The Four Books (30 page)

The criminals from the ninety-ninth irrigated the plants regularly, but the sprouts were growing so closely together that you couldn’t even poke a needle between them and there was no way for the water to make its way inside.

Within three days, the wheat stalks had dried up and died. Every single one of them.

Unable to receive any red blossoms or red certificates, the Child was heartbroken. He didn’t eat anything for three days, becoming as emaciated as the wheat stalks in the experimental field. He went to observe villages in other districts, and found that they had all submitted the amount of wheat per
mu
that they had promised—be it one thousand, two thousand, five thousand, or even eight thousand
jin
. Other villages had built row upon row of new granaries, where the sacks of wheat were piled to the rafters. When the higher-ups came to check on the granaries, they used a sharp bamboo pole to poke one of the sacks near the door, whereupon the wheat grains would pour out. The higher-ups, including those from the headquarters, the county, the region, and the province, took the ninety-ninth as a model and originally reported fifteen thousand
jin
of grain per
mu
, though later, to be safe, they lowered it to ten thousand. When the ninety-ninth discovered the black sand steel-smelting method and smelted the steel star, they almost succeeded in representing the province at the capital. The whole group of higher-ups also went to the ninety-ninth to conduct a thorough examination.

Before the examination, however, people came from the headquarters and asked those living in the front of the district to relocate to the rear, so that their buildings could then be used as granaries. They brought in many empty sacks and filled them with sand, then piled the sand-filled sacks inside the new granaries until they reached the rafters. That night, they brought grain from other granaries, and piled the sacks full of actual grain on top and in front of the sacks of sand. They piled the sacks of grain in the doorway, in the windows, and along the outer perimeter. When the higher-ups came to conduct the examination, they arrived in cars and trucks—with the provincial and district-level higher-ups arriving in cars, and the higher-ups from other districts and counties arriving in trucks. When they opened the door to one of the granaries and saw that mountain of grain sacks, their jaws dropped. A higher-up inserted the bamboo pole into a sack by the door, and grain came pouring out, and when he poked another bag by the window, grain came flowing out of that as well. Wheat was even pouring down through the crevices between the sacks.

The higher-up sighed, “My God! . . . My God! . . .”

He praised the Child, and everyone in the ninety-ninth. There was light in the sky.

The crowd stood in rows outside the granary, and applauded as the grain continued to flow out. They kept applauding until the higher-up who was inspecting the granary climbed down from the roof and, his doubts satisfied, smiled broadly and exclaimed, “Extraordinary. . . . Simply extraordinary!”

So it came to pass.

The Child was wined and dined by the higher-ups, who congratulated him on having produced more than ten thousand
jin
per
mu
and having made such an enormous contribution to the fatherland. After eating, they had everyone stand in three rows, whereupon the higher-ups from the province and the district awarded the Child a certificate and a red blossom in recognition of what he had accomplished on behalf of the nation.

The Child smiled, and there was light in the sky.

The awarding of the certificate and the red blossom took place after lunch, when the sun was as hot as the fires in the steel-smelting furnaces.

The higher-ups were inside in the cool room, while everyone else was standing outside in the sun, their faces covered in sweat.

“Is it hot?” a higher-up shouted out to them.

“It’s not hot. There’s a nice breeze,” they shouted back in response.

“Do you have any ambition to produce fifteen thousand
jin
per
mu
of corn?”

Everyone fell silent.

“Don’t you have any ambition?” The higher-up gazed at the residents of the ninety-ninth. “Don’t you want to make a contribution to the fatherland? Don’t you want give the fatherland ears of corn that are as large as a hammer?”

The crowd gazed back at the higher-up, and saw that his mouth and eyes were both wide open. Then they turned to the Child, who looked back at them with a sorrowful expression in his eyes. As the higher-up was asking again if they could produce fifteen thousand
jin
per
mu
of corn, and if they could produce an ear of corn as large as a hammer, with grains of corn even larger than red dates, someone raised his right fist into the sky and shouted, “Yes! . . . Yes, we definitely can!”

With this, everyone began shouting, “Yes! . . . Yes, we definitely can!”

Their shouts were so loud they frightened away the birds sitting on the roofs of the houses.

The higher-up smiled with satisfaction.

The Child also smiled with satisfaction.

The higher-up awarded the Child a bowl-sized red silk blossom, and completed the certificate—which he had prepared, printed, and stamped. He took the pen, ink, and glass frame he had brought with him, and had someone with good handwriting write the Child’s name. Amid the applause and under the bright sunlight, the provincial higher-up then awarded the Child with the framed certificate.

The higher-up then walked away.

The Child laughed.

The spectators clapped as they sent off the higher-up, and as he was leaving the ninety-ninth the Child suddenly ran into his room to retrieve some wheat stalks with dried-up leaves, which were as big as reed stalks and reed leaves. He said, “This year we grew ears of wheat that were as large as ears of corn, but someone stole them.” He took the wheat stalks and distributed them to each of the remaining higher-ups, to prove that the ninety-ninth had indeed produced ears of wheat that were as large as ears of corn. He also said that when the corn ripened in autumn, they would be larger than a hammer. They would be as thick as a fat man’s thigh, and as heavy as a thin man’s leg. The grains of corn would be as wide as raisins or dates, and the cornstalks would truly be as tall as trees. In case the higher-ups didn’t believe him, he held out the wheat stems. The higher-ups all took those wheat stems and leaned over to smell them, then smiled at the Child. They patted the Child on the head and shoulder, saying,

“If you succeed in producing ears of corn that are as thick as a man’s thigh, we will wrap them in ten layers of red silk and send them to the capital.”

