Chapter Seventy-Eight: Lacking in Quality

In the end, Hong Tao’s four crickets finished with two victories and two defeats. He lost ten cents and was left with only two crickets.
“I’m done! No more! We agreed on four rounds, and four rounds it is. You can fight each other if you want!” Hong Tao tossed the two defeated crickets under the edge of the house to set them free, then packed up his cricket jars and fighting tray, cradled them in his arms, and headed home.
“Let us use your tray!” Some kids wanted to keep playing and eyed Hong Tao’s fighting tray.
“You wish! This tray is worth more than you, and you dare to ask for it? Check if you’ve even grown all your hair yet—go cool off somewhere else.” Hong Tao didn’t even turn his head, grumbling as he walked away.

Early the next morning, Hong Tao, carrying his weighing scale and a number four cricket jar, along with a water bottle, headed straight to the northern gate of Ditan Park’s bird market with Grandpa Zhang from next door. Calling it a “bird market” was a stretch; there was no actual marketplace, just a gathering of bird enthusiasts who, after walking their birds, brought their cages here to chat and compare whose bird was best.

Eventually, some enterprising folks started selling bird food and live insects here. There were no stalls—just bicycles with a cage made of window mesh attached to the rack, filled with hundreds of grasshoppers or mole crickets, sold to bird owners by the penny.

Today, plenty of insect sellers had arrived, seven or eight in total, most of whom Grandpa Zhang knew. He led Hong Tao around, asking each whether they had any good crickets for sale. These bug catchers weren’t just serving bird owners—they’d grab a few crickets or katydids as well, sell bird food here for an hour or so, and then move on to sell their crickets elsewhere.

Those who primarily sold bird food and only occasionally sold crickets had two ways of selling. One: you couldn’t open their bamboo tubes to see the crickets inside—thirty cents each, take whatever comes. Or two: you could open the tube, inspect the cricket, weigh it, and buy only if satisfied, but that cost a dollar apiece.

Hong Tao wasn’t short on money and didn’t want to rely on luck, so he went straight for the dollar option. Each time a bamboo tube was opened, he tipped the cricket inside into a small lidded bamboo container hanging beneath the scale, then weighed the cricket—it had to be at least 6.5 grams to be considered. Once he’d weighed them all, he transferred the candidates one by one into the cricket jars for the final selection, using the tricks that Second Uncle had taught him.

First, he checked the cricket’s antennae—the two long feelers on its head. For crickets, the antennae are sensory organs, used to judge attack and defense. A good fighting cricket should have antennae that aren’t too long, but are thick, black, and sturdy, without bending at random—meaning it’s mature and sensitive.

Next, he examined the cricket’s head, which generally comes in black, green, or yellow. Any color can produce a good fighter. The color reflects breed and age, but whether it’s combative depends on the shape. The best fighting heads can be described as high, deep, and protruding—in Hong Tao’s view, meaning large, with a long distance from crown to mandibles, and shaped like a chisel. Such crickets supposedly have powerful, curved teeth, best for gaining advantage in battle. He also used a strong light to shine on the head—the shinier and more opaque, the better. If it’s too dark, the cricket is old; if transparent, it’s too young.

Third, he looked at the teeth, the cricket’s main weapon. Regardless of color—red-purple, white, or yellow—the deeper the color, the better, indicating the teeth’s bone is hardened, much as a crayfish’s claws turn redder and harder as it ages. The shape matters, too: long, curved, serrated teeth are best; short, thick teeth seem sturdy but aren’t effective in a fight.

Fourth, he checked the neck—thick, broad, and straight is optimal. If it’s wide in front and narrow in back, or vice versa, it’s not a good specimen.

Fifth, he looked at the wings. Ideally, they should wrap tightly around the body, with no gaps at the seam and never unable to close. The more pronounced the texture, the better, showing well-developed sound organs. According to Darwin, a cricket’s wings are the only organ for attracting mates—only strong, melodious wings can lure the best females, ensuring better genes.

Sixth, he checked the cricket’s body—the length from the back of the neck to the tip of the tail. Too short means lack of endurance and resilience; too long, lack of explosiveness. The ideal is about sixty-one percent of the body, matching the golden ratio. Also, after feeding, the belly shouldn’t be too big; that shows a lack of muscle and excess fat, just like a person with a beer belly isn’t fit for fighting.

