang Yongtai, squatting in the yard with a cigarette, stood up and asked.

“Uh...” Zhang Shengli hesitated before answering, “The township office doesn’t want me cooking anymore.”

“What? They don’t want you anymore?”

“You were doing just fine—why’d they let you go?”

“What happened? Did something go wrong?”

The whole family, startled, crowded into the courtyard.

Though Zhang Shengli’s job didn’t pay much, for a farming family it was precious—a half-step into the ranks of government workers, with a steady income and a bit of prestige.

“Huang Shigui, who manages logistics at the township office, said they’ve hired a proper chef, so they don’t need me as a temp anymore,” Zhang Shengli explained.

“The new chef is just Huang Shigui’s brother-in-law. He’s not any more official than you!” Zhang Xuewen fumed.

“Huang Shigui’s brother-in-law?”

At those words, everyone understood: Zhang Shengli’s job had been handed to a relative of Huang Shigui—the logistics chief at the township office, who only needed to say the word to make his brother-in-law the new chef. Even Li Yuanzheng, the postman, who had some standing at the township, couldn’t compete with that kind of influence.

“Ah! First the third child quits school, now the eldest loses his job. How is our family supposed to get through the year?” Wang Taoxiang wiped away tears.

“Ma, it was just a temp job. If they don’t want me, so be it. I’ll focus on farming,” Zhang Shengli said, unconcerned, waving off their worries. He picked up the bicycle and added, “I’m going to the vegetable plot to water the crops.”

“I’ll go with you, big brother!” Zhang Xuewen, like a little monkey, hopped onto the crossbar again.

Zhang Shengli wasn’t much of a talker, but Zhang Xuewen always stuck to him like a shadow.

The brothers rode to the “private plot” just north of the village. The private plot was a remnant from the communal days—a small piece of land each family could use to grow vegetables. After the reforms and the move to household farming, these plots technically no longer existed, but villagers still called their vegetable patches by the old name.

Zhang Shengli’s family’s plot was about half an acre, utilized to the utmost: radishes by the water channel, potatoes growing among the melons, scallions and cabbages under the tomato trellis, and a well for irrigation. Whatever the family couldn’t eat they’d sell at the market.

Their father, Zhang Yongtai, worked away in other towns most of the year, only returning for the busy planting and harvest seasons. At home, Zhang Shengli managed the farm work with his mother and siblings.

Zhang Shengli tended the plot as carefully as an embroiderer working on silk—thinning, fertilizing, weeding, watering. The crowded rows of vegetables thrived, providing more than enough for the family and some to sell.

He came to the plot to water whenever he could, worried the plants might go thirsty. Qinghu Township sat on the edge of the Tengger Desert, with an annual rainfall of just 110 millimeters and evaporation of 2,600 millimeters—a place of severe drought.

Beside the plot was a lever well, an ancient device for drawing water—a crossbeam balanced on a forked post, with a lump of clay for counterweight on one end and the draw pole on the other. Zhang Shengli took off his jacket, fished a red willow basket from under the tomato trellis, tied it to the end of the pole, and began to water the crops.

Though the lever made it easier, the autumn sun was fierce. After a short while, Zhang Shengli was drenched in sweat, his white undershirt soaked through, so he stripped it off.

“Shengli, why’d you take your shirt off? Don’t catch a chill,” Li Ying called, cycling up on her “Flying Pigeon” bicycle.

“It’s nothing—just hot from working.”

He gave her a small, embarrassed smile. They’d played together since they were toddlers, but now they were older, and being seen bare-chested by Li Ying still made him self-conscious.

Li Ying blushed as she saw his strong, bronzed muscles. Fortunately, Zhang Xuewen, who had been catching beetles in the field, ran over and broke the awkward silence. “Yingzi, what brings you here?”

“I came to deliver some news...” Li Ying steadied herself and sighed. “My father rode his motorbike to the township to ask around. They said they really have hired Huang Shigui’s cousin as the cook. Shengli won’t be cooking there anymore...”

“No need to ask. It was just a temp job. If they don’t want me, I’ll just focus on farming.” Zhang Shengli spat in his hands, hefted a basket of water, and poured it expertly into the channel, using just enough strength without wasting energy.

“Exactly—farming is free and easy, better than bowing and scraping to them!” Zhang Xuewen chimed in.

“Yes, let’s just work our land and live honest lives,” Li Ying said, smiling at Zhang Shengli. She picked up his shirt and jacket and tossed them into the water channel. “Your clothes are all sweaty. Let me wash them for you.”

“Alright,” Zhang Shengli agreed, and bent back to his work, drawing water for the fields.