Chapter Two: Heating the Oil in the Wok

A year of famine had left many villagers barely clothed, and nearly all edible roots and plants had been exhausted. The only place left untouched was the dense forest midway up the mountain.

In theory, pine cones were a good source of nutrition, but the pine trees were too tall to climb easily, especially in the dead of winter when many cones had already fallen, and most wildflowers and fruits had withered. Fortunately, thanks to Zhang Tiejun’s efforts, he still found a cluster of small red berries. Though these berries couldn’t serve as food, they were useful for brewing tea.

On his way down, Zhang Tiejun discovered a patch of wild hazel mushrooms beneath a long-dead tree. These were precious finds. Though each mushroom was only about the size of his thumb, their nutritional value was remarkably high. These fungi thrived beneath decaying wood and were highly resistant to the cold. He picked about half of them, grinning as he stuffed the mushrooms into his woven basket.

After three to five hours of hard work, feeling a bit weary, he sat beneath a wind-blocking rock about waist-high. Half-asleep, Zhang Tiejun began to doze off, and in the haze of his dreams, he seemed to see many things—everything in the dream was so vivid, yet so ephemeral.

The past could not be undone; the future was uncertain. Now, the only thing Zhang Tiejun could grasp was the present moment.

“Plop! Plop!”

The sound of something repeatedly hitting the ground roused him. Half-awake, he looked up to see his fishing trap had been triggered. A lively catfish, weighing two to three pounds, was thrashing about on the ground.

Its massive tail was raised high, its body arched slightly, and its mouth clamped onto the hook, opening and closing repeatedly.

“Looks like dinner is sorted,” Zhang Tiejun smiled. That bowl of porridge from the morning was now somewhat accounted for.

He tossed the catfish into his basket and, glancing toward the setting sun over the Guandong Mountains, smiled wryly and headed down the mountain.

When Zhang Tiejun reached the chicken trap, he found it had already been triggered. Several tree branches were scattered haphazardly in the dirt. The wild fruit used as bait was gone. Around the trap lay scattered feathers and claw marks, suggesting a predator had ambushed the trap—like a mantis stalking a cicada, only to be caught by a bird behind it.

It seemed that in this deep mountain wilderness, having a reliable weapon was essential.

After dismantling and resetting the two traps, Zhang Tiejun made his way home.

Seeing her brother return with food, Zhang Xiaohua was overjoyed.

“Mother! Look! Brother brought back fish!”

The teenager ran to Zhang Tiejun with a small trot. She stared at the catch, her mouth watering.

In these times, catching a fish this large was no small feat.

Zhang Xiaohua swallowed hard. In the past, the Zhang family could manage to eat meat once or twice a month, but since 1959, meat was almost unheard of. Even the tubers in the fields had been dug up nearly completely.

Hearing Zhang Xiaohua’s excited voice, Zhang Tiejun’s mother, who had barely regained some strength, got up and leaned out the window. Upon learning her son was home, tears streamed uncontrollably down her face.

Her son seemed to have suddenly grown up—and now he had the skill to bring home meat!

“Are you all right?” Zhang’s mother scrutinized him anxiously, fearing he might have suffered hardships.

Zhang Tiejun grinned as he placed the catfish on the ground. “Mother, I went out late today and didn’t catch much. Tomorrow, I’ll go out earlier and bring back more.”

Seeing her son suddenly so responsible, Zhang’s mother’s words caught in her throat. With trembling hands, she took the catch from him. What moved her most was not just his sudden maturity, but that he possessed skills rivaling his father’s.

“A craftsman won’t starve in a drought year,” she thought. With this skill, even if she were to pass away suddenly, she could rest easy.

“I’ll prepare the meat for you,” Zhang’s mother said as she tried to get off the kang bed, but Zhang Tiejun stopped her.

“I’ll do it. I see the firewood in the yard is running low,” he said, patting Zhang Xiaohua on the head with a smile. “Go wash up. Tonight, we’re having meat!”

“Oh! Tonight’s meal will be better!” Zhang Xiaohua clapped her hands happily.

Watching this scene, Zhang Tiejun suddenly felt that everything still held meaning.

Life, he thought, was both difficult and simple—eat, drink, sleep, and nothing more.

He gutted and cleaned the catfish, then placed it in a basin of water.

“Brother, what are you doing?” Zhang Xiaohua asked curiously, seeing him cut the fish in half.

“Of course, I’m going to trade for some things,” Zhang Tiejun replied, pointing to the empty salt and oil containers on the table. “Besides, catfish stew with eggplant isn’t the same without eggplant.”

“Then hurry back, brother!” Zhang Xiaohua urged eagerly.

Carrying the prepared half-catfish, Zhang Tiejun pushed open the door and stepped out.

The sun was nearly set, and the village homes had already lit their fires.

“Big Fang, look! Isn’t that Zhang Tiejun from the widow Zhang’s family?”

“Yeah, it is. What’s he carrying?”

“It’s hard to tell in the dark—looks all bulky!”

A group of boys gathered in the village square chatted quietly as Zhang Tiejun passed by. Their whispers reached the ears of Qiao Dafang, who sat among them.

Zhang Tiejun’s village was called Qiao Family Shop, and Qiao Dafang’s father was the team leader of the production brigade there. Because of this, Qiao Dafang had long been a bully and was Zhang Tiejun’s former rival.

“Let’s follow him and see,” Qiao Dafang said.

The group rose and trailed after him.

In the production brigade’s kitchen, the cook eyed the fresh half-catfish thoughtfully.

“How about this?” Zhang Tiejun asked. “Half a fish for one eggplant, a piece of lard, and a pinch of salt—is that a fair trade?”

“Tiejun, it’s not about fair or not. I can’t. These things belong to the commune. Even if I wanted to buy, you need ration coupons,” the cook said with feigned reluctance.

“Half an eggplant, half a piece of lard,” Zhang Tiejun said without pressing further. “Consider this a loan. When my family gets our ration coupons next month, I’ll pay you back.”

The cook considered the deal and, seeing no loss, reluctantly agreed. “Alright, deal. Just remember to bring me those coupons next month.”

“Brother! Can we start now? I’m starving,” Zhang Xiaohua urged.

Unfazed, Zhang Tiejun stuffed dry firewood into the stove. With the old-fashioned bellows pumping steadily, the sparks grew from tiny flickers into a roaring flame.

Time to heat the pot and fry the oil!