My name is Cui Zuofei, with "Zuofei" meaning "acting recklessly." Do you think this name is a bit odd? It sounds a bit like "Cui Zuofei," which could be interpreted as "Cui Useless." Honestly, I'm not too happy with the name either. But according to the family tree, my generation happened to fall under the character "zuo" (作), which was hard to avoid. Furthermore, my parents weren't very educated. When they were choosing my name, they really had a hard time. Eventually, my father had a sudden burst of inspiration, and pulled out a dictionary, saying he would use the first character he found on the page as my name. To his luck, the first character on the page happened to be "fei" (废), meaning "useless." That didn't sit well with my mother; who would want their child to be named "Useless?" She, showing the fierce character of a northeastern woman, refused to let me have such a name.
In the end, my father compromised. He pointed to another character, "fei" (非), on the same page and said to my mother, "Let's name our son Zuofei, hoping he'll achieve something extraordinary when he grows up." And so, my name was hastily decided.
Now, the story I'm about to tell you can be treated as just that—a story. Don't take it too seriously.
My hometown is called Longjiang, a small county near Qiqihar in Heilongjiang Province. According to my grandfather, Longjiang used to be called Zhujia Kuan. As the saying goes, "A small temple has many mischievous spirits, and a small town has many troubles." It was exactly such a town, and even the nearby forest was home to a group of bandits. For those who live in the northeast, you should know what "huzai" (胡子) means—bandits. Specifically, they were similar to the "Zuo Shandiao" in the novel The Snowy Forest (座山雕). There are still remnants of watchtowers here, now turned into water towers. Often, during times of war, strange things happen the most, and many folk tales were born in that era. This one, for example, happened when my grandfather was young.
When my grandfather was 28, the winters in the northeast could freeze people to death. It's a little better now, but according to my grandfather, back then, winters were even colder than they are now. There's an old saying: "In the seventh and eighth days of the lunar year, your chin would freeze off." Apparently, even when you went outside to relieve yourself, you had to carry a little stick to tap on the ground while urinating, or else you'd freeze. Of course, I can't understand this myself.
We don't have the tradition of eating Laba Congee (腊八粥) here in Longjiang. To be honest, I've never even seen Laba Congee in my life. What we eat on Laba day is sticky rice, also known as glutinous rice—rice so sticky that the grains stick together. It feels pretty horrible when it sticks to your chin, and I can't imagine what it's like for people with beards.
Even in the years of famine, the wise women of the northeast would try their best to save up some precious grains to ensure they could eat something decent during the holidays. My grandmother was one of those women. We used to live in a factory courtyard with five households. During the day, my grandfather worked, and my grandmother stayed at home doing the household chores. That day happened to be Laba, and my grandmother took out the glutinous rice she had saved for half a year, washed it, and cooked it. There's a saying that in the past, people didn't wash fine grains like we do today, because grains were so precious. They'd try to preserve as much as they could, since there were many mouths to feed in the household. Life was tough back then.
The rice was cooked in a pot, with the lid on. The corn stalks in the stove were burning brightly, and before long, the pot started emitting a delightful aroma. By this time, it was already around 6 pm, and winter nights are short. It was pitch dark outside. The wind was strong, with no moon in sight. Snow on the ground hit people's faces, stinging like knives. My grandmother, sitting on a small stool, was thinking about how my grandfather would soon be home. She was dozing off when she dreamt of something like a yellow weasel swaying in front of her. She said she couldn't get rid of it, no matter how much she tried. Just as she was about to pick up a stone to throw at it, she was awakened by a knocking at the door.
It was the wife of the neighbor, Old Zhai, knocking and shouting, "Cui's wife, come out and see, we caught a thief trying to crawl through the wall!"
The so-called "crawling through the wall" was a method of theft at the time. The courtyard walls were made of earth, quite high but not sturdy. If a thief tried to climb over the wall, there was a risk of it collapsing. So some thieves came up with the idea of making a hole at the bottom of the wall, since people kept dogs, and sometimes those dogs would be out searching for food. At night, if the door was locked, there was no way to get in, so a hole would be left for the dogs. The thieves would expand the dog hole with a shovel and crawl inside to steal food or poison the dogs, take them home, and eat them.
And this thief was pretty stupid, daring to crawl through the hole. He was caught red-handed by Old Zhai, who was probably desperate from hunger. My grandmother went outside and saw everyone in the courtyard gathered around, watching the thief who was being pinned to the ground by Old Zhai. The thief was staring at everyone with fear in his eyes.
From my grandmother's memory, this thief wasn't from their village, since no one recognized him. He looked to be about 40, with a sharp face and a little rat-like mustache. He was wrapped in a tattered cotton coat, and his small eyes kept darting around.
Just then, my grandfather came home, looked at the thief pinned to the ground, and sighed. He thought to himself, "It's tough living in this world, but a cat has its way, and a rat has its own. Now that you're in our hands, there's no way out."
The reality was harsh, especially in those years when human life was cheap. Everyone in the village was starving, and if they let this thief go, it would only mean more trouble in the future. It's hard for people today to understand this.
My grandfather looked at the thief on the ground and told my grandmother to bring over a bowl of glutinous rice and a ladle of cold water. My grandmother did as told. The freshly cooked rice gave off a tempting aroma, and the thief, still lying on the ground, couldn't help but sniff. His small eyes blinked rapidly.
The people in the courtyard quickly tied up the thief, and my grandfather, holding the rice, said to him, "It's not that we're not giving you a chance to live, but we're all struggling here too. We can barely survive. Eat this and be on your way. In your next life, may you be born into a good family."
After speaking, he took a big scoop of rice with chopsticks, dipped it in cold water, and placed it near the thief's mouth. The thief, desperate with hunger, didn't hesitate. He quickly swallowed the rice and smiled at my grandfather, completely unaware that his doom was near.
Now, you might wonder, why feed the thief? Those who've eaten glutinous rice know that it's incredibly sticky when freshly cooked, almost as hot as boiling water. When combined with cold water, the surface temperature becomes much cooler, while the inside remains dangerously hot. So, the thief unknowingly consumed his last meal.
When the rice was almost finished, the women in the courtyard went back inside, not wanting to witness what was about to happen. My grandmother also went inside. As soon as she sat down on the heated bed, she heard a miserable scream that didn't stop for a long time. It was enough to make anyone shiver.
About an hour later, my grandfather returned. He brushed off the snow on his clothes and set the table for dinner. My grandmother, still unsettled from the earlier event, served the food. My grandfather noticed her mood and said, "Look at you, getting scared over a mere beggar. A dirty tramp frightened you this much?"
My grandmother sighed, looking out at the snow. "I just don't think we should've killed him. After all, it's still a human life."
My grandfather took a sip of wine, then said, "Do you think I wanted to? This tramp was probably a scout for the bandits. Think about it—he's not from our town, and the nearest town's people have all left. Suddenly, here's a living person. If we don't take care of him now, he'll go back to the bandits, and they'll come and rob us. How are we supposed to live then?"
When my grandmother heard the word "bandits," she immediately became afraid.
As mentioned earlier, before the liberation, the bandits in the northeast were like local tyrants. They mostly robbed the rich, but during those desperate times, they didn't care whether you were wealthy