Interstellar to 80s: A Scientist's Farming Mission

It was the second day of the second lunar month, the Dragon Head-Raising Festival.

In the An family’s kitchen, Lin Cuihua was up at the crack of dawn, her booming voice rousing everyone from their sleep.

Time to eat!

An Guoming stumbled in, rubbing his eyes. His shirt was buttoned wrong, and he dazedly sat down at the table.

"Mom—it’s way too early for breakfast. The sun isn’t even up yet."

An Guoming was exhausted.

"Just hurry up and eat. I got up to cook for all of you, so why aren’t I the one complaining about being tired?"

Lin Cuihua set a bowl of two-grain porridge in front of An Guoming. "We’re having company soon," she said. "I’m telling you, if you don’t get up, a bunch of old gossips are going to show up and catch you still in bed."

"If you’re not afraid of that, then go on back to sleep."

An Guoming’s eyes snapped open. He shook his head vigorously. "No, no, no! I’m awake, I’m awake."

Those two words, "old gossips," were a more terrifying threat than anything else in the countryside.

That bunch had no filter. When they started cracking jokes, they could tease a person into wanting to crawl into a hole and die.

SLURP— SLURP—

A bowl of hot porridge, a plate of pickled vegetables, and another of egg and chili paste served with steamed potatoes and eggplant. Everyone dug in, savoring every bite.

"Mmm, Mom, I’m telling you, this egg and chili paste... only you can make it this delicious. Whenever I try to make it myself, it never tastes the same."

An Guoming picked up a piece of potato slathered in the paste, popped it into his mouth, and followed it with a sip of porridge. Pure bliss.

Hearing this, Lin Cuihua said, "That’s because it’s made with our family’s homemade soybean paste. Of course it’s not the same. When you head out again, take a bucket of it with you."

An Guoming’s mouth was full, but he nodded in enthusiastic agreement.

The meal was over in a flash.

An Guoping and An Ning helped clear the table.

"Alright, everyone’s getting a haircut. It’s the Dragon Head-Raising Festival today."

"Get it done quickly. People will be over soon to make red bean buns, and we won’t have time then."

After Lin Cuihua spoke, An Guoping shot An Ning a meaningful look.

"What is it?"

"Sis, can you cut my hair?"

An Guoping mumbled. An Ning glanced at Lin Cuihua, not understanding why he was asking, but she didn’t think it was a big deal.

"Sure."

The moment An Ning agreed, An Guoping yelled, "Mom, my sister’s going to cut my hair!"

"Fine! Saves me the trouble."

Lin Cuihua took out an old apron, gave it a couple of vigorous shakes, and called out, "An Sancheng, you’re up first."

An Sancheng, who had been sitting in the other room, took a deep breath and walked out with the tragic solemnity of a man bravely marching to his doom.

"Cuihua, dear, you don’t have to cut it so short this time."

"Just sit down. If you don’t like it, you can cut it yourself. You should be grateful someone’s waiting on you instead of running your mouth."

Lin Cuihua pushed An Sancheng down onto a stool and tied the old, dusty apron around his neck.

In Lin Cuihua’s hand was a pair of faded manual clippers.

The front of the clippers had serrated blades that moved up and down. Two long handles extended back from the head like a pair of legs, connected by a spring.

Lin Cuihua gripped the clippers. As she squeezed her hand, the two handles pressed together, causing the serrated blades at the front to gnash up and down.

"Don’t move now."

The clippers landed squarely on An Sancheng’s head. Lin Cuihua squeezed rhythmically—CRUNCH, CRUNCH. Snippets of black and gray hair drifted down from his head, many landing on his shoulders.

An Ning stood to one side, watching intently in the spirit of learning.

’So you start from the crown of the head?’

"No, no, Sis! Don’t copy her!"

An Guoping muttered worriedly from behind her. Only Lin Cuihua would cut hair this way, starting right from the crown.

The result was that the sides never matched the top, and the An family ended up with several new bald heads that looked like braised eggs.

It was the same story every year on the second day of the second lunar month.

The rest of the year, the men would trim their own hair with scissors, never giving it a chance to grow too long.

But you weren’t allowed to cut your hair during the first lunar month—it was bad luck for one’s maternal uncle.

’But I don’t even have a maternal uncle!’ An Guoping desperately wanted to say.

Unfortunately, none of the men in the family could win an argument against Lin Cuihua.

According to Lin Cuihua, it wasn’t that they didn’t have a maternal uncle; he just wasn’t alive anymore.

But what if it brought bad luck to their uncle in the afterlife?

Her reasoning was so solid they dared not refute it.

"Sis, let’s get started. You’ll use scissors, right?"

"Right."

An Ning wasn’t the least bit afraid. In fact, she approached it like a research project, found the household scissors, and got ready to start.

"Should I put something around your neck?"

"We’ve got some old clothes."

An Guoping eagerly found an old shirt and wrapped it around his neck.

He held up two fingers to show An Ning. "Sis, leave it this long," he gestured. "You have to leave me this much."

An Ning looked at his fingers and nodded seriously. "Don’t worry. I never make mistakes when I’m drafting."

An Guoping nodded, reassured. His sister really was something else.

He was relieved.

An Ning picked up the large scissors and opened and closed them twice. SNIP, SNIP. They seemed a little stiff.

’It’s probably fine.’

An Ning stared at An Guoping’s head, mentally dividing it into precise sections.

’I’ll do this part first, then that part. No problem. Time to begin.’

An Ning took the scissors and started at the nape of An Guoping’s neck.

SNIP—

After the first snip, An Ning winced.

’Oops... that might be a little too short.’

’It’s fine. The next one will be perfect.’

An Ning didn’t really have a method; she was just snipping a bit here and a bit there.

Sitting on the stool, An Guoping grimaced in pain with every snip.

The big scissors kept snagging his hair.

Several times, the blades failed to cut through a few strands, snagging them instead. An Guoping felt like his scalp was on fire.

Still, the thought of not ending up looking like a braised egg this year made An Guoping feel he could endure anything.

In the An family’s kitchen, two haircuts were happening at once.

An Guoming stood between them, looking from one to the other.

He had to get his hair cut one way or another, so he decided he’d go with the person who had better skills.

Once Lin Cuihua was finished, An Guoming made his choice.

He put on a cheeky grin and turned to Lin Cuihua.

"Mom, is it my turn? I’ve been waiting forever."

Lin Cuihua glanced at An Guoming, then over at An Ning and her work.

"Get over here then."

An Guoping, watching from the other side, saw An Guoming sit down for his turn with Lin Cuihua, and a terrible premonition suddenly washed over him.

’His second older brother was shrewd; aside from getting into fights, he never came out on the losing end of anything.’

’So what did that mean for his own head...?’

"All done. Go take a look."

An Ning was finished.

An Guoping eagerly tore the old shirt from around his neck and found the family’s small, round hand mirror.

He froze.

’How could he even describe this level of craftsmanship?’

An Guoping figured that if he’d just let the big rooster outside peck his head a few times, the result would have been better than this.

The hairstyle on his head looked just like The Buddha’s.

Except, while The Buddha’s head was covered in smooth, uniform curls, his was covered in jagged, uneven craters.