Though the Year of the Ox Ends, Diligence Never Changes

Today is the last day of the lunar Year of the Ox. I recall that on the first day of the Ox year I wrote an article, Being a Diligent Ox—Written at the Spring Festival of the Ox Year, in which I quoted Mr. Wang Xiaobo: the theme of a middle-aged person life is work, and I praised the ox steadiness and diligence. Now as the Ox year ends, I still want to work hard like an ox until the end of my life.

Most of us born in the late 1970s in the countryside herded cattle and cut pigweed as children, and these became some of our deepest and fondest childhood memories. Country children could not slack off; there was plenty of farm work, and we always had to share what we could, especially in busy farming seasons. As children who loved play, we grumbled a little about this, but growing up we are deeply grateful for such a childhood, because it forged in us a character that endures hardship.

The ox is large but gentle. After cruel humans came to rule the earth, many large animals were driven extinct, yet livestock such as cattle, horses, donkeys, and mules survived, because they could be domesticated. We do not know when humans domesticated the ox, but we deeply feel its importance. In the countryside, master and ox had a close bond; we are grateful to the ox for shouldering the heaviest farm work. Without the ox, traditional agriculture could hardly have proceeded.

Humans and livestock like the ox can be said to share a common fate, and even some infectious diseases circulate in both. Without the ox, smallpox might never have been eradicated, and modern immunology would have emerged much later. The smallpox virus infects both humans and cattle, but cattle show only mild symptoms. In 1796, the English physician and scientist Edward Jenner noticed that farm workers who had contracted cowpox never caught smallpox. Inspired, he invented the smallpox vaccine—taking material from the pustules of cattle that had recovered from cowpox and inoculating healthy people, so they developed a much milder cowpox and thereafter became immune to smallpox.

This was the earliest inactivated vaccine in modern immunology. Before that, China had a primitive method of inoculating against smallpox—taking material from the pustules or clothing of survivors and inoculating healthy people to prevent smallpox. But that method was far more dangerous than cowpox vaccination; if it failed, the person would actually develop smallpox and lose their life in vain.

Throughout the long struggle for survival, infectious diseases have long been shared between animals and humans, and the ox can transmit brucellosis and mad-cow disease to people. Modern scientists still use this biological principle to develop vaccines and medicines that help us escape plagues; our flu vaccine is grown in chicken eggs, and antivenom serum is extracted from horses blood. After the COVID pandemic began, scientists closely watched how animals reacted to the coronavirus, hoping to find the ideal antibodies against it. From ancient times to today, healers have observed how certain ingredients in plants and animals treat human disease, so it is no surprise that TCM uses herbs, insects, and animals as medicine.

So livestock like the ox are far more bound up with us than most people imagine, and in agricultural society people knew how to treat the ox well. Each year after the busy farming season, farmers would feed their cattle good fodder to build them up; the ox expended enormous strength plowing for us and lost much weight in a single busy season. The honest ox always worked without complaint, and its masters spared no feed to keep it plump. We often sigh that some ungrateful people are worse than beasts; in truth, even grateful people are hard to match these faithful animals. We humans should not only be grateful for the great contribution livestock have made but also learn their philosophy of survival. Human arrogance and boundless desire may one day send us down the road of evolutionary suicide; if we could be as restrained and content as livestock, perhaps we would endure on this planet a little longer.

I have not herded cattle for many years, and there are no cattle left in my village. Chinese rural areas have mostly mechanized, and the ox has basically disappeared from the countryside; words like byre and pen are quite unfamiliar to many younger Chinese. As children we dealt with byres and pens every day, leading the ox out to graze in the fields and, once fed, leading it back and shutting it in.

Byres and pens smell strongly, because cattle often drop dung inside, and they are far less fit for humans than a dwelling. Without such experience, it is hard to imagine how inhumane it would be to shut people in such a place. Fortunately, our government has repeatedly, at major gatherings, taken a clear stance of criticizing that chapter of history; let us hope no similar tragedy recurs on our land.

As children, with limited understanding, we always grew angry when others called us stupid as an ox. As I grew and my knowledge widened, I felt deeper affection for the ox and would only smile at such insults—the ox has better qualities than the people who call others ox-stupid.

My mother always treated livestock kindly, not as mere animals but as members of the family, feeding them good things and greeting them warmly. When feeding chickens, ducks, pigs, cattle, and dogs, she often talked to them as if they could understand—and indeed they could. We country folk who deal with such animals know they are sensitive; they are not stupid and understand what their masters mean.

When I herded cattle as a child I rode on their backs; an ox never loses its temper with its young little master, and when a playful child rides on it, the ox carries him steadily home.

Now that I have grown up and must bear responsibilities in family and society, my work is much like the ox: walking under a burden. Those we carry, like the young master, often fall short of our wishes, but we cannot be willful or lose our temper with them; we must work without complaint and bring them safely to their destination. If a middle-aged person does not understand this, his or her life will inevitably fall into chaos—life is not always joyful; sometimes it calls for endurance, and even the ox understands this.