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墨書 Inktalez
Did Big Black eventually get married?
You can tell by looking at me; I am a descendant of Big Black, which means he is my grandfather. Our family surname is Sun, and my grandfather's name is Sun Dahei.
My father's name is Sun Youfu, and my name is Sun Liangtu, which means a bright future ahead.
My grandfather, Big Black, lived during the end of the Republic of China, and my father, Sun Youfu, was once conscripted by the Kuomintang. Fortunately, my father was clever enough to realize his mistake and bravely devoted himself to the Great Liberation Cause, contributing his modest strength to the liberation of our great Motherland.
After 1949, my father wisely chose to step back, avoiding the tragedies of the era I live in now. Yes, I was born under the Red Flag and grew up under the Red Flag, contributing my part to combat the Bourgeois Remnants for our Motherland.
I must say that from 1969 to 1979 was a special era, one where darkness and light coexisted.
Many who emerged from this period carry within them a certain essence shaped by their experiences—either an uplifting spirit marked by simplicity or a narrow-mindedness characterized by selfishness.
I was part of that era, understanding the emotional scars it left on people and the satisfaction it provided to some extent.
In the late sixties, under the great call that "the countryside is a vast land where great achievements can be made," it was deemed necessary for the Youth of Knowledge to go to the countryside and receive re-education from Poor Peasant Farmers.
Thus, as a educated youth who had not even graduated from middle school, I followed the tide of the times to a small county town in Northwest China.
Upon arriving here, I felt no discomfort. Unlike those who came from big cities and could not endure hardship or complained about poor conditions, I believed I was half a rural person myself since my grandfather was originally from a village. Later, due to my father's efforts, we moved to the city.
Now, taking advantage of this great spring breeze brought by Chairman's call, I returned to the land that nurtured me to repay the Motherland for its kindness. I aimed to expend my remaining energy in contributing further to the liberation cause of our Motherland. Along with me were several other educated youth —two men and three women—gathered from all corners of the country for a simple reason: we shared a common goal.
Upon our arrival in the village, we received a warm welcome. The Production Team Leader spoke on stage with a strong Shanxi accent; I gathered he was expressing welcoming words.
Afterward, arrangements were made for our accommodations.
The six of us were divided into two cave dwellings: one for men and one for women.
We gathered together at night for a meeting, and we started by introducing ourselves.
The first to stand up was a chubby man, round-faced with a buzz cut, dressed in military uniform and wearing trousers that resembled dress pants. He grinned widely and said, "My name is Ma Pingchuan. Ma as in horse, Ping as in flat, Chuan as in river. I came from Hunan to support the construction of the Northwest."
At that moment, someone spoke up, saying, "That's the birthplace of our great leader," with a tone of reverence.
After that, everyone introduced themselves one by one. Two girls were present: one named Zhang Yun and the other Bai Lan. There was also a young man from the capital, known as Li Jie, who was part of the educated youth movement.
Only one girl seemed a bit shy and reluctant to speak. Finally, as if struggling, she managed to say her name: "I am called Hills."
I was the last to introduce myself.
"Hills," someone repeated thoughtfully. "What a strange name."
To ease the girl's embarrassment, I said, "Names aren't important; what matters is the spirit of dedication. Over the years, countless unknown individuals have silently sacrificed their lives for our Motherland!"
I sensed my words stirred everyone's patriotic feelings; they straightened their expressions and looked at me. To my surprise, Fat Ma stood up and applauded. I felt a bit embarrassed and replied, "It's all thanks to the teachings of the people."
Eventually, we wrapped up the meeting. Fat Ma came over and put his arm around my shoulder, saying, "You see, we really hit it off; our names match well. We should look out for each other." Since Fat Ma was from the south, his Mandarin had a strong dialect accent that almost made me mishear him.
I thought about it—one named Sun Liangtu and another named Ma Pingchuan—there was indeed some kind of connection there.
From then on, I became quite familiar with Fat Ma.
Li Jie, the young man from Beijing who was part of the educated youth movement, was quite cunning. He spent his days ingratiating himself with the Commune's Production Team Leader to avoid hard work. As a result, he often had an easy time and sometimes didn’t have to work at all.
Because of this, he strayed from the people's line, and both Fat Ma and I looked down on him greatly.
Coming to the Northwest to support the construction of our Motherland was indeed very challenging.
The water shortage here makes even bathing a challenge. I'm managing, though; I can consider myself half a Northerner by now.
But Fat Ma couldn't take it anymore. He's from the South and has never endured such hardship. Not being able to bathe felt like a death sentence to him.
In the Northwest, due to the lack of water, our supply is rationed. We can only bathe once a month or even less frequently.
Aside from drinking, we hardly need any water.
Fat Ma, being from the South, was used to using water freely. Going a month without a bath was more unbearable than death for him.
One day, after returning from work outside, I noticed Fat Ma was missing. By this time, he should have been back as well.
I put my tools away and called out, "Fatty!" But no one responded.
I went around to the back of the cave to look for him. Behind the cave was a small hillside where we usually gathered firewood.
Fat Ma and I often cooked there because the living conditions in the Commune were simply too poor. For months on end, we couldn't even have a proper meal, and our stomachs were churning with bitterness. Eventually, we prayed for forgiveness from the organization and secretly cooked a mountain chicken. After that, we frequently engaged in such acts but never forgot to confess to the organization, denouncing the extravagance of capitalism. We vowed to reform ourselves and become upstanding individuals.
Along with us were three girls, but I paid particular attention to one named Hills. Don't doubt my purity; I just felt sorry for her. She looked no older than ten years old, while the other two seemed to be around twenty-four or twenty-five.
She gave me a somewhat special feeling. Later, Fat Ma asked why I always picked on that little girl.
I retorted, "Don't speak nonsense; I'm taking care of her for the sake of Northwest's development. We can't let anyone hold back our Motherland."
Fat Ma pressed further, "Why don't you take care of the other two?"
I was momentarily speechless, and Fat Ma seized the opportunity to say, "Caught you red-handed! Be honest now; you know the organization's principle regarding this matter: 'Confess for leniency, resist for severity.'"
I was at a loss for words.
"Fat Ma," he said with a grin, "I answered for you, and yet you're still just admiring how pretty that girl is."
My face flushed with embarrassment, and I immediately retorted, "Don't talk nonsense."
Seeing that I was a bit flustered, Fat Ma stopped teasing me, but he wore a knowing smile that said he understood everything.
I wanted to give him a good scolding right then and there, but over time, I got used to it, and that knowing smile became Fat Ma's signature expression.
I had invited Hills several times to join us for a meal, but she always declined.
I was definitely not as impure as Fat Ma suggested; I genuinely thought there was something odd about her. Ever since then, she felt even more mysterious to me.
After circling around to the hillside behind the cave dwelling, I called out, "Fat Ma."
Suddenly, I saw a plume of steam rising into the air. At that moment, I could hardly believe someone was taking a hot shower there, as the lack of water in this area made such a luxury seem impossible.
For a moment, I even thought it might be a ghost. When I first arrived in this small town in the Northwest, I had heard locals say it was haunted. Strange noises often echoed at night. At first, I was cautious, but after several months without hearing any so-called ghostly sounds, I dismissed it as mere superstition.
But this strange mist—could it really be a ghost?
Yet at that moment, my mentor taught us: "Do not fear any spirit," encouraging me to move forward.
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