Black Gold by Huina Zheng
Black Gold by Huina Zheng
The river stones glistened, each pressed with a few leeches, dark and blurred like ink spots. In the deeper water, more of them wait, unseen, too many to look at without courage. Rain came, the river swelled, and when my father waded across, both his legs were covered. My mother and I burned them off with cigarette tips. They curled, dropped, twisting on the mud.
These days, I hear people go out at night to catch them. The wild ones fetch one hundred yuan a kilo, dearer than the farmed. Back then no one bent to gather them. My parents toiled over the fields, and my father pedaled to town at dawn with one hundred kilos of vegetables. Less than two yuan a kilo. If only leeches had been so precious back then. Perhaps we would have carried buckets to the creek each day. One scoop of water, four or five leeches writhing, black and gleaming, like gold glimmering in our hands.
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Copyright Huina Zheng 2026
Image Source: irrabagon from Pixabay
I am very pleased to travel through the currents of the fictive world of Huina Zheng. I’m hooked by her miniature masterpieces. Who would’ve thought the lowly leech would some day have value. I recall them from the 1960s, when they annoyingly clung to my limbs after a dip in the river. I looked it up, and they’re retailing for hundreds of dollars per pound!