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Later still, as that lunar year drew to a close, the political atmosphere gradually began to loosen and the first winds of reform started to blow. That Spring Festival, the factory workers and military personnel celebrated together, building a stage on the large athletic field for a joint gala.
He Shaotang’s unit put on a formation hand-to-hand combat and paired grappling demonstration. Shaotang performed onstage in the very center of the front row. His punches were clean and impressive, and he himself looked sharp and handsome. Every time he launched himself into a flying kick and then crashed heavily to the ground, the audience below cried out in alarm. Meng Xiaobei would flinch as though he himself had taken the fall, instinctively rubbing his own knee because it seemed to hurt just watching. Then he would see Shaotang spring nimbly back to his feet, looking unbelievably cool.
Several older factory workers went onstage and sang excerpts from Qinqiang opera to the accompaniment, while workers, soldiers, and their families below clapped furiously and shouted their approval.
The trade union also organized a Chinese-chess tournament. Meng Jianmin took second place in the entire factory, losing in the finals only to an obsessive chess player in his sixties. None of the other competitors in their twenties or thirties could beat him; he checkmated most of them within a few minutes. Everyone said Worker Meng really did have a first-rate mind. He had always been intelligent, loved studying books, and had been an excellent student in his youth.
…
That Lunar New Year’s Eve, Shaotang spent the night at the Meng home.
As Meng Jianmin put it, “Shaotang, you don’t have a home of your own here in Xigou. There are four of us in this family, and at least it still looks and feels like a home. From now on, come spend New Year with us.”
“You’re more than ten years younger than me. Just treat me like an older brother.”
That was what Meng Jianmin told him.
The two men set a little table across the bed and drank facing each other. Both had a little too much that night and ended up saying plenty of drunken “nonsense.”
The more Meng Jianmin drank, the redder his face became. The more He Shaotang drank, the hotter he got, sweat pouring off him. First he stripped off his uniform jacket, then his sweater, until finally he was left wearing nothing but a shirt hanging open at the throat.
Meng Jianmin was wondering whether Shaotang might mind that an ordinary civilian like him seemed to be eagerly currying favor with the son of a high-ranking cadre family. He Shaotang, meanwhile, was wondering whether Jianmin might mind having a so-called high-ranking cadre’s son constantly coming and going from his home and bringing expensive things—whether that difference in background might someday create distance between them.
Meng Jianmin felt guilty that Shaotang had spent so much time worrying over that monkey Meng Xiaobei lately, even getting injured and suffering because of him. He Shaotang, meanwhile, still felt ashamed that on the day of the trouble in the village, he had lost his temper with Meng Xiaobei and actually shouted at the kid. His temper could still flare sometimes, though he was already far more even-tempered than he had once been.
Shaotang tried to reassure him. “Don’t get too anxious about that university business. Central government policy may change soon. They may bring the examinations back.”
Meng Jianmin said, “Even if they start sending another batch of students to university now, people from our old cohort will have missed the chance. Who’s going to care about us anymore?”
He Shaotang said, “You think you’re old?”
Meng Jianmin said, “Even the army has an age limit for recruits. I’m already overage for university!”
Elio’s Notes: The conversation foreshadows the restoration of China’s national college entrance examination after its suspension during the Cultural Revolution. Its return reopened university admission through competitive examinations rather than relying primarily on political recommendation and allocated worker-peasant-soldier student places.
Meng Xiaojing sat with his head lowered, picking at and biting his fingers. He had had the habit since childhood and had chewed the skin around all ten fingernails raw. Put plainly, it came from growing up hungry and always wanting something in his mouth.
Meng Xiaobei, meanwhile, dipped one finger into the liquor and used it to draw little people on the tabletop.
Meng Jianmin pointed his chopsticks at Xiaobei. “From now on, I’m counting on the two of you brothers to make something of yourselves.”
Shaotang said, “Xiaobei’s lively and adaptable. He likes learning new things, he’s quick-minded, and when something genuinely interests him, he throws himself into it and really studies it. He’ll definitely make something of himself one day.”
Meng Jianmin said, “Shaotang, I’ve seen everything you’ve done for our child. Your big brother remembers it. Don’t think I don’t know how to be grateful.”
Shaotang said, “You don’t need to say that out loud.”
Meng Jianmin really was somewhat drunk that night. His eyes reddened. “I do! We need to make all of this clear.”
“Xiaobei, that bag of milk powder you drank? Your Uncle Shaotang fought it out of the flooded Wei River for you, holding it above the water even when the current was nearly sweeping him away! You remember that!”
“Meng Xiaobei, recognize Shaotang as your godfather. When you grow up, you’d better know how to repay what he’s done for you.”
Meng Jianmin spoke one word at a time, his breath heavy with liquor.
For a moment, everyone around the table went silent. Nobody had expected Meng Jianmin to say such a thing.
Meng Jianmin had not even discussed it with his wife beforehand. Ma Baochun froze. She could hardly object on the spot, but she was clearly taken completely by surprise.
Shaotang was startled and uncomfortable as well. He rubbed both hands hard against his trousers, his face flushed from the alcohol. “No. Don’t. I’m not qualified for that.”
Meng Jianmin said, “If you aren’t qualified, who is? The question is whether this kid accepts you.”
Shaotang was left speechless. He looked at Xiaobei beside him and suddenly felt something strange and disorienting. He often showed off in front of his army buddies and joked, “That’s my son.” But when the two of them were messing around together, running through the mountains, herding sheep, singing, chasing each other—had he ever truly thought of Meng Xiaobei as his “son”? Why did formally giving the relationship that name suddenly make everything feel as though their positions had shifted?
