Chapter Twenty-Five: Sharing Blessings Together

“Oh, you’re fishing? And that's quite a big catch. How about this: I help you pull it up and call it an apology—how does that sound?” The soldier clearly felt he owed an apology, but was unwilling to humble himself before a child, so he came up with this compromise.

“Deal. That’s perfect. Here, take it, you do it—be careful, though! If the fish gets away, I’ll march right into your camp and cry, and say you hit me!” Hongtao’s arms were numb from exhaustion, but at the soldier’s words, he immediately shoved the bamboo rod into his hands; there was no refusing now.

“Hey, you little rascal—where’s your sense of reason? I’m helping you out and you dare threaten me.” The soldier raised the rod and hauled the fish out of the water. It wasn’t huge, maybe two feet long and three or four pounds, but it had worn Hongtao out completely.

“At my age, you think I care about reason? The minute I burst into tears and bawl, that’s the truth—try me if you don’t believe it.” As Hongtao watched the fish thrashing on the muddy ground, he realized he’d overlooked another problem, but seeing the soldier, his mind spun and he had a new idea.

“What kind of upbringing have you had? All your cleverness has gone crooked! Go play by yourself, I’m leaving.” The soldier was rendered speechless by Hongtao, but didn’t dare really scold him—because Hongtao was right. If the kid started crying and accused him of hitting him, there’d be no way to clear his name.

“You can’t leave. Let’s make a deal—you carry this fish and escort me to the bus stop across the bridge, and I won’t make a scene. Otherwise, I’ll go find your officer right now!” Hongtao pointed at the camp gate a few dozen meters away, blatantly threatening the soldier.

“Why, you little—go ahead, I dare you! You don’t believe I’ll give you a good thrashing?” The soldier bared his teeth and glared, trying to look fierce.

“Fine, you had your chance and blew it—don’t blame me for being ruthless. Wait there, I’ll smear some mud on my clothes first. Watch me, I dare you to run, whoever chickens out is a coward!” Hongtao tossed the rod to the ground and grabbed a handful of mud, ready to smear himself.

“Hey… hey, alright, I’ll take you! I’ll take you! Okay? Uncle was just joking with you earlier.” Seeing Hongtao was serious—and preparing the crime scene—the soldier quickly put on a smile and reached to pick Hongtao up.

“Stop—don’t touch me! Your job is to carry that fish. I can walk myself. And take the rod too—don’t break it. I’ll go ahead, you follow. I’m warning you, there’s another camp gate ahead; if you run, I’ll go in and cry on the spot.” Hongtao backed away, dodged the soldier’s hand, tossed the rod down, and walked up the embankment toward the bridge, hands clasped behind his back.

“Little brat!” The soldier watched Hongtao’s swaggering form, wishing he could boot him down the road, but could only imagine it. With the bamboo rod and the still-flopping catfish in hand, he trudged after the child.

With a free laborer, Hongtao soon returned to the alley on the south side of the Second Ring Road. He took the fish and rod from the soldier—whose face was dark with annoyance—thanked him, threaded the fish’s mouth through the bamboo rod, slung it over his shoulder, and swaggered into the alley.

Hongtao brought the fish straight home, dropped it in a basin, added water and some salt, and left it to soak—this would get rid of the slime on the catfish and make it easier to handle. In his later life, as an avid angler, Hongtao had become quite adept at cooking fish—frying, stir-frying, stewing, deep-frying, hotpot, you name it. But now, he couldn’t put any of those skills to use; he was small and weak, couldn’t wield the heavy iron wok, nor handle the big fish, and there weren’t many ingredients available. Other than scallions, garlic, chili, Sichuan peppercorn, ginger, soy sauce, vinegar, and salt, there was nothing else—not even enough cooking oil to use freely.

So all the fancy methods were out—he could only braise it in soy sauce, old-school style, in the iron pot. First, he scraped off the fish’s skin with scissors, then, using a fruit knife, chopped off the whole head and tossed it aside; he didn’t have the time or strength to clean out the gills. Just getting through the backbone took ages, and since he couldn’t handle the cleaver, he made do with the fruit knife his father had made, which was ground from a steel saw blade and very sharp—otherwise, he’d have needed help to butcher the fish.

Searing the fish first? Forget it. Cooking oil was rationed—better not waste it. Besides, catfish this time of year were fatty enough. Straight to the braise. He tossed all the available seasonings into the pot to stir-fry, skipped the cooking wine—not by choice, but because there was none—and in went the fish. Soon the house was filled with a rich, fishy aroma, which spread through the hallway… and the whole building.