Then they left.

The cars and truck drove away, leaving behind a cloud of dust. The sunlight was bright red, and the earth supported the tires of those speeding cars. When the higher-ups had departed, they all threw down the stalks they had been holding. The Child didn’t see that after being rained on, those stalks became hay that smelled of wheat and blood.

Someone was left sitting in front of the door to the granary, staring into space. It was the Scholar. He gazed at the bamboo pole lying on the ground. He picked it up and poked it into a sack in the corner of the doorway, whereupon a lot of red sand poured out. Looking at that pile of sand, he began slapping his own face. He had helped fill the sacks of sand, then applauded the higher-ups, and shouted that they could definitely produce fifteen thousand
jin
of corn per
mu
, and ears of corn that were as big as a hammer and as thick as a man’s leg.

After slapping his own face, the Scholar shouted, “Fuck, and you call yourself a scholar!”

Then he looked around the granary and up at the sky, and said softly, “The nation is in crisis, and sooner or later it will collapse.”

The Theologian, the Musician, and the Physician, together with most of the others, all came over to the granary. Either sitting or standing, they stared in shock. They surrounded the Scholar without speaking. After they had gathered, someone laughed, someone else sighed, and someone whistled.

The Child was not there. He had returned to his room, to hang up that framed red blossom on the wall.

2. Heaven’s Child, pp. 391–96

That autumn, they did not in fact succeed in producing ears of corn as big as a hammer or as thick as a man’s thigh, nor did they succeed in producing grains of corn that were as large as grapes or dates. They did, however, cultivate the district’s barren land, planted corn seeds, and made this the district’s experimental field. The corn sprouts grew as tall as chopsticks, and in front of each sprout they erected a wooden sign specifying who was responsible for it. Then it was specified that every three or five days, everyone had to cut their fingers or wrist, and pour their blood onto the roots of their designated corn sprouts.

It was agreed that whoever managed to raise ears of corn that were as large as a hammer, with grains as large as grapes or dates, would be awarded five pentagonal stars and permitted to return home. Everyone, therefore, donated their blood. The corn sprouts grew quickly. Everyone saw how the Author had used his own blood to grow grains of wheat that were larger than peas or even peanuts, and wheat stalks that were as tall as bamboo. They all believed that blood could be used to produce extraordinary crops. That autumn, the entire district was full of the smell of blood. The experimental cornfield was half a
mu
in size and in a rectangular arrangement, like a five-room house. The soil was of high quality, having been supplemented with plenty of night soil. When the sprouts emerged, the criminals also added wood ashes. The sprouts began crying out day and night, like infants. By the eighth lunar month, when the sprouts in other fields were as tall as chopsticks, here they were already knee-high. By the ninth month, when the stalks in other fields was waist-high, here they were already shoulder-high. The stalks were also thick and green, with the largest as thick as a child’s arm. Their leaves were thick and green, and so clear that you could see your reflection in them. God was watching over these corn plants, making sure they grew into trees. God, however, punished the people for their conceit, by having the corn grow into tall trees but not producing ears. While the cornstalks in the other fields began producing ears in the ninth month, here they just grew tall without producing grains of corn. Each plant was like a wide-leafed thornbush. God said, “It is good to have people.” Some, like the Author and the Scholar, didn’t water the plants with their own blood. The Child had given the Author permission not to cut his fingers, since he had already bled so much. As for the Scholar, he rarely spoke to anyone following the visit from the higher-ups when they inspected the sacks of sand in the granary. He ate his meals in silence, and walked in silence. He even maintained his silence when the Musician tried to speak to him. Only when the Child sought him out did he nod or shake his head in response and occasionally say a few words.

The Child asked, “You’re not going to obey?”

He shook his head.

The Child asked, “Why won’t you water the corn with your blood?”

He was silent.

“Why?” the Child repeated, “Do you really want to remain here your entire life?”

The Scholar laughed bitterly and said, “God is watching us.”

After the Scholar mentioned God and the spirits, the Theologian stopped speaking of God.

The spirits were clear. The spirits had said, “Humans are unbridled. Have them bleed in vain as a form of labor.” As a result, everyone throughout the district had cut open their fingers every day and sprinkled the corn sprouts with their own blood. Those corn plants grew as tall as trees. In autumn, when they would normally produce ears of corn, they produced only a green finger-sized growth.

Within several months everyone’s hands were wrapped in bandages, but the sun, the wind, and the rain all stayed the same. But by the end of the ninth lunar month, however, nothing was the same. Instead, it was overcast for days on end, raining all day long. The entire world was flooded, and the Yellow River flowed furiously.

The Child also planted his own blood corn. He planted it outside the district, next to the steel-smelting furnaces. At the time, the furnaces were no longer smelting steel. The Author would go there to watch the unlit furnaces and recuperate, and it was there that the Child went to plant his blood corn. Every three to five days, the Child would follow the Author’s example and cut his finger to irrigate his corn with his own blood. As long as they ended up with one ear of corn as thick as a man’s thigh, they would be able to wrap it in red silk and donate it to the capital. The Author watched the empty furnace, in case the higher-ups, during a lull in the farming, were to ask them to start smelting again. Naturally, he also watched the Child’s cornstalks. Whenever he noticed that the leaves were wilting, he would irrigate them with his own blood. This cornstalk grew as tall, strong, and luscious as those in the courtyard. But come autumn, when it should have grown an ear, it merely produced a green stub.

When the Author returned to the district courtyard to eat, everyone, their hands bandaged up, asked him,