When White Birds Fly Over the River

Zhou Wanshui

This book is a collection of essays compiled from pieces the author has published in recent years. It includes a total of twenty articles， such as When White Birds Fly Over the River， Struck by a Falling Leaf， and Birds Over the River Come and Go at Will， among others. The articles predominantly focus on the history， culture， natural scenery， local customs， and social life of the Yuan River Basin， imbued with a distinct regional character and humanistic touch.

Going to Tichaping is no easy task. Its demanding due to the mountainous terrain and winding roads. Those who havent been there struggle to grasp the challenge. Describe it in detail， and they might accuse you of exaggeration. Initially， when I learned that the place would be the village under my poverty alleviation program， I felt indifferent.

On the day I headed to the village， I parted ways with a friend from another city in the county seat. He was on his way back to Beijing via the provincial capital. A few hours later， he called， saying， “Ive reached Beijing and just disembarked the plane”. Old Shu， who was driving， informed me， “Were almost there; two more turns， and well be in Tichaping.” Thats when I began to feel a dull ache between my fourth and fifth vertebrae. This mountainous county spans 5，850 square kilometers， making it the largest in the central-southern region. A bus ride from the city to the most remote township takes around five hours.

Tichaping lies deep within the Wuling Mountains. Between the mountains， theres a narrow basin connected by several streams to three natural villages： Tichaping， Hongyanzui， and Yuanshuiping. Each village is located around a bend. The village houses are mostly built along the mountainside facing the streams， with paddies in front. When asking for directions in the mountains， locals often reply， “Oh， its not far， just around the bend.” But that “bend” typically means half a days journey. Years ago， when the rural areas were merging townships and villages， the predominantly Zhang-and Li-surnamed villagers from these three villages quarreled endlessly over retaining their village names， neither side yielding. After mediation by the township government， a compromise was reached： the village head would be surnamed Li， the party secretary surnamed Zhang， and given Tichapings central location， the new administrative village would retain its name. This satisfactory outcome shows that rural work requires great wisdom.

I dont believe Im particularly wise. My arrival in Tichaping was coincidental. Before， this village had no connection to me. Then I arrived. But who encountered whom？ Three years later， when I had some answers， I had already been away from that village for quite some time.

The day I visited Old Zhongs house was sunny， a luxury for city folk visiting the countryside. The vast fields are vibrant green， and the sky boasts an enchanting shade of blue. The village is tranquil; the calls of the cuckoo and waterhen are especially crisp and ethereal， reminiscent of dewdrops on osmanthus leaves. Along the valleys edge stands an ancient pear tree， its branches adorned with dazzlingly white blossoms. Beneath the pear tree lies Old Zhongs home， where a malnourished-looking yellow dog barks incessantly at unfamiliar faces.

Old Zhongs house is a timeworn wooden structure; its smoky main hall stores various farm tools， rain boots， fertilizers， and sundries. On the wall hangs an aged portrait of the “Ten Marshals，” flanked by fishing nets， raincoats， old loofahs saved for seeds， and a bundle of sweet sorghum. The shrine with the words “Heaven， Earth， Emperor， Parents， and Teacher” is covered in dust， with a few half-grown chickens hopping about below. The three rooms were home to the two families of brothers Zhong Guanglin and Zhong Guangzhou. The elder brother， Guanglin， was a lifelong bachelor， while the younger brother， Guangzhou， was married to a mute wife and had a son and daughter.

Knowing of our visit， Guangzhou， dresses in mud-stained camouflage clothing and with a sunburned face， awaits us eagerly inside. He shushes the yellow dog， greets the two accompanying village officials， then offers cigarettes from his pocket， passing them around with rough fingers. Its said that Guanglin had a stroke years ago， leaving him with some disabilities; he now speaks with a slur and moves slowly， rarely venturing out. Hearing the commotion outside， he shuffles over step by step， donning a dirty， knockoff special forces camouflage hat. He looks rather comical， expressing excitement and continuously uttering “ah ah ah”， yet no one can discern what hes saying.

A village official says to Guangzhou， “This is Mr. Zhou， here to help you escape poverty. Weve mentioned him to you before. Do you remember his name？”

Guangzhou， rubbing his hands subconsciously and somewhat shyly， replies， “I dont recall what hes called.”

This is a local speech habit， incorporating a colloquial term. I felt awkward， and the group erupted in laughter. Guangzhous mute wife also smiled innocently， her hands gesturing continuously.

Despite its remote mountainous location， Tichaping is relatively prosperous. Traditional houses， characteristic of Western Hunan， are now mostly replaced by modern homes with green walls and red tiles. These houses， set against the surrounding green mountains， trees， streams， and paddy fields， create a picturesque， pastoral landscape akin to an oil painting. With diligent work and fertile land， every available space is cultivated. On the roadside， in front of and behind homes， and on fences， one can see pumpkins， winter melons， bitter gourds， loofahs， and winged beans everywhere. Those not consumed are left to age or rot on their vines. The slopes are mainly planted with sweet potatoes， which are either fed to pigs or processed into starch for sale when mature. The ridges of the fields are cultivated year-round. After harvesting rice， theyre immediately sown with canola or radishes， emanating a dazzling green even in winter. By the stream， groups of chickens， ducks， and geese with shiny feathers and robust figures cackle noisily at the sight of strangers.

The Zhong brothers， Guanglin and Guangzhou， are among the few impoverished households in Tichaping village. Their home is dilapidated， and their per capita annual income is less than 3，000 yuan. Guanglin， an old bachelor， suffered a stroke years ago， which left him with a staggering gait and no family of his own. His time is primarily occupied by an old 12-inch Panda color TV and a traditional music box besides eating and sleeping.

When White Birds Fly

Over the River

Zhou Wanshui

Baihua Literature and Art Publishing House

June 2023

58.00 （CNY）

Zhou Wanshui

Zhou Wanshui， a person who takes pride in his scholarly demeanor， enjoys reading， drinking， traveling， and writing.