After an hour, Hongtao, stuffed and burping, stared blankly at the enamel basin, which still held more than half the fish. He’d eaten with all his might, but only managed a third of the meat—classic case of eyes bigger than his stomach.

What to do with the rest? Bringing it to his grandparents was out of the question—they were deeply averse to this kind of fish, and wouldn’t touch it for anything. In fact, back in the famine years, even when people were starving, few would eat catfish from the moat—not because they didn’t want to, but because it was too embarrassing. Give it to his parents? Probably not—they shared the same mindset as the grandparents, and although they were a generation apart, their thinking wasn’t very different.

“Uncle, you’d better burn some incense! With a nephew like me, you’re destined for a life of plenty—no need to worry about money or women. So stop eyeing the few coins in my pocket and learn to think long-term!” After much thought, Hongtao decided to bring the rest of the fish to school for his young uncle. That way, he could dispose of the evidence and keep the benefit in the family. His uncle was still growing, after all; the stronger he got, the safer Hongtao would be in the years to come.

Now, Hongtao didn’t have to sneak into the school anymore. With Principal Bai’s blessing from the office, he could come and go as he pleased from six in the morning to five thirty in the evening, and the old gatekeeper wouldn’t bother him.

“Uncle! Uncle!” Carrying a cloth bag containing a big lunchbox full of fish, Hongtao climbed to the third floor, found his uncle’s classroom, and crouched by the back door. When the teacher turned to write on the blackboard, he peeked in and tossed a small pebble at his uncle, who was sitting in the back row.

“Teacher, I need to use the bathroom!” When his uncle saw his little nephew’s head beckoning outside, he wasn’t surprised—every time Hongtao was bullied, he’d come running for help, and his uncle always obliged, especially if there were a few coins in it for him. As for class—no big deal. Teachers in those days couldn’t control these big kids, and if they sat and didn’t make trouble, it was already a blessing.

“Teacher, I need to go too!” Seeing his uncle get up, one of his uncle’s close friends stood up as well. Without waiting for the teacher’s permission, they slipped out the back door. This friend, nicknamed Tiger Egg, lived in the same alley as Hongtao’s grandparents, though Hongtao never learned his real name, even into his forties.

“Who bullied you this time?” His uncle and Tiger Egg pulled Hongtao to the stairwell landing.

“No one bullied me—I brought you some meat! Tiger Egg, you’re in luck too—there’s enough for you!” Hongtao waved the cloth bag.

“Meat? What kind? Did Grandpa buy it for you? Is my dad back?” His uncle took the bag and pulled out the lunchbox.

“Don’t ask what kind. Just eat it or not!” Hongtao had no time to explain where the meat had come from.

“Damn! Fish! Where’d you get it?... Come on, let’s go to the bathroom!” His uncle opened the box. The aroma was so strong it didn’t even need to be close. His uncle shot Hongtao a questioning look, but seeing no answer was coming, he grabbed Hongtao and Tiger Egg and headed for the bathroom.

“Xiao Tao, where’d you get this fish? Smells amazing! You didn’t steal it, did you?” In the bathroom, his uncle and Tiger Egg demolished the fish in under three minutes, picking it clean down to the bones—they looked like works of art. Tiger Egg licked his fingers, savoring the aftertaste, then suddenly thought about the fish’s origins.

“Hey, you only ask after you’ve finished eating! Has Hongtao ever stolen anything? Mind your words!” Before Hongtao could answer, his uncle retorted, his temper a perfect copy of their grandfather’s—he couldn’t stand anyone speaking ill of the family.

“Hey, I was just saying. Even if I wanted to steal, there’s nowhere to steal this from—there’s no such thing at the co-op, and not a restaurant in Beixin Bridge has it either!” Tiger Egg was still licking his fingers.

“Don’t worry about where it came from. I’m heading home. I’ll bring you more fish in a couple of days, but you can’t tell anyone—if word gets out, there won’t be any more fish!” Hongtao packed up the lunchbox and slipped out of the bathroom.

“Squad leader, your nephew is like a little adult—he gives you money and brings you meat. Why couldn’t I have a nephew like that?” Tiger Egg said as he picked a fish bone from his teeth and flicked it into the latrine.

“You haven’t taken your share of my money—and meat—either! You eat more than I do. By the way, why didn’t you spit out any bones when you ate?” His uncle remembered the scene and felt shortchanged.

“Spit out what? I chewed up the small ones; only spat the big bones—look, here’s one right here.” Tiger Egg pointed to a fish bone on the floor.