Meng Xiaobei was still sprawled crookedly against Shaotang and fidgeting with him. He immediately asked, “Why do I have to call him Dad?”
Meng Jianmin became very serious. “From now on, stop being so disrespectful with him. Be proper. Call him Godfather.”
Elio’s Notes: 干爹, translated here as “godfather,” describes a socially recognized fictive father-son relationship formed outside biological kinship. Unlike the Christian use of “godfather,” the Chinese relationship is not inherently religious and may be established simply through family agreement or custom. A 干爹 can become a genuine member of the family’s kinship network without being a legal adoptive father.
Meng Xiaobei answered immediately, “Dad, you’re my dad. Shaotang is Shaotang. You’re two different people. How come suddenly both of you are my dad?!”
Meng Jianmin blurted out, “Because nobody treats you better than he does!”
Meng Xiaobei fell silent.
Meng Jianmin pointed at his eldest son and said something that he would repeat again and again over the years that followed. “Meng Xiaobei, remember what your Godfather Shaotang has done for you. Back then, he held that bag of milk powder above the floodwater for you and wouldn’t let go even when the current was nearly carrying him away! Speaking from my heart, if it had been your own father—me—I could only have done as much for you as he did.”
“You put that food in your mouth, so you keep the debt in your heart too. That was bought with someone risking his life.”
…
The entire room remained silent for a long while. Everyone’s face was flushed and their breathing warm with drink, strong alcohol and overly heightened emotions swirling around the table. Finally, Meng Xiaobei muttered softly, “Fine then… Godfather.”
Meng Jianmin said, “Pour your godfather a drink.”
Meng Xiaobei poured a cup of baijiu. He Shaotang accepted it and paused. At this point, there was no possible way to refuse the drink. He tipped it back in one swallow.
Meng Jianmin nodded in satisfaction, then reminded Shaotang, “From now on, when the soldiers in your company tease you again, just tell them straight out: this really is your son!”
“We’ve got two children at home, and sometimes there’s more than we can manage. If anything happens to Xiaobei in the future, I’ll have to trouble you to keep an extra eye on him and help look after him. Treat him as though he were your own flesh-and-blood child.”
Shock flickered through He Shaotang’s eyes. Outwardly he remained calm, but waves were rising inside him, and for a long while he could not find anything to say. Without warning, an invisible boundary of generation and status seemed to have appeared between him and the child in front of him. It was as though a heavy stone had suddenly been placed on his chest as well. This was one hell of a responsibility to put on his shoulders!
As for Meng Xiaobei, at his age he had little understanding of the implications contained in titles like these. To him, changing what he called Shaotang merely meant giving the man a different outer label. Peel that label away and wasn’t he still Shaotang underneath? Xiaobei could pick Shaotang out by smell alone.
Years later, on some future day, when he finally understood that the word “godfather” had placed between them a nearly uncrossable gulf of generation, family status, and fictive kinship, perhaps it would already be too late.
…
After Shaotang left, Ma Baochun hurriedly asked her husband while they talked beneath the quilt that night, “What on earth were you thinking today?”
Meng Jianmin said, “Exactly what I said.”
Ma Baochun said, “Shaotang’s barely how old? He’s more than ten years younger than you. He’s far too young to be Meng Xiaobei’s father! An honorary older brother would make more sense, or at most let Xiaobei call him ‘Young Uncle.’ You’ve completely mixed up the generations.”
Meng Jianmin said, “That’s a woman’s narrow way of looking at it. Whether someone is suitable has nothing to do with age. We get along, and he genuinely treats our son well. I think he’s the most suitable person there is.”
Ma Baochun said, “And what kind of family background does Shaotang have? He’s definitely going back to Beijing someday. He isn’t going to spend his whole life stuck in this mountain valley!”
In the darkness, Meng Jianmin answered with certainty, “That is exactly why Xiaobei needs to recognize him as his godfather. Shaotang is definitely going back to Beijing, his family has connections, and then Xiaobei may have a way to get out with him.”
Ma Baochun was suddenly stunned. “…So that’s what you were thinking?”
Meng Jianmin gazed calmly at the faint reflection of light on the ceiling, as though it were the last glimmer of hope left in the darkness. “There’s nothing much left for me to hope for in this life. The times have basically ruined me. I cannot let them ruin my son too.”
“My son is smart. His mind is quick. He’s been able to endure hardship since he was little, he’ll fight for what he wants, and he has the guts to go out into the world. What does he lack? He lacks background. He lacks someone behind him. He lacks one opportunity to get out! If he has to compete with other people based on who has the more powerful biological father, he has no hope. He’ll never win that contest… So when he enters society someday, let him compete on the strength of his godfather instead!”
Elio’s Notes: The joke turns on 拼爹, literally “competing through one’s father,” a colloquial expression for gaining advantages through a parent’s status, wealth, or connections rather than solely through one’s own ability. Meng Jianmin bitterly acknowledges that Xiaobei cannot “compete by biological father,” so he hopes a powerful godfather may provide the backing his son otherwise lacks.
Ma Baochun had no answer. She stared at him in the darkness. “That’s how you’ve been thinking about Squad Leader He? But this… this makes it sound like the two of us are scheming against him together…”
Meng Jianmin said coldly, “Am I scheming against him?”
The two streams of tears he had shed beside the Wei River that day had certainly not been false.
“I know how to judge people. I’m not wrong about him.” An expression crossed Meng Jianmin’s face, a thousand different feelings seeming to surge through him at once. “Shaotang really is a good man. On the surface he acts as if he couldn’t care less about anything, but underneath he’s decent, kindhearted, and thoughtful… I can’t reach anyone else anyway. So fine. He’s the one I’ll curry favor with… Not for myself. I’m doing it for my son’s future.”
…
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