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墨書 Inktalez
The fun days passed quickly, and before I knew it, I had spent a whole school year at Garden Middle School, entering the third grade of middle school.
The class remained the same, but the classroom had moved to the front row near the cafeteria, and there were quite a few new classmates. Among them were several students who had graduated from Garden Middle School but did not get into high school. Their families felt they were still too young, and with the recent land reforms, there wasn't much farm work to do, so they were allowed to repeat a year. They hoped to get into high school, and even if they didn't succeed, being in school was better than "running wild" at home. There were also some transfer students from other schools; Garden Middle School was considered one of the better middle schools in the entire Qiaotou District and even Dongkou County, so many people tried their best to get in.
Among these transfer students were several from the Xizhong Village Committee, who had some connection to me since my father was the principal here. Thus, it wasn't too difficult for them to enter Garden Middle School and join Class 48.
Arriving at school with a bag of rice was my second cousin Long Yunhuang, who was a year older than me but in the same grade. He had performed well in elementary school, but during his time at Xizhong Middle School, he became rather average. My uncle had high hopes for him and wanted him to switch to a better school.
During our elementary years, we were close cousins who played together often. Many holidays were spent either competing for treats at Grandma's House or doing various "half-work half-play" activities at each other's homes—picking wild fruits on the mountain, chopping small trees, and caring for birds.
His family raised quite a few chickens and had better living conditions than mine. Therefore, they could eat eggs without needing to sell them. My second aunt had five children, plus my uncle's elderly mother; whenever they heard a hen clucking, they would rush to find any newly laid eggs. Whoever found them claimed them as their own, whether eaten raw or cooked without anyone caring. Yunhuang, being the eldest son, often found more eggs and occasionally shared some with me.
After arriving at Garden Middle School, his grades did not improve significantly; ultimately, he did not get into his desired high school and ended up attending a vocational school for farmers. After that, he spent little time farming at home. By seventeen or eighteen, he started working along the coast and got married in his twenties. For reasons unknown, his wife left after giving birth to two children. Later on, while I traveled inland and he worked along the coast, we rarely saw each other throughout the year—even when our grandparents passed away, he couldn't attend due to the distance.
Everything seemed to follow a pattern of balance; while my cousin entered Garden Middle School, my aunt's daughter Yin Chilian also joined Class 48 shortly after us.
At my aunt's house, her three daughters born close together were all skilled workers. When I learned how to plant rice, it was mainly these cousins who pushed me along with their scolding.
Among Aunt's three daughters, the youngest was the gentlest one—she took after her father in temperament but was also the most sensible among the three sisters. She studied more than her siblings; although she didn't get into a good school after spending a year at Garden Middle School, she at least attended high school. Her husband was one of those rare farmers who wore glasses back then; shortly after having children, they both moved south.
Unlike many migrant workers heading south for jobs, my younger cousin stuck with one factory job due to her good nature and meticulous work ethic. She quickly rose through the ranks to become a class leader and manager—a vital assistant to her boss.
By nearly forty years old, she had another daughter—a niece born and raised in Guangdong who spoke fluent Mandarin but had a personality very much like Aunt's. Whenever she opened her mouth, she could articulate many profound ideas. Every Spring Festival when I saw her family of four at my aunt's house, I couldn't help but reflect on how fleeting youth is while gaining insight: as long as one perseveres in whatever they do, happiness will follow.
With all my cousins present from my generation, it was no surprise that an uncle from the previous generation also joined us—my grandfather’s son Liu Dasheng entered Class 51 at Garden Middle School.
My grandfather was my grandmother's half-brother; he had no biological children but adopted one of a pair of twins from Zhu Shan Li courtyard not far from us. The two brothers used to study together at Stove Middle School where teachers and classmates could hardly tell who was older or younger; I could only refer to him as "uncle" based on what I saw at my grandfather's house.
Being adopted meant that my grandfather and Aunt Granny spoiled him; he rarely did heavy labor. After spending a year at Garden Middle School without getting into high school, my grandfather half-persuaded him to learn a trade—tailoring.
Just as resources began to become more abundant during that time, he enjoyed several comfortable years as an apprentice until ready-made clothes became widely available in stores; this trade gradually faded away. My uncle then started doing small business around nearby towns while never really managing farm work (or perhaps he simply didn’t know how).
Aside from relatives, Liu Jin Zhu from Chang Tang Chong Courtyard also joined Class 48. His father was a forest worker—one of those rare individuals in rural areas who "ate state grain." He himself was tall and slender with a soft voice. Since our families lived only about a hundred meters apart throughout that year on the Third Day of the New Year we often went together; he helped me carry rice countless times.
After graduation, he went on to Fifth Middle School while I attended Third Middle School; later on it seemed he took over his father's job while I continued studying. We could only occasionally see each other during New Year celebrations; in recent years they moved their entire family to the county town and demolished their old house—our chances of meeting grew exceedingly rare.
I had little contact with repeaters; I only clearly remembered one named Tang who once wrote a love letter to Cousin Chilian on some day. Although it was predictably rejected, he persisted by writing several more letters which made many classmates aware of it—all while keeping it hidden from teachers.
As for his path afterward, all I knew was that he didn’t get into high school and thereafter we lost all connection.
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