Chapter 209: Taking Photos

After everyone was full, Zhou Yimin took out the developed photos to show Grandpa and Grandma.

Ever since he got back in touch with his grandaunt, Zhou Yimin had used the camera she sent him to take a series of photos. Unfortunately, his father wasn’t present.

The photos included group shots of Zhou Yimin with his grandparents, individual portraits, and pictures of Zhang Yan, Qianqian, Laifu, Lacai, Laifang, and others.

There were also shots of their house and familiar village scenery from his grandaunt’s childhood.

Almost twenty photos in total.

Zhou Yimin believed that when his grandaunt saw the familiar faces and the familiar hometown, she would definitely be happy.

Once he finished taking the photos, he had them developed.

In fact, developing photos wasn’t that difficult.

The process was: developing – enlarging – fixing – imaging – drying.

The first two steps required specialized chemicals made from store-bought powders.

First, the film was removed in a darkroom—since normal homes didn’t have proper darkrooms, people usually covered the windows with thick curtains, and used a red light inside.

Then, after enlarging the image onto photo paper to the desired size, it would be placed in the developer and fixer. Once the image stabilized, it was clipped to a string to dry.

Although it didn’t sound hard, Zhou Yimin still entrusted it to professionals.

In his past life, Zhou Yimin wasn’t good at photography. Even with beauty filters on smartphones, his photos were mediocre—let alone with such an old-school camera.

And the developed photos were in black and white.

Color photos did exist, but they were rare and the cameras for them were expensive.

“Mhm, very good. When are you sending them to your grandaunt?” Grandpa asked.

He was quite satisfied after looking at the photos.

These days, clarity was enough—none of that post-processing nonsense like making your legs look longer. In fact, if the photo didn’t look real, people would say you didn’t know how to take pictures—it wouldn’t even look like the person.

Grandpa wrote a letter and gave it to his eldest grandson to mail along with the photos.

“This one’s good,” Grandma said as well.

She was holding what was probably her favorite group photo, looking a little reluctant to part with it.

Zhou Yimin noticed right away.

He smiled. “Grandma, we have a camera now. We can take more anytime.”

Only then did the old lady come to her senses and reluctantly set the photo down.

Then Zhou Yimin answered Grandpa’s question. “Tomorrow! I’m heading back to the city, I’ll mail them on the way.”

Hearing that, the old man immediately went to his room and brought out two sheets of handwritten letter paper, handing them to Zhou Yimin. “Send these too, while you’re at it.”

Zhou Yimin nodded. He wasn’t the type to snoop through others’ letters. In fact, even without reading, he could guess what was inside.

“Alright!”

There was still plenty of film left—his grandaunt had sent him a generous supply.

Third Aunt held a family portrait with a big smile.

This was her very first photo.

That’s right—her very first photo. She didn’t even have one when she got married. In the countryside, this was normal. Many people got married without ever having a photo taken.

Some might not believe it. “Don’t you need a photo for the marriage certificate?”

What they didn’t realize was that marriage certificates back then weren’t booklets but sheets of paper that looked like award certificates.

In the early days after the founding of the PRC, marriage certificates varied by region and weren’t standardized.

The layout and text were mostly similar, but the designs were all over the place. Some featured traditional auspicious patterns, while others reflected the spirit of New China, the new society, and the new marriage laws.

It wasn’t until 1955 that the Ministry of Internal Affairs issued a unified marriage certificate format, specifying size, layout, document format, and official stamp content—but the decorative borders were still up to local choice.

These certificates didn’t include photos, and some even had handwritten text.

They were very simple.

So even after getting married, many rural folks didn’t have a single photo of themselves.

In those days, having a personal photo in the countryside was something to show off.

Third Aunt took it home, planning to get a photo frame for it.

On the road, someone saw her walking without watching her step, staring intently at something in her hands. They asked, “Huang Lan, what are you looking at? So engrossed.”

Huang Lan waved the photo in her hand with a touch of humble brag. “Oh, nothing much. It’s just a picture Yimin took of our family. Take a look—pretty nice, huh?”

The other women immediately swarmed over.

Photos were still rare in Zhoujiazhuang. Naturally, they wanted a look. In their village, the number of people who had ever taken a photo could be counted on one hand.

Huang Lan’s family really was lucky—not only did they eat and dress well, they even had access to photography.

Of course, the whole village was enjoying the blessings brought by Zhou Yimin. When people in other villages were starving, their village was well-fed. Everyone knew exactly why.

“Wow, it really is nice.”

Those who saw the photo all had looks of envy.

“You don’t need much money to go to a photo studio. Yimin said just a few mao is enough—you could go take a couple yourselves!” Huang Lan added.

The others immediately fell silent.

Even a one-inch black-and-white photo cost six or seven mao—how was that not expensive?

Taking a photo was a luxury.

Back then, five cents could buy a whole bunch of radishes, and top-grade yellow croaker only cost twenty-five cents per pound. A one-inch black-and-white photo cost six or seven mao, and a color one even more—plus it took over a month to get it. Taking just one photo meant having to tighten your belt for a while afterward.

Besides the photographer’s labor, there were also direct costs like developing and printing.

Photographers had to spend time and effort on the shoot, setting up scenes and outfits. Since photography wasn’t common, and cameras were hard to come by, getting a family portrait was already a big deal.

In the 1960s, photography was absolutely a luxury.

Everyone in the village knew Zhou Yimin had a camera. Honestly, a few people wanted to ask him to take a photo for them, but they were too embarrassed to ask.

Cameras back then were expensive—about the same as a bicycle.

A Seagull-brand camera cost 160 yuan, equivalent to the monthly salary of a Level 13 officer in the military at the time.

Only families with some economic foundation could afford such a camera. For ordinary poor families, not to mention owning one—just taking a photo was already a splurge.

Before long, news spread that Yimin was taking photos for people in the village.

As soon as they heard, villagers rushed to where Zhou Yimin was, afraid that if they came too late, they’d miss their chance.

(End of this chapter)