And so it happened that the following Monday—the very day his homeroom teacher had said, “Meng Xiaobei, if your parent doesn’t come, don’t bother coming to class on Monday”—the students of Balizhuang Primary School finally got to see something extraordinary.
By that morning, two classes had already ended. It was time for the morning exercises, and the entire school was gathered on the athletic field preparing to do their radio calisthenics. Two older students wearing Young Pioneers brigade-leader armbands were raising the national flag at the front while the loudspeakers crackled zzzt, zzzt and began playing the familiar strains of a march.
Because Meng Xiaobei had been suspended from class, he was not even allowed to join the exercises. He stood beside the ping-pong tables as punishment, his schoolbag slung over one shoulder, and even while standing there he was busy exchanging little looks with a girl at the head of the line opposite him.
Suddenly, an exceptionally conspicuous motorcycle engine roared outside the school gates. The vehicle fishtailed around with a flourish, its tires carving a stylish curved track into the dirt outside the entrance and kicking up a cloud of dust.
Every boy and girl in the school stopped looking at the flag platform. As one, all their heads turned left toward the school gate!
The person who had driven over was none other than the “parent” Student Meng Xiaobei had summoned from home.
Shaotang was now the leader of one of the guard details in his company and had taken leave especially for this. Their detachment commander had complained, “Why the hell are you always asking for leave? What could that little bastard possibly have going on that’s so damn important?” Shaotang had replied, “My son got his parent summoned to school. That is the most important thing!”
The “military vehicle” most commonly seen on streets around the country in those days was not some fancy off-road vehicle like a jeep or a Land Rover, but an army-green three-wheeled motorcycle with a sidecar. It could carry three people at most, and when it moved it went putt-putt-putt with tremendous swagger. That counted as a kind of “off-roading” too. Shaotang had come on his squadron’s sidecar motorcycle.
Under the eyes of the entire school, He Shaotang strode through the gates with his head high and chest out, walking with the standard bearing of a soldier. He jerked his chin at Meng Xiaobei. Kid. Follow me.
Students and teachers alike stared at him in astonishment from a distance. None of them had ever seen a parent show up looking like this. And why? Entirely because of what Shaotang was wearing that day.
He was not in uniform. On top, he wore a smoky-black leather jacket with a turned-up faux-shearling collar; below that, washed-cotton trousers and military boots. His hair was clipped into a neat, practical crew cut, the sides trimmed close enough to show the bluish skin of his temples.
After 1976, the old trio of blue, gray, and green clothing gradually began giving way to fabrics of every color. Fashionable people were already wearing floral dresses, pleated skirts, and even wool coats. But this man was wearing a leather jacket. A leather jacket!
The upright faux-shearling collar and head-to-toe black made him look strikingly cool. Shaotang walked with solemn, self-possessed swagger, expressionless and bright-eyed.
Meng Xiaobei, normally such a little menace, followed meekly behind him like a mouse that had spotted a cat, schoolbag on his back and practically trotting to keep up. Never in his life had he behaved this obediently at school. One look and anybody could tell: this was exactly how a son behaved when his father showed up.
The athletic field abruptly fell silent. The entire school watched without a sound as their eyes followed He Shaotang in black across the grounds, while only the five-starred red flag continued fluttering above the platform…
And at that exact moment, the national anthem began.
Every student wearing a red scarf raised the Young Pioneers salute.
Shaotang immediately stopped walking.
He faltered for only the tiniest instant. The moment he saw the unfurling national flag, years of conditioning took over in a way that was almost comical. His heels snapped together with a sharp click, his posture went ramrod straight, and without even remembering that he was not in uniform, his hand flew up in a textbook military salute to the flag.
All that impossibly swaggering attitude from a moment earlier vanished. While saluting, he was utterly solemn, his face set with the seriousness of long habit.
Meng Xiaobei stood behind him and, putting on an exaggeratedly serious act, also snapped to attention with a click and threw up a military salute.
The majestic national anthem gradually faded into its final notes. Countless pairs of eyes across the school remained fixed on them, filled with curiosity and awe.
“That’s Meng Xiaobei’s parent? His dad?! Isn’t his family from some mountain valley in Shaanxi…?”
