Chapter Thirty-Four: The Seamstress Aunt

As the weather turned warmer, the children found more and more things to play with. Hong Tao made a sand swallow kite for both himself and Jin Yue using the paper typically used for window panes. His kite was slightly larger, hers a bit smaller, and he painted exquisite patterns on both with watercolors. Although not as sophisticated as those made by professional kite makers in later generations, in this era, these were already impressive creations. The only thing that drew some awkward smiles from people were the unusual images painted on them.

What is a sand swallow? It’s a type of kite shaped like the character for “big.” The framework is tricky to assemble, requiring thin strips of bamboo bent into a graceful arc and tightened with fine threads. In those days, this was considered a high-end kite, beyond the skills of most hobbyists. Children usually flew far simpler kites called “fart curtains”—a rectangle of paper glued to an X-shaped frame, its top slightly arched and a long strip of paper attached to the bottom as a tail. Such a kite could take flight with ease.

But you wouldn’t see a sand swallow left blank. Anyone who crafted one would feel compelled to paint it, typically with an exaggerated image of a swallow. The “head” at the top of the “big” character was the swallow’s head, the horizontal stroke its wings, and the two downward strokes its forked tail. The artistry mattered as much as the flight—both sides had to be symmetrical, or you risked ridicule.

Hong Tao could build a sand swallow, but painting one was another matter. He initially thought to paint most of the kite black, add two white eyes and a patch of white on the belly, aiming for a realistic style—after all, real swallows were black with white bellies. Yet after finishing one, Jin Yue was utterly dissatisfied. She flatly refused to fly such a dark, gloomy thing and insisted on something colorful.

That was when Hong Tao remembered his days learning fashion design, practicing fashion sketches. These required drawing a model first, then sketching the imagined clothing, and finally adding color—a technique known as the “eight-head figure.” Since he couldn’t draw a swallow, why not draw a person in elegant attire—colorful enough to satisfy Jin Yue?

So, he set to work, and soon, two beautiful women in long evening gowns adorned the sand swallow kites. The “head” of the swallow became the woman’s head, the wings her outstretched arms. But the kite’s proportions were off; anything below the knees wouldn’t fit. Drawing the entire figure would make it too small and out of place.

“Tao, why is she bare-shouldered?” Jin Yue asked, puzzled by the evening gown though clearly pleased with the design.

“It’s an evening dress. When you grow up, you’ll wear one too. Girls look beautiful in them. I’m sure you’ll look wonderful,” Hong Tao replied, patting her head and picturing what she might look like in a decade or so.

“Then make one for me. I want to wear it to school tomorrow!” Girls mature faster than boys, and at five, Jin Yue already cared how others saw her clothes, even if she couldn’t match Hong Tao’s precociousness.

“You want me dead, don’t you? If you wore an evening dress to school, Director Bai and your dad would have my hide, and then my own father would finish the job. Wait a few more years, little one. You’re not quite ready to fill out that kind of dress,” Hong Tao said, casting a mischievous glance at her chest and hips, neither of which had developed yet.

“How old do I have to be?” Jin Yue pressed on, not quite grasping his meaning.

“Eighteen at the very least,” Hong Tao replied offhandedly.

“So many years? Thirteen more! Is there any way to make time go faster?” By now, Jin Yue saw Hong Tao as an all-powerful superhero, someone who seemed to know everything and could do anything—from making her new clothes to cooking fish and meat, from giving her sweets to taking her to the biggest department store, filled with people and rows upon rows of dolls.

“That, I can’t help you with. We’ll just have to tough it out,” Hong Tao said, looking at his arm and hand. They were sturdier than at this age in his previous life, but he was still a child.

From that day on, every evening after dinner, two unusual sand swallow kites soared near the entrance to the Temple of Earth. Their shapes were ordinary, but their painted designs were not—no traditional swallows, but two glamorous women in bare-shouldered dresses. These beauties not only caught the attention of other kite flyers but also made passing families stop and stare. The men tried to sneak extra glances, while the women covered their children’s eyes, spat in disapproval, and cursed the two as indecent or immoral.

