Chapter Twenty-Two: Earthen Heating

“Dad, big brother is right. We can’t just listen to a child for everything—he’s never built a house, what would he know?” Hong Tao’s father began to support the foreman, clearly uncomfortable with his own son wandering about with two tattered pieces of paper in hand, acting like an engineer.

“He may not know, but without him would you even have this house? Would I have mine? One must have a conscience. Your son earned you a house for nothing, and you’re still complaining about a couple of small holes—shame on you, a university teacher no less! Is this how you teach your students?” Once the old man was stirred up, nothing could stop him. The more they tried to calm him, the fiercer he got, standing outside the courtyard, pointing at Hong Tao’s father and scolding him.

“Grandpa… Uncle… Dad, let’s go inside. I have something to say, but we can’t let outsiders hear.” Hong Tao realized his grandfather was gearing up for a showdown and hurriedly tugged at his leg, trying to pull him into the courtyard.

“Hehehe… What’s so secretive? Has my clever grandson come up with another good idea?” The old man’s mood changed instantly upon seeing his beloved grandson; his face broke into a smile, wrinkles deepening with joy. The speed and quality of his transformation were impressive.

“Let’s talk inside. It’s good news…” Hong Tao didn’t answer directly, dragging the old man toward the house.

“Bing Rui, where did your son learn all this stuff? Don’t you ever rein him in?” The uncle could only follow Hong Tao’s father after the old man, muttering quietly as they walked.

“Sigh… Let’s see what he says. This kid has almost become my father these days…” Hong Tao’s father was frustrated; he couldn’t argue with the foreman in just a few sentences, so all he could do was sigh.

“Uncle, take a look at this. I’ve marked all the measurements. It’s also for burning honeycomb coal, one with two fire holes—uses a bit more coal but can heat thirty square meters, and one with a single hole—more economical, good for twenty square meters, and won’t interfere with cooking or boiling water.” Once inside, Hong Tao took out two folded papers from his pocket and handed them to his uncle.

“Grandson, what is this?” Grandfather craned his neck to look but couldn’t make sense of it. He glanced at Hong Tao’s father, who was equally puzzled, so he turned to Hong Tao for an explanation.

“It’s a homemade heating system. Once Grandma starts and seals the fire, the house will be free of ash. The two fire holes make cooking faster, and it’s more economical and cleaner than using a stove, with no risk of carbon monoxide poisoning.” Hong Tao briefly explained his design to his grandfather.

“Feng Rong’s father, will this work?” This time, Grandfather didn’t take his grandson’s word at face value but sought his eldest son-in-law’s opinion.

“Dad, it looks fine. Xiao Tao, where did you get this?” Uncle no longer glared at Hong Tao and, after scrutinizing the drawings, started asking about their source.

“Hahaha, I knew it—my clever grandson even cares about his grandmother. Is this thing expensive?” The old man was delighted at his son-in-law’s approval; anything his grandson got right made him happy.

“The materials aren’t expensive, but we can’t do this ourselves. Dad, I’ll need to find someone to help. I’m not a plumbing expert, and this can’t be taken lightly—it’s basically a mini boiler, and if mishandled it could explode!” Uncle dared not make a definitive judgment.

“Then find someone. Xiao Tao, can your uncle take the drawings with him? Let me see… Hmm, it’s well drawn. I can handle the metalwork, but the cast iron part is tricky.” The old man took the drawings and had his son-in-law explain the structure. As an experienced machinist, he grasped it quickly.

“No need to take them. One of my colleagues here today is a plumbing specialist—I’ll ask him to take a look.” Uncle didn’t accuse Hong Tao of messing around anymore. Although he was a mason by trade, workers of this era were always multi-skilled—anything related to building a house, they had to know, though the proficiency varied.

“Old Jin, who designed this? It’s brilliant! Install one at home and a major problem is solved. It won’t explode, don’t worry—even if the water is all boiled off, it won’t burst. There’s a vent valve. The only issue is, where do we source the stove? Is it available for purchase?” Uncle called in the colleague who had spotted the heating pipes earlier and handed him the drawings. The man didn’t ask—he immediately saw the key point of the heating system.

“For the stove, we’ll have to rely on my dad,” Hong Tao said, pointing at his father.

“Me? How would I know how to make a stove? I can’t even build a chimney!” Hong Tao’s father pointed at himself, looking helpless.