“Is that guy a soldier?”
“You ever seen a soldier wearing a leather jacket? Is he with the mob or something?”
…
He Shaotang’s outfit was, for the time, the height of fashion among second-generation high-ranking cadre youth: a black leather jacket, probably some off-brand gray-market piece brought in through Guangdong or Hong Kong. He looked cool as hell.
In those unsettled years, even in the capital and other major cities, groups of three or five urban delinquents and street toughs often formed gangs, and their ranks included both children of high-ranking cadres and ordinary young men. So even Meng Xiaobei’s homeroom teacher was startled. Her first reaction was: Did this guy come from some Guangdong criminal gang?
Elio’s Notes: 黑社会, literally “black society,” is a common Chinese term for organized crime or the criminal underworld. The chapter title and the school’s joke come from Shaotang’s intimidating entrance and unusually fashionable black leather jacket.
When Shaotang became serious, his gaze was upright and steady and his presence could be oppressive. He gave the teacher a restrained nod. “I’m Meng Xiaobei’s father. You wanted to see me?”
That day, Meng Xiaobei stood pressed against the wall outside the office while Shaotang had a long conversation with the teacher inside.
The homeroom teacher was bewildered. “Isn’t Meng Xiaobei’s father in Shaanxi? Did you—you only arrive from Shaanxi yesterday?”
Shaotang said, “My son was suspended and wasn’t allowed back into class. How could I not come?”
Meng Xiaobei was not the only one who had grown up. His godfather was no longer the big kid who had once run wild with him in Xigou. Shaotang was now in his twenties and had been tempered by army life. There was maturity and severity between his brows, and he had developed a presence entirely his own. Heart-to-heart talks? Lectures? Political study? Being educated? Someone trained by the army was hardly going to be intimidated by any of that.
The homeroom teacher said that Meng Xiaobei had transferred in from somewhere else, hadn’t he? The teachers understood that he might have trouble keeping up academically, but now it was no longer simply a matter of schoolwork. In her opinion, the child fundamentally did not fit the atmosphere of the school!
Shaotang said that if he did not fit in, then they should slowly help him adapt. Even an adult could not immediately adjust after entering a completely new environment, could they? Back then, so many educated youths had gone from cities to the countryside and then from the countryside back into cities; plenty of people could not adapt when their entire living environment changed overnight. The key was how the school guided them!
The homeroom teacher said, “I guide him! Of course I guide him! But he has to listen to me!”
Shaotang continued, “Then you have to talk to him properly! You can’t drag him up over every little thing—or nothing at all—and send him to stand by the back door during class. You can’t constantly make him read self-criticisms in front of everyone either. He’s written so many of those things that now whenever he picks up a pen, he practically doesn’t know how to write anything else. Why are his composition grades so low? Because even his essays read like the self-criticisms we write in the army! Our Beibei isn’t a bad kid. He’s just restless and loves his freedom. He has his own talents and strengths. Once a child enters school, you ought to guide those strengths and help him develop them, not deliberately magnify every weakness and shortcoming until you hurt the kid’s pride and dignity!”
Emotionally, Shaotang was simply protecting his own cub, so naturally his mouth exaggerated things somewhat. When he was young in the army, he himself had been lectured and punished plenty of times. He had been kicked sprawling by his company commander in front of the entire unit, ordered to do two hundred push-ups, and made to run laps in pouring rain until he vomited. He had been through all of it. When soldiers were being trained, scolded, and disciplined, there was not much room for pride or dignity either.
But Meng Xiaobei was different in his heart. This was the first time he, as Xiaobei’s father, had learned that his son was being ostracized and discriminated against at school!
What had Meng Jianmin told him back then? I’m entrusting my own son to you. We’re separated by mountains and miles. You’ve got to watch his back for me!
He Shaotang rested one arm on the desk. His other hand had curled into a fist, its knuckles thick and prominent, while indignation and warning showed in his eyes.
“Teacher Liu, there’s something I want to ask. Our Beibei has been at this school for more than a year. This father right here pays the school eighty yuan a year in ‘sponsorship’ as his non-local attendance fee—no, wait, it was eighty last year and it’s gone up to ninety this year. So why didn’t Beibei receive the school uniform ordered for everyone this semester?”
