Dream of Ding Village by Yan Lianke Read Free Book Online Page A

the whole village to hear:
    ‘If you want to sell blood, come see Ding Hui at the Ding Family Blood Bank … the others only pay eighty per vial, but I’ll give you eighty-five!’
    Sure enough, after my father had repeated this announcement several times, the villagers began to emerge from their homes. By noon, our family’s house was surrounded by people clamouring to sell their blood.
    That was the day the Ding Family Blood Bank was born.
    Within six months, Ding Village had given birth to a dozen more private blood banks. Because the owners were too inexperienced to know where to sell the blood they had collected, they sold it to my father instead. He then resold it at a considerable markup to the blood-collection trucks that loitered outside the village late at night. Once again, blood-selling took Ding Village and the surrounding villages by storm. Ten years later, when sickness descended on the plain and those who had sold their blood discovered they had the fever, death became commonplace. People died like moths to a flame.
    They died like falling leaves
.
    Their light extinguished, gone from this world
.

CHAPTER THREE
1
    It is late autumn, the dawn of a new day. The sun rises above the East Henan plain. A blood-red ball turning the earth and sky a deep shade of crimson. As red unfurls, so follows morning. Another day begins.
    Grandpa woke with the sunrise to begin his rounds, and was now spreading the news about Ma Xianglin’s performance at the school that evening.
    ‘Anyone home?’ he called, poking his head in the door of the first house. ‘There’s a
zhuizi
concert at the school tonight, to celebrate the new medicine. You should come along … it’s better than being shut up at home.’
    ‘There’s really new medicine?’ came a voice from inside.
    ‘I’ve been a teacher all my life,’ Grandpa laughed. ‘Have you ever known me to lie?’
    At the next house, Grandpa pushed open the front door. ‘Hey … don’t stay inside all day worrying. Join us at the school tonight for a
zhuizi
performance.’
    ‘Who’s playing?’ asked the man inside. ‘Is it Ma Xianglin?’
    ‘Who else?’ answered Grandpa. ‘You must have noticed he’s been getting sicker. If we all show up for his concert tonight, it might cheer him up a bit, give him the strength to last until the new medicine gets here.’
    ‘There’s really new medicine?’
    ‘I’ve been a teacher all my life … have you ever known me to lie?’
    And so it went, house after house.
    When Grandpa reached New Street, he saw my parents and sister walking home. They had just returned from their field and my mother held several bundles of vegetables in her arms. When they caught sight of Grandpa, the whole family froze in their tracks, as if they’d run into someone they would rather not meet. Grandpa stood in the middle of the street, an awkward smile on his face.
    ‘Yingzi,’ he called to his granddaughter. ‘Come to the school tonight and listen to some songs and stories. It’ll be more fun than staying home and watching television.’
    Before Yingzi could reply, my mother grabbed her by the elbow and hustled her into the house, brushing past Grandpa without a word.
    After they had gone, my dad and Grandpa were left alone on the street, locked in a father-son stalemate. The sun overhead cast a harsh light on the walls and tiled rooftops of New Street. From the fields outside the village came the faintest autumn chill, mingled with the delicate fragrance of freshly turned soil. When Grandpa raised his head to find the source of this scent, he saw Zhao Xiuqin’s husband Wang Baoshan in the distance, working his private plot of land. Not long earlier, Wang Baoshan had decided to let the field go fallow. Since his wife had the fever, he’d said, what was the point in ploughing or planting? Pretty soon, he wouldn’t have any family left to feed. But now that he’d heard the news about the new medicine, he was back outside, working in his