“I’ll be there tomorrow, and I’ll wait for you.” He walked up to the cow, patted her on the back, and struck up a conversation with Aunty Liu about how much milk the cow produced and what it sold for. She complained about how feed prices were going up, but not the price of milk, and on such a hot day she barely made enough to warrant coming into the city. The whole time they were talking, the cow stood there without moving anything but her head; she looked around, her tongue lolling, her tail slowly sweeping from side to side. “You can’t earn anything if you don’t come,” Zhuang said, “and you still have to feed yourself and her. Look at her, standing there so composed, like a philosopher.”
This casual comment got the cow’s attention. There are people who say that dogs and cats understand human nature, but that cows do even better. A year earlier, Zhuang had stayed with Aunty Liu during a fact-finding trip to the suburbs. Originally a vegetable peddler, she had little skill in operating the scales, and was desperate. “Milk sold in the city is watered down,” Zhuang said, “and people don’t like that. But,” he continued, “the demand is great and the sellers want to make a profit, so they add water. Customers complain, yet they continue to buy the milk. Why not get a milk cow, drive it into the city, and milk it there? You can demand a price that people will gladly pay. You’ll definitely make a better living at that than by peddling vegetables.”
Taking his suggestion to heart, she went to Mount Zhongnan and bought a milk cow, which, as Zhuang had suggested, she brought to Xijing, where he lay down beneath it every day and drank from her teats, earning the animal’s immense gratitude. Now, whenever she saw him, she bellowed a greeting. So when she heard him say she was like a philosopher, she observed the city the way a philosopher would, although no one knew what she was thinking, since she lacked the ability to say so.
On this day, Aunty Liu led her cow over to the wall to rest. Zhou Min happened to be on the wall playing his flute, the slow, heavy strains lingering like a night wind outside a window, or ghostly moans in a graveyard. The sound had a chilling effect on her and the cow, though they listened with enjoyment. When the music stopped, they looked up at what resembled the paper cutout of a musician walking off slowly. Experiencing emotions that words could not describe, they sat with their heads lowered and fell asleep. The cow turned thoughtful as she lay on the ground chewing her cud:
When I was at Mount Zhongnan, I knew that the history of humans is tied up with that of cows. To state it differently, either humans evolved from cows or cows evolved from humans. But that’s not how they see it. Humans say they evolved from apes. How could they possibly think that? They actually believe that creatures with asses as thick and as red as a face were their ancestors! Humans lie in order to have a clear conscience while keeping us enslaved forever. If this is a false accusation that can’t be set straight, then let’s reconsider: Cows and humans both descended from apes, following separate tracks of evolution, one that learned to speak and one that did not; speaking is how humans express their thoughts, while cows’ thoughts are manifested in chewing cud. And that’s it. Are cows, like fleas, so insignificant that they have no reason to exist in this vast, chaotic world? No, we are enormous creatures — large bodies, four strong hooves, and steely pointed horns fit for battle — and yet, in a world where humans are under assault by all other wild creatures, cows alone stand by them, cooperate with them, and do their bidding, all because of blood ties that approach the level of soul mates. But humans treat us the way they treat chickens and pigs, to be used as they see fit. As for the chickens and pigs, the humans must feed and take care of them in order to acquire their eggs and meat, while cows plow their fields, turn their millstones, haul their loads, and even produce milk for them to drink! Ah, you humans! You have conquered cows by forsaking fairness and with the invention of the whip.
The cow snorted out of both nostrils, creating hollows in the ground with each breath as she railed against the humiliation her species has endured. But then she raised her head, looked into the sky, and grew placid again, even releasing a long laugh. That laugh sounded to others like a long moo. What lay behind it was a reminder that of all the creatures on earth, only the cow is free of savagery, and only God and cows are silent. As slaves of human beings, we differ from other animals by following humans on the path of a civilized society. How wonderful that being civil causes humans to employ a range of tricks, cleverness that ultimately backfires and leads them straight to destruction. So, then, who will take their place as masters of society? Cows, only cows. This is not empty rhetoric. Human history is full of examples of slaves who replaced their masters, isn’t it? Besides, the bovine race has already begun assuming the appearance of human beings. Haven’t you seen how people have taken to wearing coats, jackets, and shoes made of cowhide? Those are our spies. After infiltrating the world of humans, it is only natural that they yearn for their bovine race or remind themselves of their responsibility, covering parts of their bodies with cow things as a secret hint or an open display. As for me, this particular, prideful cow, my mission is of enormous importance, for I am the first to infiltrate this flourishing city in a cow’s native state of being. In what other city does a cow walk grandly down the street?
When the cow’s thoughts reached this point, she was awash in gratitude toward Zhuang Zhidie. It was he who had suggested to the woman that she purchase a cow in a distant mountain town and bring it back with her, then take it into town to supply milk straight from the teats, and who finally uttered the comment “The cow looks like a philosopher.” Powerful, rousing words worth their weight in gold, making her aware of her sacred mission. I am a philosopher, I truly am. I must keep close watch over this city to evaluate the lives of its human inhabitants and serve as a bovine prophet during the transitional period between humans and cows.
. . .
Around sunset on the nineteenth of June, Zhuang Zhidie brought a packet of spirit money back to Shuangren fu. Niu Yueqing had summoned a metalsmith to the compound gate to turn a pair of inherited silver hair ornaments into a new ring. Zhuang walked up to watch him work. A young man with a fair complexion, narrow eyes, and thin lips boasted about his family’s skills as he pumped the bellows with his foot. He had laid the silver on a piece of wood and was melting it with an oil gun, turning it into tiny beads. That was a new sight for Zhuang, who had assumed that his wife was having a pair of earrings made. “If you use those hair ornaments whenever your mother has an attack of nerves,” he said, “you will have to take them out of your ears and boil a pot of silver water for her to drink, won’t you?”
“I don’t wear earrings. Wang Ximian wears three rings, but you don’t have even one. People will laugh and call you tightfisted and curse your wife for neglecting you.”
“That’s nonsense,” he muttered before walking in to talk to her mother.
Once the ring was ready, Niu Yueqing cheerfully carried it inside and insisted that Zhuang try it on. He was busy stamping “RMB” onto the spirit money. With it stacked on the floor, he pressed both sides of an authentic bill onto each stack. Niu Yueqing laughed at him for taking his work so seriously, telling him he was putting a lot of effort into something that is used to express grief and sadness. The old lady reached over and pinched her daughter’s lips shut and told Zhuang to make sure he did a good job of pressing the money down. If not, when the dead souls crossed the river, it would turn into useless money, known as iron currency. Niu Yueqing said, “You’re talking about something that only applies to silver ingots and brass coins of ancient times. These days we use paper money, so if it turns into iron currency, that’s a good thing, isn’t it?”