The homeroom teacher said, “…There’s an additional charge for the uniform.”
Without the slightest hesitation, Shaotang pulled out his wallet on the spot. “How much? I’ll pay it. There’s no need to make the child ask his grandparents for money. I’ll give it to you right now. If every other child has one, my son should have one too. What makes him different from anybody else?”
The homeroom teacher said, “…We don’t treat him differently.”
Shaotang continued, “And another thing. He’s been studying here for a year now. He isn’t newly arrived. Why isn’t he allowed to get meals from the school cafeteria? His grandparents are old and can’t keep waiting on him. It would be much easier for him to eat at school. Why can’t you make that accommodation for him?”
The homeroom teacher said, “The cafeteria has a fixed quota. He arrived too late.”
Shaotang said, “Do I need to pay for a place? Give me a number.”
The homeroom teacher said, “…No.”
He Shaotang’s expression remained grave. “I also heard that you talked about Beibei’s father in front of the class. Part of why I came today was to tell you the truth. Beibei’s father is an educated worker. Back in his day, his father was one of the best students Balizhuang Primary School ever had and got into Beijing No. 80 High School! His father is intelligent and outstanding. The Cultural Revolution robbed him of the chance to take the university entrance examination; otherwise, who’s to say he couldn’t have become a professor? How many students from this school manage to get into Beijing No. 80 High School every year now?… Our Beibei is no worse than anybody else’s child.”
“Oh, I see. I understand now.” The homeroom teacher abruptly changed direction. “But after all that, you aren’t actually his father? Who exactly are you?”
Shaotang said, “I am his father.”
The homeroom teacher said, “Just how many fathers does Meng Xiaobei have?”
Shaotang raised his voice slightly. “I’m his father too. If you don’t believe me, go into the hallway right now and ask Meng Xiaobei whether he calls me Dad!”
This was what years of lecturing soldiers and being lectured himself had trained into him. He Shaotang now held an officer’s position, junior though it might be. Every day, he was either sitting through meetings while his superiors chewed him out, writing ideological reports and work reports, or disciplining the soldiers under him. When it came to talking someone down, he was not going to lose to anyone.
“And one more thing, Teacher Liu. As his father, when I hand the child over to the school, that means I trust you. If he does something wrong, you can criticize him and educate him. If that doesn’t work, tell me and I’ll deal with him at home. But you cannot use a pointer or a stick on him. You cannot hit my son!”
Only then did the homeroom teacher’s expression change. “I—I…”
By this point, Shaotang had somehow become emotional himself. “My son—I haven’t even hit him myself. If somebody’s going to beat him, I’ll be the one to do it. Nobody else gets a turn! He had several long red welts across his back. Was that from your pointer?!”
The homeroom teacher hesitated. “It left marks? That day I only tapped him a few times. I didn’t hit hard… I didn’t mean to hurt him. I truly didn’t…”
Shaotang’s eyes reddened. “Beibei is a child. He isn’t even an adult yet. Of course he doesn’t know better. If he were already grown and sensible, would he be coming here to study third-grade primary-school lessons?!”
The previous night, Shaotang had come home, eaten, chatted for a while, and then the kid had gone to bathe. Strangely enough, Xiaobei had tried to avoid him, his gaze flickering slightly as though he were embarrassed.
He Shaotang had been puzzled. Since when has this little bastard ever been shy around me? Did growing up suddenly change his personality?
He quietly peered through a crack in the door and was shocked to discover several long red marks across Xiaobei’s back. Xiaobei already seemed to mark and scar easily, almost as though he bruised at the slightest touch; even a minor bump could leave a frighteningly vivid purplish-red mark…
Shaotang had immediately flared up. Did someone bully you at school? Did somebody hit you? Right here under the old Imperial City walls, on my own turf, under my own damn nose—if I let somebody bully you, I, He Shaotang, might as well go crack my head open against a wall! It took him a long time to drag the entire story out of Xiaobei, and that was why he had stormed into school today on the sidecar motorcycle.
