The Chronicle of Castration: Chapter Two, Memoirs 01

Last winter, Party Secretary Liu received a notice from his superiors that a Japanese expert in animal husbandry—in plain terms, a veterinarian—along with his personal interpreter, would be sent to the village to resolve a major problem facing Xiangtang Village: the stud boar, purchased with funds pooled by the entire village, had become incapable of breeding.

As for why the idea of buying a stud boar had arisen in the first place, that was a story in itself.

Xiangtang Village was once a large settlement of over a hundred households, nestled against a great mountain. With its fertile soil and dense forests, it was a place where one could both cultivate crops and forage for mountain goods. Every family in the village lived in great prosperity. Although somewhat isolated from the outside world and having little interaction with it, the villagers lived in contentment, carrying on the trades of their ancestors, drawing their sustenance from the mountains and the waters.

In terms of both water quality and air purity, the area was among the finest in the entire country. Truly a place of spiritual and natural beauty, it had produced many renowned scholars throughout history who achieved high official ranks and left the mountain village behind. When these officials returned home in glory, they would invariably contribute funds to build ancestral halls. Since the Liu family was the dominant clan, they had, over countless generations, held positions as clan leaders, village heads, and eventually party secretaries. Despite enduring several periods of war, the lives of the villagers had remained relatively stable.

However, the world is fickle. In some forgotten year, a wealthy merchant arrived here during a long trek. Mesmerized by the scenery—the sweet spring water, the fragrant, heavy-eared rice, and the crisp air—the merchant found his weary spirit deeply healed. This experience also stirred his charitable heart.

The merchant donated fifty million in cash to Xiangtang Village. Even the provincial leaders of the time spared a moment from their busy schedules to "extend a hand"—a phrase once used by the elders, though the children could never quite grasp its true meaning. They only knew that Xiangtang Village had grown wealthy, and the village head had come into a fortune.

The village head and several other leaders held a meeting—a meeting said to have lasted a very, very long time.

In the end, all that money was spent on leveling mountains to plant fruit trees. They hauled in earth and stone from afar to convert the paddy fields into dry land, switching from rice to wheat.

Although located in the Central Plains, Xiangtang Village had always been known as the "Jiangnan of the North." Northerners called them Southerners, Southerners called them Northerners, and they called themselves people of the Central Plains. Yet, people from other provinces in the Central Plains would say they were neither North nor South, neither East nor West, and—forgive me, this is merely something I overheard—"not a thing."

The village head at the time was said to be a retired Eighth Route Army officer who had moved from Shandong. A man of straightforward character, he felt compelled to begin a transformation as drastic as draining a lake to create fields, all for the sake of the village's reputation.

More than half the trees on the mountains were felled. The water from the lake and the paddies was pumped out, and the merchant’s money was used to buy a fleet of fire trucks to transport the water to drought-stricken villages in the north. At the time, the village's ability to mobilize such a massive operation left even the county magistrate speechless. Yet, as they were flying the banner of economic development and not touching the county's coffers, the county leaders simply pretended to be ignorant, letting them do whatever they pleased.

As it turned out, due to climatic factors, Xiangtang Village was a place of abundant year-round rainfall. Even after such radical changes, the fruit trees could not adapt to the mountain soil. Year after year, the wheat was soaked by rain just before harvest, and even when it did grow, it produced no grain.

The village head led the villagers in half a lifetime of toil, only to leave the once-prosperous people of Xiangtang Village with neither enough to eat nor clothes to cover their bodies. The growing discontent of the villagers left the village head disheartened. Compounded by the recurrence of a gunshot wound from his wartime days, he eventually withered away from exhaustion and sorrow.

For reasons unknown, the original villagers eventually migrated to a place in the north, becoming true Northerners. Those who remained were, for the most part, outsiders who had moved in later.