On February 9, Chinese New Year's Eve, villagers in a village in northwest China celebrated the Spring Festival.
Photo by Du Jia Bingwen.
When I was a child, on Chinese New Year's Eve, there would be people playing drums in front of the village land temple to pray for a good harvest of land and cattle and sheep in the coming year.
But this year's Chinese New Year's Eve was quiet. We haven't been back to our hometown for the New Year for a few years, and my brother's desire to play the drum was suppressed by my grandmother all day. She carefully warned several seriously ill families in the alley to "don't make a noise and make that limelight."
In the morning, it is customary for the village to gather the men to go to the grave, and then go from house to house to pay New Year's greetings, sometimes staying for dinner—this is the most nervous thing for the grandmother, who has reached the age when she panics to prepare a few dishes. As instructed, I prepared a box of melon seeds and filled six squares to the brim before the men returned from the grave. We waited cautiously and opened the door, and in the end only one uncle came, and he made a special trip back to the village to visit the grave, and after a few pleasantries, he said that he would go back to the city for the New Year, and did not stay for dinner.
When the guests left, we breathed a sigh of relief, but felt a little empty. I didn't have anything to do, I sat on the kang and looked at my phone, and my grandfather came over with his mobile phone and urged me to "look at the disease". I am my grandparents' mobile phone doctor, and the package will be repaired, and the reward is to withdraw the red envelopes they get from short-sighted** to my account - that is their conscientious daily life, even if they hand it over, they are smiling and relieved. After the Chinese New Year, there were few young people in the village who could help him repair his mobile phone.
The Chinese New Year's Eve dinner was very rich, but Dad invited a few elders from the same village to eat with us, making the atmosphere of this meal not very cordial and not prosperous. If it's just your own family, it's very relaxing to talk and laugh. I don't know the people in the clan well, but if I come too often, like when I was a child, I would fill a room, and if I wanted to take oranges and roast them on the stove, I would have to drill between the legs of adults, and it would be very lively. It's no more, it's no less, it's cold and restrained. At the dinner table, several men raised their glasses and touched the wine with interest, but they were unconsciously disappointed, and sighed to each other: "Hey, is there no one in the village?" ”
It was getting dark, and the day was coming to an end. Mom struggled with the kitchen for a day, washed the dishes, washed herself again, and finally rested. My brother is still looking forward to the sound outside, the sound of fireworks and firecrackers is far and near, he is not very interested, until it is close to zero o'clock, and there is a vague rhythm of "dong dong dong", it is a drum!
He got up with his bones, his arms were not yet in his coat, his feet were already stepping on his shoes, and he kept urging: "Hurry up, hurry up!" "Wait for me to apply hand cream!" "As soon as I looked up, he was already rushing out.
It was cold and the stars were clear. Not far from the Land Temple, someone lit a fire, and a huge old tree root was set up in the fire, and I don't know when it will be burned. In front of the fire is the big drum, and the one holding the drumstick is the old village chief, the most capable person in the village, he is in charge of the rhythm, and the person who beats the cymbal stares at his hand, rising and falling.
People from the south and north came to the sound of drums. In the middle of the night, women gather around the fire, men gather around drums, and the gates of the land temple are crowded with young people returning from work, waiting in line to burn the first incense stick of the new year, even though the idols offered to the temple are in charge of the land and cattle and sheep and livestock, and they no longer farm.
Perhaps midnight was approaching, and the drums were beating again. Several men concentrated all their strength on their hands and slammed hard. The voice seemed to cut through something, but not as sharp as a knife, but like a hammer, falling bluntly, clumsy and thorough.
In the blink of an eye, fireworks went up, muffling out the sound of drums. The firecrackers were lit together, "boom" and "bang", and people tried their best to make the loudest noise, but they didn't feel noisy at all. I looked up and saw the red lanterns swaying in the dark night, flags fluttering, fireworks rising and blooming, and the surroundings seemed to be extremely quiet. All those things about sickness, loneliness, poverty, and confusion were suspended at this moment, and people were grinning. I thought, ringing, give all the loudness of this moment to the silent village.
I remember one summer night, when my grandmother and I were sitting in the courtyard, and suddenly a huge smoke rose in front of me, like a white dragon rising to the north, filling half the sky. Grandma said that it was just the grandmother on the other side who was burning the kang. She lived alone, very thin, and curled up year by year. The smoke rising from this kang cave may be the biggest battle she can make.
The smoke cleared, and we walked home on the red cardboard. Grandpa took off his hat and hung it on the door, smiling and letting out a sigh of relief, only to realize that he didn't even have a coat on.
*: China Youth Daily.