In front of the teacher, he kept calling the kid “our Beibei,” the words carrying a fiercely possessive kind of protectiveness. In front of outsiders, he was extreme about guarding his cub. Xiaobei was one of his own; only Meng Jianmin and he had the right to discipline the boy. Outsiders truly did not have that privilege.
To Xiaobei’s face, Shaotang was never this affectionate. Usually he simply barked all three syllables of “Meng Xiaobei,” or called him “little fucking bastard” with obvious disgust.
Unfortunately, Meng Xiaobei was outside the office drawing on the floor with the toe of his shoe and never heard a single one of those affectionate “Beibei”s…
As for Meng Xiaobei’s homeroom teacher, she was not actually a bad person. She was simply middle-aged, sharp-tongued, and quick-tempered. At forty, she had reached the age when seniority, professional rank, and benefits all had to be fought for, while students’ grades and conduct affected teachers’ rankings, bonuses, and honors. The pressure of the job was enormous. The moment she stepped outside the classroom, she was battered by rules from the school and education authorities and tormented by advancement targets, all while earning the same fixed monthly salary and still having to struggle with troublesome children. How could her temper not turn sour? Fortunately, after teaching for many years and surviving countless battles, their homeroom teacher was herself a formidable woman. Otherwise, she never could have gone head-to-head with Meng Xiaobei.
And really, how could a student like Meng Xiaobei simply be left alone? The entire class would copy everything that little monkey did. If nobody controlled him, soon they would all be climbing onto rooftops and eventually going out into society to cause trouble.
That day, the teacher had indeed been intimidated by He Shaotang’s outfit and presence. Her tone immediately became much more tactful. She apologized repeatedly and even offered to take Meng Xiaobei to the hospital to have his injuries checked. In those days, anyone who could afford a leather jacket and lined high-top military boots was most likely from one of the military compounds in Haidian. She had never imagined that this child Meng Xiaobei actually had such powerful backing…
Shaotang coughed a few times and softened toward the teacher as well. “There’s no need to have the injuries examined. I didn’t come here to extort anything from you. I only hope, Teacher Liu, that you’ll give our Beibei a chance and try looking at him differently.”
There was one thought Shaotang was too embarrassed to say aloud: The more I look at this kid, the more I like what I see. Why can’t you stand him, Teacher? If you could recognize his good points and appreciate him the way I do, wouldn’t that be great?
Shaotang continued chatting. “Our Beibei represented the school in a district art competition?”
“That counts as bringing honor to your class too, doesn’t it?”
The homeroom teacher nodded. “Yes, yes, he did bring us honor. It’s true—Xiaobei really is extraordinarily talented at drawing…”
Shaotang said, “I heard he often comes to school on weekends to work on the class blackboard newspaper. He draws that too, right?”
The homeroom teacher laughed. “He does! You have to chase him to finish his homework, but nobody ever has to remind him about the blackboard newspaper. He loves doing that. We even give him a little square section of his own where he writes doggerel…”
That day, Shaotang left the school and went straight back to his unit. He had no time to hang around.
Before leaving, he pointed at Meng Xiaobei, warning in his eyes. “Rotten kid. Get over here.”
“I’m telling you now: your homeroom teacher and I have already negotiated a peace treaty. Your school uniform has been ordered, and I paid for your lunches next semester too. The teacher won’t make things difficult for you anymore. But!…”
“If you dare make things difficult for your dad again—if you break classroom rules one more time and make your teacher summon me to school for another little ‘talk’—then just wait until I get home and have a little ‘talk’ with you.”
Meng Xiaobei lowered his head and mumbled, “Okay, I know already—”
Shaotang said, “What’s your punishment when you get home tonight?”
Meng Xiaobei pouted. “Okay… one hundred sit-ups, one hundred push-ups—ow, I can’t even do that many push-ups! Can I replace them with fifty squats? And also… rubbing your back and pounding your legs, the same punishment for the next hundred years!”
Shaotang said, “Going to be a next time?”
Meng Xiaobei became thoroughly obedient and shook his head immediately. “No next time. Thank you, Godfather.”
Shaotang snapped, “Call me your real dad!”
Meng Xiaobei broke into a grin. “Real Dad! My good—young—dad—Shaotang, you’re the best!”
