Explore Chapter 7 of '呐喊' with the original Chinese text, English translation, detailed Chinese vocabulary explanations, and audio of the Chinese original. Listen and improve your reading skills.
On the earthen threshing ground by the river, the sun gradually withdrew its golden rays. The leaves of the tallow trees by the riverbank, parched and dry, seemed to catch their breath at last. A few mosquitoes with patterned legs hummed and danced beneath them. From the chimneys of the farmhouses facing the river, the smoke of cooking fires dwindled. Women and children splashed water on the earthen ground in front of their doors, set out small tables and low stools. Everyone knew it was time for the evening meal.
Old men sat on low stools, fanning themselves with large palm-leaf fans as they chatted. Children ran like the wind or squatted under the tallow trees, gambling with pebbles. Women brought out steaming black preserved vegetables and golden rice, hot and fragrant. A scholar's wine boat sailed by on the river. A literary man, upon seeing this, was inspired to poetry and said, "Carefree and without a worry in the world, this is truly the joy of country life!"
But the literary man's words were somewhat divorced from reality, precisely because they had not heard Old Lady Nine Pounds's words.
At this moment, Old Lady Nine Pounds was in a great rage, striking the leg of a stool with a tattered palm-leaf fan and saying:
"I've lived to seventy-nine, had enough of life. I don't want to see such signs of family ruin-better to die. We're about to have dinner, and you're still eating fried beans! You'll eat the family into poverty!"
The village had a peculiar custom. When a woman gave birth, they often liked to weigh the child on a scale and use the weight in catties as a nickname. Since celebrating her fiftieth birthday, Old Lady Nine Pounds had gradually become a malcontent. She often said that in her youth, the weather was not as hot as now, and beans were not as hard. In short, the times were all wrong. Moreover, Six Pounds weighed three catties less than her great-grandfather and one catty less than her father Seven Pounds. This was indeed irrefutable proof. So she added with emphasis, "This is truly a generation worse than the last!"
Her daughter-in-law Sister Seven Pounds was just carrying a rice basket to the table. She slammed the basket down and said angrily, "You're at it again, old mother. When Six Pounds was born, wasn't she six catties and five taels? Your family's scale is a private one, over-weighted-an eighteen-tael catty scale. Using the standard sixteen-tael catty, our Six Pounds should weigh over Seven Pounds. I think even your grandfather and father-in-law probably weren't a full nine or eight catties. Their scale might have been fourteen taels..."
Although Seven Pounds lived in the countryside, he had long harbored ambitions of rising in the world. For three generations, from his grandfather to him, none had handled a hoe handle. He routinely helped others pole a ferry boat, making one trip daily. In the morning, he went from Luzhen to town, and in the evening, he returned to Luzhen. Thus, he knew quite a bit about current events. For instance, where the Thunder God had struck down a centipede spirit, or where a maiden had given birth to a demon. Among the villagers, he was indeed a notable figure. But in summer, they ate without lighting a lamp, still adhering to rural habits. So coming home late was worthy of a scolding.
Seven Pounds slowly raised his head, sighed, and said, "The emperor has ascended the dragon throne."
Sister Seven Pounds was stunned for a moment, then suddenly exclaimed as if enlightened, "That's good news! Doesn't that mean there will be a great imperial amnesty?"
Sister Seven Pounds now felt instinctively that things seemed amiss, because Xianheng Tavern was a well-informed place. She glanced at Seven Pounds's shaved head and could not help feeling angry, blaming and resenting him. Suddenly overcome with despair, she filled a bowl of rice and thrust it before Seven Pounds, saying, "Better hurry up and eat! Will wearing a long face make your queue grow?"
The sun had withdrawn its last rays. A coolness crept back over the water surface. On the threshing ground, the clatter of bowls and chopsticks rose. Sweat beads reappeared on everyone's backs. After finishing three bowls of rice, Sister Seven Pounds happened to look up, and her heart began to pound uncontrollably. Through the tallow leaves, she saw the short, stout Seventh Master Zhao walking across the single-plank bridge, wearing a long gown of precious blue cloth.
