Book Synopsis
Book Tags
Donation Rankings
Comment
0 Comments
You May Also Like
墨書 Inktalez
As October arrived, the weather grew cooler and drier. The students, still adjusting to their new environment, barely had time to enjoy the pleasant weather before the school issued an unreasonable order: all students were to help repair the road.
The Third Middle School was situated on a small hill near Gaosha Town. On one side of the hill lay a road connecting Gaosha to Ma'an Commune, bordered by a flat expanse of farmland dotted with ponds. Beyond these fields and ponds was the main street of Gaosha Town, where the district government, a cinema, and an old market were all less than a mile from the school. Although the connecting roads were dirt paths that became difficult to navigate when it rained, they were outside the school's jurisdiction, and thus we were not responsible for their maintenance.
On the other side of the school were several small villages separated by vast fields. A winding road connected Gaosha with Dongkou County Town and another town called Zhukou. The school cafeteria was adjacent to these farmlands. The girls often went to wash clothes by the wells in the fields, while the boys played in the farmland, creating makeshift paths through the ridges that weren't originally roads. However, this area belonged to the villages as well, so it was not our responsibility to repair it.
What we needed to work on was a passage that ran through the middle of the school. Villagers frequently squeezed through the school's only "back door" to cross over and conduct business or play on Gaosha Street, disrupting the school's order. Despite multiple attempts to lock that narrow back door, it would be forced open by villagers within days. When that door was unavailable, some would climb over walls from various points just to take a shortcut into the school, even creating gaps in the wall. Principal Chen, well-versed in classical literature, used the story of "Great Yu Controls the Flood" to persuade higher authorities and ultimately made a long-lasting decision: mobilize all students to dig an open tunnel through the center of the school to redirect those villagers crossing through.
The 1960s and 1970s before the 1980s were times when actions spoke louder than words; it was an era of collectivism and vigorous labor. The teachers at our school quickly devised a plan, dividing the entire tunnel project into sections marked with lime lines and assigning each class a segment through a lottery system.
The most significant task in building this road was excavating soil, which was also the most time-consuming part of the project. With over a thousand students at our school, we stepped onto this construction battlefield.
Unlike previous labor activities at school, this one would be prolonged and required no personal tools; the school had already prepared shovels and dustpans for everyone—each class received about fifty or sixty pieces of equipment.
At first, I worried about how the school could provide so many tools, but later learned that teachers who had studied planning had anticipated this: they purchased enough tools for three classes but divided excavation time into half-day slots, allowing two classes to work simultaneously. This ensured there were enough tools while preventing chaos from more than ten classes crowding together. It also allowed each class's participating students a break between two shifts of labor to avoid fatigue and frustration.
Upon arriving at the excavation site, our homeroom teacher's leadership skills shone brightly: strong students from rural backgrounds wielded shovels to break up hard-packed soil while filling dustpans with loose dirt; all town students and other rural kids were tasked with carrying dustpans to designated dumping spots. Although I came from a rural background too, my small stature meant I lacked strength; I was fortunate enough to be assigned as Class Monitor and tasked with counting.
Recalling how my mother managed her counting duties as a record keeper, I took a sheet of paper and found a shaded spot to stand in while waiting for each student carrying a dustpan to pass by. I prepared to write down their names and mark them off.
When the first group approached, I looked up and saw about ten students coming at once—there was no way I could write them all down quickly. Thinking fast, I shouted, "Everyone slow down! Take a break!" Then I hurriedly wrote down each student's surname; if two shared a surname, I noted their second character until this group finished dumping their dirt before completing their names with a horizontal line indicating they had been counted.
After two or three chaotic rounds like this, every student who carried dirt had left their name on my paper. My task became easier as I had time to observe how much dirt my classmates were hauling.
Perhaps due to effective motivation from our teachers or perhaps because people in this era didn't hold back their energy, nearly all students exerted themselves fully while carrying dirt. Most girls managed to carry more than half a dustpan full; based on my previous labor experience in rural areas, that weighed at least sixty pounds including both skin and soil. The boys worked even harder; most dustpans were filled to capacity. The smallest among them struggled under heavy loads that leveled off at their dustpan edges as they walked along gritting their teeth while occasionally adjusting their burdens on their young shoulders.
Gradually, as students filled their dustpans less and less with dirt, their steps became increasingly hesitant; exhaustion began taking its toll under such heavy loads. A few mischievous boys started slacking off—some walked while swaying side-to-side spilling dirt along their path; others would dump half their load before stepping aside for a few minutes only to return later for another half-load just so they could earn two marks on my tally sheet. Soon after that, girls began feigning weakness—either limping as they dumped dirt with sweat glistening on their faces or approaching me heavily panting while wiping sweat away asking quietly for extra credit.
As someone new to these social dynamics, I gradually began recognizing these antics among my classmates. Though I disapproved of such behavior as someone young and inexperienced myself, I couldn't stop it either. After acknowledging those mischievous boys' contributions along with those timid girls', I decided on my own accord to add extra marks for some close friends while also giving points to those who diligently carried loads without complaint—all while keeping one eye open and continuing my work.
Thus began day after day of labor for all students across campus until professional teams were eventually hired by the school for masonry work and bridge construction. By winter's arrival, an open tunnel running through our school—a thoroughfare solely for villagers—was finally completed. From then on, our school experienced fewer disturbances while we gained pride in knowing we had built this "new road" with our own shoulders.
Comment 0 Comment Count