Chapter Forty-Five: Standing on the Edge of 1990

Ping'an Village. New Year's Eve.

In 1989, the rural atmosphere of the Spring Festival was still very rich.

Lu Kun's family started their preparations early. Liu Liping was busy making rice cakes, sticky rice dumplings, and steamed rice cakes—the three essential foods of the festival. Rice cakes and sticky dumplings signified "rising higher year by year," while the steamed rice cakes paired with the tangerine pots placed at both sides of the doorway meant "good fortune every year."

During the holidays, villagers formed dragon and lion dance teams, dancing from one end of the village to the other. The eldest and second daughters, along with the village children, loved to join the fun, chasing the lion dance wherever it went.

In Ping'an Village stood the Temple of Pan Gu, tended by a caretaker who had watched over it for decades. On Pan Gu's birthday, New Year's Eve, and the second day of the new year, he would gather men from neighboring villages for lively festivities. This temple was the cradle of Lu Kun's childhood joys. Whenever the caretaker hosted events, the children could always count on a free meal.

The children ran wild and carefree, while their parents were nearly exhausted.

Lu Kun was immersed in the "three tasks"—first, cleaning the house to remove filth; second, preparing for the New Year's Eve ancestor worship, gathering chicken, duck, fish, meats, various vegetables, couplets, firecrackers, incense, and candles; third, frying snacks such as sweet rings, crispy balls, pastry corners, and thin wafers.

If Lu Kun had to describe his first impression of this year, it would be busy—so busy, extremely busy.

"Little chicken, little chicken, don't blame me; you're a dish for mankind. Leave early this year, come back early next year." With his ritual chant complete, Lu Kun drew the well-sharpened knife across the chicken's neck.

Blood trickled into the bowl. Seeing it was enough, Lu Kun tossed the chicken onto the haystack and set aside the bowl of blood.

The chicken wasn't fully dead yet; it would take a while, lest it flail about when thrown into the pot.

Liu Liping had never dared to kill a chicken. All the years she'd been married into the Lu family, she always called on Lu Kun for the task. In her words, she had grown attached to the chickens she raised and couldn't bear to do it.

When cleaning the chicken's organs, Lu Kun made sure to set aside the cecum. His eldest and second daughters had requested it in advance.

All the village children loved it. They would wrap the cecum in banana leaves with a sprinkle of salt, stuff it into the stove belly while the fire burned, and after a while, pull it out to eat—fragrant and delightfully chewy.

This year was the most lavish Spring Festival since Liu Liping had married into the Lu family. There was no shortage of chicken, duck, fish, and meat; snacks were well-stocked, enough to last even after visiting relatives.

Before four in the afternoon, the Lu clan's ancestral hall was already crowded. Men carried baskets, women cradled children, families gathered to pay respects to their ancestors.

There was no shortage of flowery words for the occasion—even the most taciturn parents became eloquent, bowing repeatedly before the altar, praying for the elders’ health, the children's growth, and the couple’s prosperity.

Lu Kun and his wife, with their two children, arrived just in time for the last round of ancestor worship.

This year, the couple had prepared generously: a slab of fat pork and a hefty chicken weighing six or seven pounds. Their offerings caused a stir among the crowd.

Villagers weren't coy; envy was written plainly across their faces.

Many greeted the couple warmly.

After all, Lu Kun's ability to earn money was rare even across Ping'an Town. He had just paid back over three thousand yuan to villagers, earning admiration a few days prior. Although no one knew exactly how much was spent, the endless line of firecrackers stretching for miles spoke volumes.

Liu Liping was surrounded by women, hearing all manner of compliments, envy, and hints of jealousy, leaving her a bit flustered.

Lu Kun had no time to shield her; the men kept offering him cigarettes—two tucked behind his ear, a handful in his fist.

Those his age half-jokingly asked him to lead them in making a living, and Lu Kun managed their requests as best he could. Some elders, however, shamelessly demanded he look after their younger kin.

"Heh heh..." Whenever he met such self-important types, Lu Kun made a mental note. He could help, but if their protégés ended up crying home, it would be no surprise.

Conversation lasted far longer than the ancestor worship itself. Women's talk centered on husbands and children—the fortunate ones flaunted their happiness, the struggling ones looked on with envy. Men's conversations were simpler: women and making money, the eternal topics.

...

After bathing, changing into new clothes, and finishing the New Year's Eve dinner, Lu Kun and his wife took their children to the village entrance to watch television.

Some homes had electricity, but the only appliance was the yellowish incandescent lamp.

It was said that the sole TV had been borrowed by the village committee from the town, to show the Spring Festival Gala and broaden the villagers' horizons.

The CCTV Spring Festival Gala originated in 1979, officially began in 1983, and was only designated a national project in 2014.

At this time, entertainment for villagers was scarce. Children went to bed at dusk, adults made babies after dark, and seeing a television for the first time truly opened their eyes.

Lu Kun, in both his lifetimes, had never watched the Spring Festival Gala so attentively.

He had to admit, the gala in those years was of high quality—sincere and moving, far surpassing the later, ideologically correct galas.

He remembered three acts most vividly.

The first was the skit "A Day in the Life of a Heroic Mother" performed by Zhao Lirong and Hou Yaowen; the line "Sima Gang shattered" and her honest, grandmotherly image won every villager's heart.

The second featured Song Dandan, a familiar face from both his lives, making her Spring Festival Gala debut with the skit "The Lazy Man's Blind Date." Her outstanding performance made her unforgettable, turning her into a perennial guest of the gala.

Most memorable was the third—qigong performance.

Yes, qigong. In 1989, it was proudly showcased on the gala stage. Zhang Jialing and Huang Youye, with their acts "Water Jet Breaking Brick" and "Body Shrinking into Cage," became renowned qigong masters throughout the country.

However, the gala inadvertently shot itself in the foot. With this act, qigong swept the nation. The more authorities debunked it, the more the masses believed in its miraculous powers.

Some populists went so far as to proclaim, "America has missiles, China has qigong masters," stirring up fervor.

For years to come, cities everywhere would be swarmed by qigong masters, leading men, women, and children in relentless practice, earning fortunes.

It wasn't just the masses who went wild—even major newspapers, tabloids, and entertainment press followed suit. Front pages, once reserved for current affairs, were now dominated by qigong.

Lu Kun mused that if he were to reveal the future theories of "qi cultivation, foundation building, golden elixir, nascent soul, transformation of spirit..." he'd surely be hyped into a legendary qigong master overnight.

PS: Thanks to the reader "See you at the next intersection" for the reward!