“You don’t know, but your factory workers do. Last time, that foreman uncle cast himself a coal stove—you helped him calculate the dimensions. Go ask him again; buy him some cigarettes and have him cast a few water jackets for us. It’s all made from scrap steel anyway, so it’s not taking advantage of public resources, right?” Hong Tao exposed his father’s connections directly.

“But… Dad… Is this appropriate?” Hong Tao’s father realized he’d been cornered. If he said no, his father-in-law would be displeased; if he said yes, he’d have to ask for favors, which he hated.

“What’s inappropriate about it? At worst, we pay for the materials at the market rate for good steel. It’s not much money. This isn’t taking advantage of public resources. I’ve used workplace materials to make a bicycle bell for our workshop supervisor before—no one bats an eye. Only you, your brain’s gone numb from reading books.” The old man scoffed, thoroughly unimpressed with Hong Tao’s father’s pretentiousness.

“Bing Rui, Dad’s right. We do private jobs during holidays—sand, hemp, lime, even vehicles, all belong to the unit, and we don’t hide it from the bosses. Without the director’s approval, we couldn’t even get the vehicle out! You might as well have them cast a few more at once. Four water jackets will be enough for your house and Dad’s, and cast a few more for me. Whatever they make, I’ll take. I’ll install them for our director and deputy director at home, all expenses on me. I’ll take the truck to fetch them, you don’t have to do a thing, just help find the right people.” Uncle was tempted. It wasn’t expensive, but it was something used every day—each use brought to mind its benefit and the person who gifted it. Giving this to leaders as a token was the perfect way to curry favor.

“Son, oh son, you’ve really landed your dad in a pickle!” Hong Tao’s father stubbed out his cigarette, looked up at the sky, and sighed in resignation.

The house went up quickly; in just a day, the two rooms were roofed. All that remained was installing windows, doors, painting walls, and flooring. These finishing touches took a couple of afternoons and a few helpers. In those days, building a house was easy—there was no interior decoration, no need for ceiling boards, nor even gypsum boards; rooftops were covered with reed mats, plastered with lime, then painted with whitewash.

The only slightly precious material was cement. Cement was still a scarce commodity then. Had it not been for Uncle working at the housing office, it would have been impossible to buy cement, and the floor would have to be brick—either tiles, or plain red or blue bricks.

Pressed by his family, Hong Tao’s father had no choice but to go back to the factory and call in favors. It wasn’t exactly begging; workers often did private jobs, not for money but to help family or friends. Even if you made more, you couldn’t sell it—it was forbidden. Private enterprise hadn’t emerged yet. Aside from state-run stores, anyone who dared sell on the street would be arrested, either handed over to their unit leaders or, in severe cases, sentenced for speculation.

In the end, neither Hong Tao nor his father knew how many water jackets the workers cast for Uncle. He simply took Uncle to a familiar foreman, mentioned the matter, and then fled as if he’d done something shameful. All follow-up was handled between Uncle and the foreman; the foreman probably felt awkward dealing with Hong Tao’s father, but more comfortable with Uncle.

Regardless, before the new house’s floor was dry, Uncle had already brought over four water jackets, with two packs of rationed cigarettes for Hong Tao’s father, a bag of candy for Hong Tao, and a big sack of peanuts for Grandmother’s house. Judging by Uncle’s beaming face, Hong Tao knew he’d cast more than four—the leaders at his office had surely received theirs as well.

Next, it was time for Grandfather to show his skill. He measured the water jackets, wrote the dimensions on a scrap of paper, tucked it into his pocket, and went to work. That evening, he returned carrying two sets of housings and all the stove components—over ten kilos of iron, all brought home on foot.

Grandfather’s machinist skills were superb; all the parts fit perfectly. On the iron plate of the housing, he had used a chisel to create a design—a large circular “good fortune” character. At first glance, you’d never guess it was hand-chiseled; it looked like it had been stamped by machine.

Once assembled, Hong Tao thought the stove was far superior to the later versions sold in stores. Although the housing wasn’t painted, Grandfather had polished the thick iron plate until it gleamed, almost like stainless steel.

A few days later, on Sunday, Uncle came again with the plumber. This time, the plumber thanked Grandfather first—he had already received a single-hole water jacket for his own home, and it was installed. He hadn’t used an iron housing but had built the jacket into a brick enclosure. The result was excellent: even with the fire sealed, the house stayed warm and used little coal. In fact, brick worked even better; it was a great insulator, much better than metal for heat retention, though less attractive—less suited for city homes.