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墨書 Inktalez
Not long after I started elementary school, I began my first job—herding cattle. In an era where everyone was striving for work points and relying on them for sustenance, parents did not want their children to be mere consumers of resources; they had to find ways to earn more work points. The Production Team provided several types of jobs for children to earn work points, and the first one was herding cattle.
When summer arrived and school was out for vacation, adults were busy harvesting early rice and planting late rice, so the children were put to use and all assigned to herd cattle. In our Zhu Shan Bay Production Team, we had about ten draft oxen. During busy times, only two or three would be taken to the fields each day, while the others needed to be raised and cared for. Each family assigned one child to herd cattle, with each child responsible for one ox.
Adults worked all day, with men earning twelve work points and women earning eight and a half; children herding cattle for a day also earned work points, totaling two and a half. By the end of the summer vacation, we could earn over a hundred work points, which would be converted into food during the annual settlement—about thirty to forty pounds of rice.
In Zhu Shan Bay and Shibaochong, the two production teams kept their oxen together. The headquarters and warehouses of both teams were adjacent to each other, with a large shed behind the headquarters where the oxen were concentrated. Everyone referred to it as the cowshed. Just like the adults gathered at the headquarters before heading out to work, we would also gather at the cowshed before starting our day.
For the children, herding the oxen was truly a great job. It gave us a reason to gather and play every day; we didn't have to strain our brains studying, nor did we have to collect pig fodder or chop firewood like usual. We could freely unleash our imaginations and waste time as we pleased. Therefore, aside from the slight reluctance to crawl out of bed in the morning, during the times we herded the oxen in the morning and afternoon, everyone would instinctively put down their bowls and rush to the cowshed, slowly gathering together there.
While waiting for our friends, those who arrived first never sat idle. We either shared a bit of food brought by someone, played hide-and-seek or obstacle races in the cowshed, or gathered in small groups to play cards.
The children herding the cows gradually gathered, and the moment everyone had been waiting for arrived. Just like the emperors of the past had their own hunting grounds, we also had our fixed "pasture," which consisted of small hills behind our house: the pasture was usually located in larger mountains, such as Shizhuling, Changshan, Crotch Bead, and Dagua Mountain. There was a line of sixteen hilltops and sixteen ponds, which were our favorite places to go. A group of more than ten children set off with a large number of cows, making a grand procession. Along the way, some rode on the backs of the cows playing, some trailed behind the cows quietly calling out, while others simply jumped into the Canal or ponds to cool off from the heat.
Upon reaching the destination, the herd of children grew larger. Nearby pastures from Changtangchong, Maozushan, and other production teams would join in; sometimes even herds from Wugang County across a narrow road would add to the spectacle. Dozens of children and several dozen plowing oxen created quite a magnificent scene. At this time, each group of children would assign two or three honest and diligent ones to take turns watching over the herd while the others gathered together to enjoy a lengthy period of entertainment.
The games at the pasture held a special kind of joy, such as daily bushwhacking and water fights. We would weave straw into sunshades and rain shelters, perform primitive diving by the pond like dumplings being dropped into water, and search the mountains for edible things. As long as our little minds could think of it, we could play to our heart's content here.
In the 1950s, we and Shibaochong originally belonged to the same mutual aid group. Although we were divided into two production teams, our cattle were still kept together, and our lives and labor intertwined. Each had its own name: the oldest and handsomest bull was assigned to Shibaochong, known as "Number One." We at Zhu Shan Bay had the honest and simple "Number Two," the somewhat stubborn "Number Three," and a cow notorious for being a "wicked thief" (fierce by nature, a bit mischievous, and fond of stealing food). I was responsible for a young bull we had recently acquired, just two or three years old, in the prime of its strength. Its pair of horns was particularly wide and imposing, earning it the nickname "Wide Horn."
Besides the water buffalo, there were also two yellow cattle in our team. Due to their smaller size and strength, the adults looked down on them, and no boy wanted to take care of them. Fortunately, the yellow cattle had a gentle temperament, so the girls in our team took on the responsibility of raising them.
After spending time with the plow bulls, a primal bond between humans and animals began to develop. From the day I started tending to Wide Horn, it became my good companion. Whenever it saw me from afar, it would greet me with puffs of warm air from its nostrils. If other children tried to ride it, it would bolt away at the slightest approach, running toward rugged mountain paths or thorny thickets. However, as soon as I got close, it would stand still and slowly lean toward me, inviting me to climb on its back. It was particularly attentive to personal hygiene; every day it would bathe in a clear pond until it was spotless, unlike other cows that lingered in muddy waters or rubbed their broad bodies against haystacks or Field Ridge to scratch themselves.
Being a Cowherd also comes with its moments of frustration. When the plow oxen are out in the fields working, it’s not that we begrudge our companions their labor; it is their fate, one that no one can escape. What truly weighs on us is that while the oxen are in the fields, the child responsible for watching over them must also cut grass to feed them. Back then, rural life felt as if it had endured a great calamity; wild grass was scarce, and the type of grass that the plow oxen loved most was that which supposedly inspired Lu Ban to invent the saw. The leaves of this grass had tiny "teeth" on either side, and one could easily get cut if not careful. At only seven or eight years old, wielding a sickle to cut grass was no small feat. Often, while my right hand managed the sickle well enough, my left hand struggled with the grass, and soon enough, my hands were covered in tiny cuts.
The adults preferred us to have such tasks; cutting grass earned us more work points. For every ten pounds of grass cut, we received one work point. If we let the oxen graze in the fields for a day, not only did we earn the two and a half fixed work points for watching them, but we could also gain an additional three to five points from cutting thirty to fifty pounds of grass.
When herding the oxen on the Field Ridge, I was also reluctant. This task arose from having the plow oxen in the fields; to ensure they could always be ready for work, the Production Team would designate certain oxen to graze near the rice paddies. At this time, we had to lead our companions by their nose ropes along the Field Ridges so they could munch on the wild grass above. This wasn’t too difficult; what was challenging was keeping an eye on them to prevent them from stealing crops from the nearby paddies and constantly shooing away those pesky bloodsucking buffalo flies. And there I was, all alone, far from my other companions—truly frustrating.
As I grew a little older, the task of herding cattle was gradually handed over to my siblings. Slowly, the number of plow oxen in the countryside decreased, replaced by iron oxen that consumed oil instead of grass.
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