Seventh Master Zhao was the owner of Maoyuan Wine Shop in the neighboring village and the only distinguished scholar within a thirty-li radius. Because he was learned, he also carried a whiff of old-fashioned pedantry. He had over a dozen volumes of Records of the Three Kingdoms with Jin Shengtan's commentary, which he often read character by character. He could not only name the Five Tiger Generals but even knew that Huang Zhong's courtesy name was Hansheng and Ma Chao's was Mengqi. After the revolution, he coiled his queue on top of his head like a Taoist priest. He often sighed that if Zhao Zilong were still alive, the world would not have fallen into such chaos. Sister Seven Pounds had sharp eyes. She noticed early that today, Seventh Master Zhao was no longer dressed as a priest. Instead, his scalp was smooth, his hair dark and full. She knew then that the emperor must have ascended the throne, that queues were definitely required, and that Seven Pounds was in grave danger. For Seventh Master Zhao's cloth gown was not worn lightly. In three years, he had only donned it twice: once when Pockmarked Ah-Si, who had quarreled with him, fell ill, and once when Master Lu, who had smashed up his wine shop, died. This was the third time. It surely meant celebration for him and calamity for his enemies.
Sister Seven Pounds remembered that two years ago, Seven Pounds had gotten drunk and called Seventh Master Zhao a "bastard." So now she immediately sensed Seven Pounds's peril, and her heart began to thump wildly.
As Seventh Master Zhao walked along, those sitting at their meals stood up. Pointing at their rice bowls with chopsticks, they said, "Seventh Master, please eat with us!" Seventh Master nodded all the way, replying, "Please, please," but he headed straight to Seven Pounds's table. The Seven Pounds family hurriedly greeted him. Seventh Master also smiled slightly and said, "Please, please," while carefully studying their food.
"What fragrant preserved vegetables-have you heard the news?" said Seventh Master Zhao, standing behind Seven Pounds and facing Sister Seven Pounds.
Sister Seven Pounds looked at Seventh Master's face and forced a smile. "Since the emperor has ascended the throne, when will the imperial amnesty be granted?"
"Imperial amnesty? The amnesty will come, slowly but surely." Here, Seventh Master's tone suddenly turned severe. "But what about your Seven Pounds's queue? That's the crucial matter. You know, in the time of the long-haired rebels, it was hair or head, head or hair..."
Seven Pounds and his wife had never studied, so they did not fully grasp the classical allusion. But since the learned Seventh Master said so, the matter must be extremely grave and irrevocable. They felt as if sentenced to death. A buzzing filled their ears, and they could not utter another word.
"A generation worse than the last!" Old Lady Nine Pounds seized this opportunity to voice her grievance to Seventh Master Zhao. "These days, the long-haired rebels just cut off people's queues. They're neither monks nor priests. Was it like that in the old days? I've lived to seventy-nine, had enough. In the old days, the long-haired rebels wore whole bolts of red satin wrapped around their heads, trailing down, trailing down, all the way to their heels. Princes wore yellow satin, trailing down, yellow satin. Red satin, yellow satin-I've had enough, seventy-nine years old."
Hearing that it was written in books, Sister Seven Pounds was utterly despairing. In her helpless anxiety, she suddenly turned her hatred back to Seven Pounds. Pointing her chopsticks at his nose, she said, "This dead corpse brought it on himself! During the rebellion, I said then, don't pole the boat anymore, don't go to town. But he insisted on going, rolling into town, and there his queue was cut off. Before, it was a sleek, black queue. Now it's neither monk nor priest. This prisoner brought it on himself, and what about us being implicated? This living-dead prisoner..."
Among the onlookers, Sister Bayi was the kindest-hearted. Holding her two-year-old posthumous child, she was watching the excitement beside Sister Seven Pounds. Now feeling uncomfortable, she hurriedly tried to mediate. "Sister Seven Pounds, let it be. People aren't immortals. Who knows the future? Even you, Sister Seven Pounds, said back then that having no queue wasn't so shameful. Besides, the yamen officials haven't posted any proclamation..."
Before she could finish, Sister Seven Pounds's ears flushed red. She turned her chopsticks and pointed at Sister Bayi's nose. "Ah, what kind of talk is that! Sister Bayi, I still consider myself a decent person. Would I spout such nonsense? Back then, I cried for three whole days. Everyone saw it. Even Six Pounds this little devil cried..." Six Pounds had just finished a big bowl of rice. Holding the empty bowl, she reached out and clamored for more. Sister Seven Pounds, in a foul mood, jabbed her chopsticks between the child's twin tufts and shouted, "Who asked you to butt in! You little widow who sneaks around with men!"