Seventh, he examined the six legs, especially their color, which reveals the cricket’s growing environment. Pale legs must have red spots at the ankles; dark legs must have distinct spots on the inner thighs, not fused or white patches. The two hind legs should spread apart, and the second segment should be as long as possible for kicking power.

Finally, he checked the two tail filaments. In Beijing, they’re called “tails.” These are the cricket’s organs for sensation and balance. Ideally, their color matches the hind legs, indicating robust circulation and vitality.

Each of these eight criteria has many subtleties, and their combinations form a wealth of knowledge—for example, which neck and wing color matches best with a green head for producing a good fighter, what color teeth on a black-headed cricket indicate quality, and so on. But Second Uncle hadn’t explained all this, and even if he had, Hong Tao wouldn’t remember. This is wisdom distilled from millennia, impossible to master overnight.

Second Uncle also taught Hong Tao a quick way to judge a cricket’s vigor: toss it in water, then quickly scoop it out. The cricket will kick its hind legs powerfully, and its antennae and tail will wave vigorously—the strongest, fastest ones are the healthiest. Unfortunately, sellers never allow you to dunk their crickets, since moisture prevents them from being carried in bamboo tubes and they must dry out to avoid illness.

After combining these nine tips, Hong Tao made his own judgment and bought five crickets he deemed the best. Among them, he was most satisfied with a black-headed, purple-winged, red-toothed specimen—impressive in both appearance and size, weighing a full eight grams.
“Uncle, if you ever have good crickets, come here and find my Grandpa Zhang—just let him pass the word to me. I promise I’ll come, and if your crickets are good, I’ll pay you fairly!” Hong Tao said the same to nearly all seven or eight bird-food vendors, then took his five bamboo tubes and followed Grandpa Zhang home.

Once home, Hong Tao first prepared rooms for the five new crickets, placing them in their new homes without immediately putting them to fight. This was another tip from Second Uncle: after bringing home new crickets, let them rest for a day to recover their strength before fighting—ideally, wait several days.

Restoring a cricket’s strength is an art. In his last life, Hong Tao always fed them beans from string beans, but Second Uncle said only fools did that. Crickets’ main food should be grains, especially yellow millet. Yellow millet nourishes both people and crickets, is easy to digest, won’t bloat their bellies, and is highly nutritious.

The feeding method is to steam yellow millet, mash a few tender corn kernels, blend them with corn juice and millet, cool the mixture, and place it on the feeding board inside the cricket jar—crickets love it. Every few days, you can also feed them medicinal food: five grams of poria, five grams of white beans, three grams of eucommia, two grams of prepared rehmannia, two grams of licorice, one gram of lingzhi, boiled in five hundred milliliters of water for thirty minutes, then remove the herbs, add a potato, boil for ten minutes, discard the broth, mash the potato—this is the tonic for your crickets.

“Oh my little ancestor, what are you up to? Why does the whole room smell like herbs?” Hong Tao, not idle, had bought all the ingredients from the North Xin Bridge pharmacy and started cooking in his grandmother’s kitchen—only to be caught by her.
“I’m making food for the crickets, it’ll be ready soon. Won’t delay your lunch.” Hong Tao told his grandmother all about Second Uncle and the cricket tonic.
“Bah! Serves them right if their crops fail! Serves them right if their families fall apart! All day, never thinking of earning a living, just obsessing over this useless nonsense. Little Tao, you mustn’t learn these things—only wastrels play with them!” As soon as she heard, his grandmother launched into a tirade.
“I know, I know, I’m just trying it out for fun, not ruining the family…” Hong Tao hurriedly pushed and coaxed his grandmother out of the kitchen. Although she wasn’t from a working-class background, she looked down on the pastimes of the Eight Banners aristocracy.

“Little Tao, come here and help me—are these pants and this shirt made properly?” His grandmother had barely left when his aunt, hearing the commotion, emerged from her room. Now his aunt was fully immersed in garment tailoring—no longer a high school student, but a proud, unemployed youth!