Guardian

Author: Ge Shuiping
Publisher:
Publish Date: 2006-10-01
Features: Back then, Baozhuang became a model village for pig farming in the county, and at the village entrance, two long rows of restaurants opened up because of the pigs. These restaurants didn’t sell staple food but specialized in pig soup, which was basically pig offal. People from the county and even the city would drive to Baozhuang on weekends to enjoy the famous pig soup. There was a saying in the folk that the pig soup in Baozhuang was laced with opium, something that made people addicted—it would add flavor to the pot and make people want more. In reality, that wasn’t the case; it was just delicious and addictive. Everyone wanted to outdo each other, and since pig soup was central to Baozhuang, every family tried to outdo each other by adding more ingredients. He Guixi’s pigs were sold quickly, and the pork was sold to the city, while the offal was left behind in Baozhuang to make pig soup.
On both sides of the street leading into the village, large aluminum pots, large iron pots, and large plastic pots were filled with white pig offal. As soon as you got close, you could smell the strong aroma of salted pig offal on both sides of the street, mixed with the fragrance of spices cooking in the pots.
Mi Qiushui and He Guixi’s pig farm was at the end of Baozhuang. Baozhuang was a long, narrow village stretching five li eastward, with a second-tier road running through its center. If you went east from this road, along the dried-up river bend, and then turned south down a deep, you’d reach Lin County in Henan. Trucks coming from the west were mostly from Handan in Hebei, hauling coal and coke. As they passed through Baozhuang, attracted by the pig soup, they would always stop to taste it and rest. Over time, Baozhuang’s “pig soup” not only became famous in the county and city but also crossed provincial borders.
Mi Qiushui’s pig farm occupied her family’s land, which was about one mu in size. She built pig sties, hired her own nephew, and bought a three-wheeled truck to deliver pig feed—essentially, she had a small-scale operation. The pig sties housed fifty boars, eight sows, thirty piglets, and a few sows still pregnant. The mothers dragged their bellies on the ground, humming and groaning lazily, waiting for the piglets to be born.
According to Mi Qiushui’s calculations at the time, her pigs would sell for a good price. If she sold them at such good prices, she could truly become a “ten-thousand-yuan household.” However, just as she was expecting this, a sudden streak of bad weather—continuous rain—brought national unfavorable conditions for pig farming. Before she could even process it, all her pigs vanished.
Before this, some county leaders wanted to set up a model, and Baozhuang had nominated He Guixi. Reporters writing news articles tended to exaggerate facts. Standing by his pigsty, they estimated his pigs were worth at least six to seven thousand yuan. They thought promoting him as a “ten-thousand-yuan household” would have more impact, as that was a new status symbol in that era. A “ten-thousand-yuan household” would further demonstrate the rising prosperity of rural life.
Two days later, the headline of the city newspaper read: “Baozhuang Butcher He Guixi, Ten-Thousand-Yuan Pig Farming Professional.” But He Guixi didn’t actually have ten thousand yuan. He had taken loans from the credit union and borrowed money from relatives. Knowing the truth, the inflated He Guixi decided to start slaughtering pigs himself to make more money. He killed one pig a day, and Mi Qiushui was in charge of building the stove and tending to the fire in the courtyard.
Slaughtering pigs brought in a modest income, but it was still stable. There was also hope for the future.