Shaotang cursed at himself. “Ah, fuck me. That was the first time in my life a teacher ever called me in for a talk too. I was sweating bullets! I’m soaked inside this jacket. Running around and busting my ass for you like this—is being your dad easy?!”
Shaotang thought he must be hopeless himself. How could one sticky-sweet little “my good young dad” from that rotten child make him feel so damn pleased with himself? Why was he so eager to throw money around and work himself to death for this kid?
…
This incident became a turning point in Meng Xiaobei’s primary-school years.
“Dad” had finally appeared at school—and not just any dad, but an impressively formidable, stylish one. For a boy who had come to Beijing from somewhere else, that mattered enormously. It affected a child’s pride and dignity, the way his classmates looked at him, and all the ways the people around him treated him. For Meng Xiaobei, it was a kind of psychological “orthodontics”: something inside him that had been knocked crooked was finally being straightened.
When school ended that day, his classmates could not stop talking. That was Meng Xiaobei’s dad—did you see him? His dad was so handsome! Meng Xiaobei’s dad was actually way better-looking than Meng Xiaobei! That black leather jacket was unbelievably fashionable; none of them had ever seen anyone wearing one before!…
The other students did not understand what was going on, but Shen Dawei, the little fatty who had come from Qishan’s Xigou with Xiaobei, knew the whole story perfectly well.
The little fatty put an arm around Meng Xiaobei’s shoulders, and the two walked home together as affectionately as ever. Shen Dawei said sincerely, “Your godfather really treats you like a brother. He’s damn loyal.”
Meng Xiaobei said, “Of course. You know who I am to him.”
Shen Dawei slapped his shoulder. “Your godfather was unbelievably cool today. He wiped out the whole school! You should’ve seen our homeroom teacher’s face—she looked so shocked her glasses were about to fall off! Hahahaha!”
A tiny expression flickered deep in Meng Xiaobei’s eyes, unnoticed by anyone else. Warmth filled his chest. From the bottom of his heart, completely and utterly, he felt grateful to Shaotang and worshipped him deeply.
Terms like “male god” were not yet fashionable in those days. But in Meng Xiaobei’s heart, Shaotang was exactly that—his “male god,” the man he idolized above all others. His feelings for Shaotang grew deeper and deeper. Nobody else could compare, until eventually he could no longer do without him at all…
Elio’s Notes: 男神, literally “male god,” later became popular internet slang for a man someone intensely admires or idolizes. The narrator deliberately uses the later term anachronistically here while noting that it did not exist in Xiaobei’s school days.
Afterward, Shaotang carefully set about repairing any consequences his dramatic appearance at the school might have caused. During the New Year, he had casually swiped a high-end wall calendar from his younger uncle’s home. The paper was beautiful and heavy in the hand, the sort of thing that made a home look especially respectable. He handed it over to Meng Xiaobei and instructed him, “Give this to your homeroom teacher.”
The next year, it was two jars of fruit-drink powder. The year after that, coffee…
Xiaobei’s grandparents had never even thought of giving gifts to a teacher. The older generation had no experience navigating school society and had simply overlooked the idea. He Shaotang, however, had grown up around the military and had absorbed all the little rules of interpersonal dealings between “superiors and subordinates.” From then on, every year he reminded Meng Xiaobei to give his teachers calendars and gifts.
A year after that, the school happened to be celebrating one of its major anniversaries and held a ceremony to raise the national flag. This time, Shaotang brought two soldiers under his command, all three wearing crisp uniforms and fastened military belts, and conducted a proper formal flag-raising ceremony for the primary school.
They were professional soldiers—it was practically as though someone had invited the Tiananmen Square National Flag Guard itself. Their appearance lasted only five minutes, yet it impressed even the district officials. The school and the homeroom teacher gained considerable prestige from the event and were extremely grateful…
Shaotang himself had always disdained this sort of flattering and currying favor with superiors. He did all of it solely so his godson would have an easier time at school. He thought things through carefully from every direction, using both authority and kindness—a slap followed by a sweet date. He wanted everyone around Xiaobei to understand that this child had “backing,” that someone at home was protecting him, and that he was not some unloved wild child with nobody who cared about him.
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