Chapter Twenty-Three: Meat for the Weak Stomach

The eldest uncle did not simply give his colleague a water casing for free; he had to pay a corresponding price. That price was to procure some decent-quality pipes salvaged from other locations through the Housing Authority, purchase them at internal rates, and then help install homemade heating for his father-in-law’s house, which naturally included Hong Tao’s family as well.

Even with the heating stove, pipes, and fittings, this homemade heating could not function, as it still lacked a crucial component: the radiators. Without radiators, the stove was no better than an ordinary one—good for cooking, but useless for warming the house. Making radiators wasn’t something Hong Tao’s father could ask the foreman at the steel factory to cast, either; these pieces were too intricate, and there were no existing molds for them. The foundry wouldn’t go out of its way to produce such complex and precise molds for a personal side project.

But Hong Tao had already prepared for this problem. Behind Hong Tao’s home was a scrap collection station. One day, he saw a huge pile of discarded radiators brought in by some work unit, which sparked the idea of installing homemade heating for his own house. These radiators were bought at the price of scrap iron—just three cents per pound. The station manager, an old neighbor who lived at the mouth of the alley, was well acquainted with the family.

Hong Tao asked his grandfather to step in and buy back those discarded radiators at their original price. The radiators of that era were cast iron and assembled piece by piece into sets—eight, ten, or even twenty units per set, depending on the heating area. Among the sets retrieved from the scrap station, not every piece was broken; usually only one or two per set were faulty, while the rest were still good.

This made things much easier. Hong Tao’s grandfather was a skilled machinist; while he was not adept at other tasks, he was a master when it came to working with metal. He brought home all sorts of tools from his workplace, disassembled the radiator sets piece by piece, selected the rusted or leaking ones, scrubbed the intact units clean with a wire brush and washed them in kerosene, and finally reassembled them according to the size of each house.

His grandmother’s house comprised three rooms and a kitchen, each room small enough that a set of ten radiators sufficed. Hong Tao’s home was also three rooms and a kitchen; the two larger rooms each got ten radiators, while the small room and kitchen each had five. Altogether, for less than thirty yuan, not only did they provide enough radiators for both families, but they also had more than twenty pieces left over for future adjustments or replacements.

“Bing Rui, stop scaring Xiao Tao. Your family’s ancestral grave must be smoking with luck! His grandfather passed away early and never got to see such a fine grandson. He’s always called me ‘Grandpa’ since he was little, and I truly wish I had a grandson like him. You ought to be grateful. What more could you want? He’s just six years old and already helps the family save money and work around the house. What were you doing at six? I didn’t even know what money looked like at that age. Mark my words, once he starts school, he won’t be any worse than other kids. You wanted him to go to university, didn’t you? Rest assured, he’ll surpass you!”

By early November, Hong Tao’s grandfather had already fired up the heating, making the house so warm one could wear only a coarse cotton shirt indoors. The old man would sip his wine and talk about Hong Tao with his father. Now, Hong Tao’s homemade heating had become his favorite topic at dinner; no one was allowed to speak ill of it—any criticism meant you’d be banished from the cozy, heated room.

The old man's joy was understandable. His third daughter now lived in a twelve-square-meter room, finally relieved from sharing with her mother and younger brother. The house stayed warm without needing a roaring fire; a sealed stove did the trick and barely used any coal. The place was clean—no more ash to sweep daily, and the stove sat neatly in a corner of the kitchen.

Most importantly, it was safe. No more worries about chimney leaks or improperly sealed stoves releasing gas. The room gained extra space; gone were the days of placing a blackened stove in the middle of the room every winter. Everything looked tidy and comfortable.

The homemade heating brought not only material comfort to Grandfather but also immense spiritual satisfaction. Neighbors soon learned that the Hu family had installed homemade heating and came up with all sorts of excuses to drop by and experience it themselves. Grandfather became a local celebrity, always asked where he bought the stove. He would proudly declare each time, “You can’t buy it! My grandson designed it for me! It’s as rare as a scorpion’s droppings—one of a kind!”

Hong Tao’s father kept quiet, head bowed. He had nothing more to say. He now had a warm, quiet study—perfect for smoking, reading, entertaining guests, or playing chess, all thanks to his son. Though he paid the money, he doubted he could have even built the house himself. As the saying goes, “Beggars can’t be choosers,” and though he was taking from his own son, he felt he had no right to complain.