With a thud, Six Pounds's empty bowl fell to the ground. It happened to hit a brick corner and immediately broke into a large chip. Seven Pounds jumped up, picked up the broken bowl, fitted the pieces together to inspect it, and also shouted, "Damn it!" He slapped Six Pounds down. Six Pounds lay crying. Old Lady Nine Pounds took her hand and, muttering "a generation worse than the last," walked away with her.
Seventh Master Zhao had been watching with a smile. But after Sister Bayi mentioned that "the yamen officials haven't posted any proclamation," he grew somewhat angry. By now, he had circled around the table. He continued, "Taking out anger on others, what does that matter? The troops are coming soon. Do you know who's escorting the emperor this time? It's Marshal Zhang. Marshal Zhang is a descendant of Yanren Zhang Yide. With his eighteen-foot serpent spear, he has the courage to match ten thousand men. Who can withstand him?" He clenched both fists as if gripping an invisible spear and advanced a few steps toward Sister Bayi. "Can you withstand him?"
Sister Bayi, trembling with anger as she held her child, suddenly saw Seventh Master Zhao's face glistening with sweat, eyes glaring, charging straight at her. She was terrified and dared not finish her words, turning to leave. Seventh Master Zhao also walked off. The villagers, partly blaming Sister Bayi for meddling, partly making way, hid those who had cut their queues and were regrowing them behind the crowd, afraid he would see. Seventh Master Zhao did not investigate carefully. Passing through the crowd, he suddenly turned behind a tallow tree and said, "Can you withstand him?" Then he strode onto the single-plank bridge and swaggered away.
The villagers stood dumbly, calculating in their hearts. They all felt they certainly could not withstand Zhang Yide. Therefore, they decided that Seven Pounds would surely lose his life. Since Seven Pounds had violated imperial law, they recalled how he used to discuss town news with others, puffing on his long pipe with such pride. So they felt somewhat pleased about his transgression. They seemed to want to voice some opinions, but found none to offer. Amid a buzz of confused clamor, mosquitoes bumped against bare torsos and swarmed under the tallow trees to do their business. Slowly, they dispersed home, closed their doors, and went to sleep. Sister Seven Pounds grumbled, also gathered her utensils, table, and stools, went home, closed the door, and slept.
Seven Pounds took the broken bowl home and sat on the threshold smoking. But he was so worried that he forgot to smoke. The fire in the brass bowl of his six-foot-long Xiangfei bamboo pipe with the ivory mouthpiece gradually dimmed. He only felt that things seemed extremely critical. He tried to think of methods, devise plans, but everything was vague and incoherent. "The queue? The eighteen-foot serpent spear. A generation worse than the last! The emperor on the throne. The broken bowl must be taken to town for mending. Who can withstand him? It's written line by line in the books. Damn it!..."
Early the next morning, Seven Pounds again poled the ferry boat from Luzhen to town. In the evening, he returned to Luzhen and came back to the village with his six-foot-long Xiangfei bamboo pipe and a rice bowl. At dinner, he told Old Lady Nine Pounds that the bowl had been mended in town. Because the chip was large, it required sixteen copper rivets, three coppers each, totaling forty-eight small coins.
After this, although Seven Pounds still went to town daily as usual, the family's circumstances grew somewhat gloomy. The villagers mostly avoided him and no longer came to hear the news he brought from town. Sister Seven Pounds also spoke harshly, often calling him "prisoner."
Over ten days later, Seven Pounds returned home from town and found his wife very cheerful. She asked him, "Did you hear anything in town?"
"I think the emperor must not be on the throne anymore. Today I passed by Seventh Master Zhao's shop and saw him sitting reading again, his queue coiled on top of his head, and not wearing a long gown."
"..."
Now, Seven Pounds again received due respect and treatment from Sister Seven Pounds and the villagers. In summer, they still ate on the earthen ground in front of their own doors. When people met, they greeted each other with smiles. Old Lady Nine Pounds had already celebrated her eightieth birthday, still discontented and healthy. Six Pounds's twin tufts had turned into a thick queue. Although she had recently had her feet bound, she could still help Sister Seven Pounds with chores, carrying the bowl mended with eighteen copper rivets, hobbling back and forth on the threshing ground.