In just a few days, word spread. Crowds gathered at kite-flying time, and eventually, even the police were drawn to the scene. The kites were confiscated, and Hong Tao and Jin Yue were escorted home to their parents.

When Hong Tao drew an eight-head nude figure on a blank sheet in front of the officers, they finally believed these images were his own work, not the handiwork of an adult. In the end, the kites were returned, but the officers advised the children’s parents not to let them bring such “depraved” kites to public places again.

By now, Hong Tao’s father was worn out by his son’s antics. Hong Tao no longer caused daily trouble, but when he did, it was something big—like the police showing up at their door. The only reason they weren’t taken straight to the station was that the children were so young; had they been older, things would have gone differently.

Besides this, Hong Tao took on a new apprentice—his own aunt. Of course, she wasn’t there to learn academics from her nephew, who was still of kindergarten age. She was already in high school; poor grades notwithstanding, she had no need of tutoring from a child. That would be too humiliating.

No, she came to learn tailoring. Like most young women, she loved beautiful clothes. After seeing the army-green pants Hong Tao had altered for her younger brother, she resisted for several days but finally sent him to ask Hong Tao if she could be taught the craft.

In fact, his aunt was quite clever. Jin Xing, Jin Yue’s elder sister, had known about Hong Tao’s tailoring skills even earlier, but only dared to have him quietly alter a pair of pants for her. She wore them only when Aunt Guo was away—Jin Yue’s mother worked as a train attendant and was often gone for days at a time. Their father, Uncle Jin, could manage little Jin Yue but not the older Jin Xing; once daughters reach a certain age, some things are beyond a father’s authority.

Hong Tao was more than happy to teach his aunt. In his last life, she hadn’t gotten into college after high school, barely graduated thanks to lenient policies, and ended up unemployed at home. Later, through connections and gifts arranged by his eldest aunt’s husband, she became a temporary worker at the Housing Authority, eventually gaining a permanent position after years of painting—at the cost of chronic sinusitis and bronchitis.

If she could master tailoring, Hong Tao could spare her such hardship. In two years, she would graduate high school, and by then, policies would likely allow private businesses. He’d set her up with a small tailoring shop. With his knowledge of future fashion trends, he couldn’t promise great wealth, but she could easily become one of the first to make ten thousand yuan—a fortune at the time. As for what might happen later, Hong Tao hadn’t even figured out his own path yet.

Despite his young age, Hong Tao’s days were packed. Mornings were spent entirely at school; Director Bai’s desk had become a shared study table for him and Jin Yue. After lunch and a nap, he’d take Jin Yue for a stroll with the little wagon. Now responsible for shopping for three households, he’d been entrusted with all the ration books, coupons, and tickets by Jin Yue’s father, who needed extra help with Aunt Guo always away. Uncle Jin was managing both fatherly and motherly duties—a friend in need deserved a helping hand.

Usually by three in the afternoon, Hong Tao and Jin Yue would return home with the wagon, and he’d help her review lessons from the morning. He didn’t need to review himself—he was the one teaching. Around four, his aunt would come home from school, and Hong Tao would help Jin Yue with her homework while teaching his aunt the basics of sewing—starting with simple back stitches and building cucumber trellises, before moving on to patterning, layout, and cutting, using scrap newspapers to practice on simple uniform shorts.

Tailoring is a craft that can be both extremely difficult and surprisingly easy. A true master might spend a lifetime without making every garment a perfect fit. Yet with a little dedication, a person could learn to make uniform trousers and shirts in just two months. The real question is: what standards do you want to meet?

Take hand-sewn suits, for example—a true art. Hong Tao had only learned half the process in his previous life before dropping out. Even just the two inner linings of a suit’s chest must be sewn by hand using several techniques. Once finished, the linings naturally curve to fit the chest, giving the suit both shape and resilience. Only then does a suit hold its form and resist distortion.