Hong Tao ultimately achieved his goal: his father’s former multi-purpose space—a tiny living room, dining room, study, and bedroom all rolled into one—was finally handed over to him. Though only five square meters, Hong Tao was content. He now had his own space, and compared to most children of his era, he was far ahead. Even his uncle, already in middle school, did not have his own room.

As an extra reward, his father bought him a pair of Feiyue brand white sneakers, fulfilling his wish. One should not underestimate these shoes—at the time, for children in elementary and middle school, owning a pair of plain white sneakers was true happiness. They were worn sparingly, saved for festivals, New Year's, or school events. A pair of white sneakers, green military pants or blue police trousers, and a crisp white shirt made from synthetic fabric—this was the most fashionable, enviable outfit for young people of the era.

To keep their sneakers perpetually white, children and their parents devised countless methods. After washing, a yellow ring would often appear around the edges. So, while the shoes were still damp, they’d smear white powder or chalk on them; when walking, every step raised a puff of white smoke from the shoes.

Hong Tao’s Feiyue sneakers were a cut above ordinary white shoes—thicker soles for durability, and a red-and-blue diagonal logo with the brand name in pinyin on the side. There was an even more advanced brand called Warrior, with a more modern look and higher price. Hong Tao wasn’t aiming to show off; he simply asked his father for Feiyue shoes because regular white sneakers wore thin too quickly with all his running and jumping.

With his own space and new sneakers, Hong Tao remained unsatisfied. In truth, this was just his first step in improving his quality of life; he had a second step in mind. People always talk about clothing, food, shelter, and transportation. Now, Hong Tao had solved the clothing, shelter, and transportation problems, but moving up another level was not yet realistic. The only shortcoming left was food.

He was bored with the endless cycle of cabbage, radish, potato, green beans, cucumber, mustard greens, and pickled vegetables. Though he had half a pound of milk every day, it was not enough for his growing body, and he always felt hungry—not truly famished, but lacking in rich, fatty foods. His stomach craved meat.

The issue was not that his father and grandfather were unwilling to buy meat, nor that their families were too poor to afford it. Especially after his parents returned to their original jobs, their wages were not only paid retroactively but increased as well. Together, they earned over one hundred yuan a month—far more than most dual-income households with seventy or eighty yuan monthly. Hong Tao, their only child, would not be deprived of meat.

But money couldn’t buy meat. At this time, everything was rationed. Each person was allowed only one pound of meat per month, and buying meat required meat coupons. Once the coupons were used up, even with money, you couldn’t purchase meat unless you went to special restaurants that didn’t require grain or meat coupons, such as the Beijing Restaurant. Not only meat but all staple and supplementary foods were rationed. Grain was a given, but flour and rice coupons were issued according to quota. Each household also had a supplementary food book, a coal ration book, and an industrial coupon.

The supplementary food book allowed for eggs, sesame paste, cooking oil, salt, soy sauce, vinegar, tofu, and other rations, calculated per person. The coal ration book, as its name suggested, allotted coal for each household per heating season; once used up, you had to buy coal dust and make your own briquettes. Industrial coupons were straightforward—anything related to industry required these coupons plus money to purchase.

Bicycles, sewing machines, radios, cameras, watches, matches, batteries, flashlights, soap, pots, bowls, and utensils—all required industrial coupons. As for televisions, tape recorders, refrigerators, and washing machines, few had even heard of them at the time; only high-ranking officials owned them, and they wouldn’t become commonplace until after 1978.

Each worker received just one industrial coupon per month. A bicycle required over a hundred coupons; if a dual-income family wanted one, even with perfect saving, they’d only collect twenty-four coupons a year. It might take six or seven years to save up for a single bicycle. Where there is policy, there is countermeasure—the Chinese people understood this better than anyone. Since saving as a household was slow, people simply banded together.

Buying bicycles and watches wasn’t just a family affair; it was a collective effort among several households. If someone’s child was getting married, relatives and friends would lend their industrial coupons, lining up their turn for when their own children married. In later times, weddings involved pooling money; back then, it was about pooling industrial coupons to buy dowries. Money wasn’t considered high-class, but if you gifted the newlyweds twenty industrial coupons, you’d likely be seated at the head table.