Shuangling: Braving the Rapids

On July 1, 1997, a grand celebration of patriotic songs themed on Hong Kong's return to China was in full swing on the playground of Yanghe No. 7 High School, where red flags fluttered everywhere. All the teachers and students sang "My Motherland" with great passion, attracting crowds of onlookers from outside the school.

At this moment, whether they are passionate young people or teachers, social elites or ordinary people, everyone gazing at the red flag has a flushed face. The songs are filled with the national pride that has swept through the past century, and everyone can feel the surging pulse of the times—this is indeed a turbulent and inspiring era.

The echoes of the Red Song Concert had barely faded when the summer vacation notice was issued. In the classroom of Grade 11 (3), Yue Chuan, like his classmates, held a piece of chalk and wrote two lines of vigorous characters on the blackboard:

The nation's destiny has swept away a century of humiliation; with our original aspirations unchanged, we should strive a hundredfold to change our lives.

Back home, Yue Chuan immediately piled a large stack of study materials on his small desk. At the same time, he solemnly posted his pre-made summer study plan in a prominent place.

Most of these materials were personally handed to Yue Chuan by Zhou Wenyao. In addition to the mock math exams, he also specially prepared the main textbooks for the second year of high school. With the division between arts and sciences imminent, Zhou Wenyao would no longer serve as Yue Chuan's homeroom teacher. This forward-thinking arrangement clearly demonstrates his favoritism towards his beloved student.

With such a good teacher, how could Yue Chuan dare to slack off? Even when the summer heat was sweltering and the room was as hot as a sauna, he still strictly followed the schedule to study and do practice problems.

Seeing her son hunched over his studies, his back soaked with sweat, Ding Lingfang felt a pang of heartache. Knowing she had no way of making money, she gritted her teeth and sold half a granary of grain, finally managing to buy her son a typhoon fan.

With the improved learning environment, Yue Chuan studied even harder. Of course, he was not a bookworm and understood the importance of balancing work and rest. Whenever he encountered a problem he couldn't solve or felt dizzy, he would take the initiative to help his mother with some housework. This kind of adjustment actually made his mind clearer.

That afternoon, Yue Chuan was struggling with a difficult analytical geometry problem when suddenly, his father's roar suddenly rang out, like a thunderclap striking through the crack in the window.

"Stop staying indoors! Come out here! Bring me a few buckets of water!"

Disturbed by his father, Yue Chuan completely lost his train of thought. He scratched his head, stomped out of the house angrily, and said, "Why are you bringing me water? Can't you do it yourself...?"

Seeing his father's dark back covered in coal dust, Yue Chuan swallowed the words he was about to say. He silently picked up two buckets of water and left the courtyard with his father.

The dark cart at the entrance was covered with small pieces of coal; needless to say, Qin Shuangling had just collected them from the coal slag heap at the village entrance.

At this moment, Qin Shuangling bent down, gripped the handlebars, and lifted the cart sharply, causing chunks of coal to spill onto the ground with a clatter. Then, he picked up an iron spade and mixed the small amount of yellow soil into the coal ash. With his repeated stirring, the yellow soil and coal dust gradually blended into a dark ash until they were indistinguishable before he stopped.

"What are you standing there for? Hurry up and pour the water in!" Qin Shuangling dug a hole in the top of the coal pile and then shouted at his son.

This was Qin Shuangling's unique way of communicating—no explanations, no preambles, and no gentle words; it all relied on the unspoken understanding between father and son. Fortunately, Yue Chuan was well-versed in this, and he picked up the bucket and poured the water into the groove.

Seeing that the pit was almost full, Qin Shuangling quickly used an iron shovel to stir up the coal ash at the bottom, finally plugging the leak. After doing this, he wiped the sweat from his brow and roared, "What are you standing there for! Can't you see there's not enough water? Go fetch two more buckets!"

The afternoon sun scorched the man's dark back like a branding iron. He didn't complain or get tired; he could release his emotions simply by venting his anger on his son. This tactic had worked for him time and time again.

The son, though fed up with his father's harsh criticism, knew that arguing with him at this point would be unwise. He understood that his father was working very hard; while others were busy making and selling coal briquettes in the winter, his father insisted on stockpiling them during the hottest days of summer. Perhaps only by doing this could he earn more money during the peak season in the cold winter.

Yue Chuan carried the bucket and ran back and forth several times, finally soaking all the dry coal ash into black coal sludge.

Qin Shuangling didn't have a moment to rest. He stirred the coal slurry evenly and then took out that antique "T"-shaped coal briquette machine.

The coal briquette machine, made entirely of cast iron, may look small, but it is actually quite heavy. The front mold head alone weighs at least seven or eight kilograms!

With bulging veins, his arms gripped the T-shaped handle, and with a roar, the mold head plunged straight into the coal pile, instantly filling the honeycomb holes with coal slurry. Qin Shuangling bent over, carrying the iron lump to an open space. As his fingers gripped the demolding mechanism on the handle, beads of sweat trickled down his collarbone.

The demolding mechanism works similarly to a bicycle handbrake, but the force must be applied very precisely. Otherwise, if you're not careful, the coal briquettes will deform and look bad, requiring rework.

However, Qin Shuangling was already an expert and rarely made a mistake. With a continuous exertion of force from his fingertips, the wet coal briquettes immediately demolded and fell to the ground. Look, the twelve holes were neatly arranged like a honeycomb; after drying, they are called honeycomb briquettes.

This was only the first one, and the old man was already drenched in sweat. Looking at the mountain of coal sludge piled up beside him, Yue Chuan's brows furrowed even more.

"Dad, let me get you a few pieces..."

"Don't be a show-off! With your skinny arms and legs, you'll just knock the coal ball off course again!"

Qin Shuangling not only rejected his son's good intentions, but also mocked him. Tell me, what son could stand a father like that?

At this moment, Yue Chuan was furious and about to say something when he suddenly saw the black coal mud on his father's nose and felt both amused and annoyed.

Unable to bear the itching, Qin Shuangling subconsciously rubbed the bridge of his nose with the back of his hand. Well! His whole face instantly turned into a "big mess." Yue Chuan wanted to fetch a bucket of water for his father to wash up, but just as he turned around, a loud and comical snicker came from not far away.

"Haha! Shuangling, are you pretending to be Bao Gong, preparing for a grand opera performance?"

The man, laughing and with his belly protruding, walked towards the father and son. This man was none other than Qin Laishun, the Secretary Qin, whom they hadn't seen for many days!