During her time in Yunteng, Xiao Xian had never been exposed to alcohol, but once after dinner, when the old man was feeling merry, he dipped the tip of his chopstick into some wine and let Xiao Xian have a taste. With just one taste, the little girl developed a liking for it. She dared not drink openly, but she found herself lingering around her grandfather’s wine glass more often after meals.
The peanuts fried in vegetable oil, with their crisp red husks, filled her mouth with a fragrant flavor, satisfying Xiao Xian’s craving, "Grandpa, what is wine made from?"
"It’s made by fermenting rice. Didn’t your Sister-in-law Lian take some rice at the end of last year, saying that she was going to steam the rice to make wine? Didn’t she also give you a few rice dumplings to feed you, you little glutton?" Zhu Shijun saw Xiao Xian drooling over his wine glass, picked up his chopstick, and dabbed it on her tongue.
"Grandpa, shall we keep a few pounds of rice to make wine for you?" The few acres of land at the head of Xiao Xian’s village was a demonstration field this year. Its per-acre yield was slightly lower than last year, but still more robust than the other rice fields in the village. The village chief and Zhu Shijun pondered for a while but couldn’t figure out the reason for its high productivity.
"Making wine isn’t something to be taken lightly. You have to start by choosing the right rice," Zhu Shijun was about to launch into an explanation when he suddenly put down his chopstick, his previously furrowed brows now relaxed.
"Xiao Xian, you are truly your grandpa’s little lucky star," Zhu Shijun picked up his granddaughter with a loud, cheerful laugh, expressing an indescribable joy.
The village’s rice was sold off in a few days, fetching a price that was two yuan higher than the Agricultural Grain Station. With the entire village’s rice sold, they made a total of over one hundred thousand yuan. The most delightful thing for the village chief was that the village’s ten thousand kilograms of rice were transported without incurring a penny in freight costs.
Fifteen days after the autumn harvest, the village kids were filled with excitement; they had never seen such large metal trucks. Each one was larger than Uncle San Gouzi’s truck - five big blue Sinotruck heavy trucks arrived, taking all of the village’s rice down the mountain. The words "National Wine" were written on the sides of the trucks.
"Mr. Zhu, as they say, tobacco and alcohol are of the same kin. The rice you sent for testing was very good, with a higher glucose content than the rice from the northeast. From now on, our factory will take all the rice produced in this village," said a rosy-cheeked man in his fifties who looked like he was perpetually tipsy, accompanying the trucks. He brought with him two bottles of alcohol as a gift for Zhu Shijun to sample. Xiao Xian sneaked a peek at them – encased in a red, yellow, and black box, the two bottles of alcohol released a fragrance that lingered long after they were opened. Later, the old man described the aroma as that of soy sauce liquor.
They say the business world is more merciless than officialdom, but Zhu Shijun didn’t see it that way. His friends from the tobacco factory hadn’t forgotten about this old man.
After selling the grain, completing a significant task for the village, everyone received their due share. Even Granny Zhao, who had the least amount of land in the village, received over two thousand yuan. Her cloudy old eyes counted the money over and over with her clumsy arithmetic, incredulously exclaiming, "This old woman has never seen so much money in her life; this better not be fake." The villagers teased, "Granny Zhao, it’s real. With this money, you can build a large-tiled house, and not worry even if a flood comes."
Granny Zhao spat on the ground and then wobbled off on her small, shaky feet to hide her money somewhere.
Not long after the grain sale, the village chief announced over the loudspeakers that San Gouzi would stand for the election for the position of village party secretary.
Originally, everyone thought that San Gouzi’s election would be as certain as leaves turning yellow in autumn and persimmons reddening in winter; after all, in a small and remote village like Ge Village, the positions of village chief and party secretary were usually held until old age, and no one was willing to meddle in village affairs. However, there was an unexpected twist.
"Qian Duoduo is coming back to run for the election? No, you mean Qian Duoduo’s uncle, Qian Yongcai? Didn’t he leave the village a long time ago to become a contractor and make undeclared earnings?" Now with money and a set of dentures, Granny Zhao chatted with the villagers at the village entrance.
"Indeed, and he even said that if he’s elected, he will take the lead in building roads for the village," the village loafers chimed in, energized by the news.
With prosperity comes envy; as the village grew wealthy, it attracted attention.
After their father had just passed away, Qian Yongcai left the village and was one of the first people to leave the mountains to make a living by the sea. He took over a failed construction project in Jinan in his early years and made money, becoming a contractor. Over the past decade, he accumulated a fair bit of wealth and became a millionaire. If it hadn’t been for his last visit home for his brother Qian Yongfu’s funeral, he wouldn’t have known that his hometown had started growing rice and had made a fortune from it.
Not long after Qian Yongfu’s funeral, Qian Yongcai discussed with his nephew Duoduo that being a private contractor wasn’t profitable these days, but the state was encouraging people to open up mountains for farming, which might fetch a good price.
Later, the town issued a document stating that all the villagers over the age of eighteen who were interested in running for the village election could come forward. After that, Qian Yongcai returned to the village with a flashy young woman in her twenties.
The first thing he did upon his return was to pull out ten thousand yuan and throw it in front of the village chief, saying it was to subsidize those in the village who had suffered from the disaster.
"The village chief said, at the beginning of next month, around the 11th National Day, there will be a village-wide meeting at the entrance. Both San Gouzi and Qian Yongcai will speak to see what they can do for the village," the villagers passed the word around.
Xiao Xian thought, why bother with an election? None of the Qian family had ever been good, naturally Uncle San Gouzi should be the village party secretary. But what the villagers truly thought was another matter.
That very night, San Gouzi, dressed in his best clothes, recited a "speech" written by Zhu Shijun, stumbling over it. (To be continued. If you work, please visit Qidian (qidian.com) and cast your recommendation tickets and monthly tickets. Your support is my greatest motivation.)
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