The Chinese believe that the roar of fireworks scares away evil spirits and attracts wealth. Particularly spectacular fire displays take place on the Lunar New Year: on this day, all gods fly to report to the supreme deity Yu Huang Shang-di, or the Jade Emperor. And to appease the god of the hearth and clear his path to the supreme god, the Chinese set off fireworks. Moreover, preference is given to blue, considered a symbol of Dao — the path of life. Yellow is also popular, as in Confucianism it symbolizes the golden mean — harmony. White, however, is used extremely rarely in Chinese fireworks, as it symbolizes misfortune and old age. The most beloved Chinese fireworks have always been and remain the "water rat" and "ground rat." These are small firework rockets attached to special skis. The "rats" run respectively on water or on land, leaving a fiery trail behind them...
Today, China is rightfully considered the world leader in the production of all types of entertainment pyrotechnics, and you can buy fireworks here at any time of year. The country has about 500 specialized factories capable of meeting the demands of the most demanding customers. It is here that the rockets and fireworks that roar on Independence Day in America and soar into the sky at Christmas celebrations in Europe are produced. And to Russia alone this year, about a thousand containers of pyrotechnics have been brought in by legal importers from China — that's about 20,000 tons. Correspondents of "Itogi" went to the city of Liuyang (Hunan Province), a major center for fireworks production, to see how it's done.
Factory in the Jungle
In 2001, the Chinese government decided to move pyrotechnic production from the north of the country to the south. This was primarily an economic rationale — northerners already have plenty to do, there are many other industries in the north, while industrial development in the south lags somewhat. So the southerners were given some work, concentrating pyrotechnic factories in four provinces. Moreover, it is much easier to exercise state control over pyrotechnic production when it is concentrated in a limited area.
The city of Liuyang greeted us with thick fog. Even the local airport closed temporarily, sending planes to alternate airfields. But by midday the fog gradually cleared, and the tops of numerous pagodas towering over the city center became visible. The "Union" pyrotechnic factory, one of the largest in the country, is half an hour's drive from the center, in a small mountain range. This, by the way, is a safety measure. In China, many factories are located outside the city limits: in case of an emergency, there will be fewer casualties.
What we saw hardly looked like a factory. No giant workshops, no computer numerical control machines, no people in white coats... Imagine mountains covered with dense jungle. Hidden in the thickets are inconspicuous one-story clay houses that surround the mountain like a dragon's tail. These are the production facilities. They look so modest not at all because the factory management is saving money, but because of strict government policies that closely monitor that pyrotechnic production is safe and follows traditional, centuries-proven technologies.
"More than 60% of the residents of million-strong Liuyang work in pyrotechnic production, and safety issues are very strict," says Huang Ding-xu, president of the "Union" factory. "Previously, firecrackers and fireworks were made in almost every home, and the accident rate was very high. Now underground production has been completely eliminated, and violators face severe punishment in the form of large fines or even imprisonment. And we, the industrialists, have to work hard to get approval for the construction of new factory buildings."
We were given a tour of the factory. All workshops are divided into three hazard classes: "A" — facilities working with gunpowder and chemical fillers, "B" and "C" — non-chemical departments engaged in the production of components. In class "A" workshops, usually only one person works at a workstation. Above his head hangs a five-liter bag of water, which bursts immediately if the gunpowder ignites. Workers wear shoes with cloth soles to avoid accidental sparks from friction against the floor. Before starting a shift, the worker generously waters the floor with water. Then the action itself begins: chemical ingredients are placed into a vessel resembling a small concrete mixer, and the mixing process takes place. Once the explosive mass is ready, it can be packed into ready-made cardboard cases or balls. "A very important factor for us is the temperature regime," explains the factory president. "If the thermometer outside rises above 35 degrees, work immediately stops — the danger of explosion is too great. Also, during high humidity, work is suspended — the gunpowder gets damp, and the product becomes poor quality, and that must not happen."
Peering into one of the forty factory workshops, we saw five middle-aged women manually assembling miniature fireworks. Their tools of the trade were only a small awl, with which a saltpeter-soaked fuse is threaded, a metal bolt for compressing clay, and a hammer. Before our eyes, a handful of red clay was poured into a cardboard tube, then tamped down, and after that the fuse was threaded. A few minutes later, the firework was ready to be sent to the chemical workshop, where it would be filled with gunpowder and various clever components that give the firework its special charm. 'Many operations, as nine centuries ago, are done by hand,' the factory director Huang De-Yi told us. 'Men can't handle such work, so practically all the staff at the factory are women — they have golden hands.'
30-year-old Wang Qiu Hua has been working at the factory for about three years. Her workday starts, like everyone else's, at eight in the morning and lasts until five in the evening with a one-hour lunch break. The lunch menu includes traditional rice, always meat, and green tea. 'I used to commute from the other end of the city, now I live in the factory dormitory,' says Wang Qiu Hua. She is quite satisfied with her work. Especially since there is no other job in town. And a salary of forty yuan a day ($5) is quite decent by local standards. 'The only downside is that I don't see my children often,' our interlocutor continues, 'but soon the order season will be over, and I'll go home. My grandfather and father both assembled fireworks, and now I'm doing it. There are difficulties, but as our leader Mao Zedong said, we must not fear difficulties or death. So that's how we work.' Each day, every woman at the factory assembles fifty batteries of 24 fireworks. And the factory can produce more than a hundred boxes of fireworks per day.
Top Secret
In the evening, a fireworks test was arranged for us. A few minutes of preparation, and the sky was lit up by hundreds of launched rockets, which burst and showered the ground with multicolored lights and stars. But we received no answer to our questions about how it was done. Fireworks production in China has always been a top-secret affair, and so visiting guests, like us, could only admire the unforgettable spectacle. Chinese fireworks recipes are still a trade secret. What chemical elements are used in making the fireworks? To this, the president of 'Union' ironically replied: 'Wisdom, antiquity, and love.' But then he added seriously that the ancient chemical formula is still strictly adhered to: 'The biggest secret lies in the proportions and arrangement of chemical elements. After all, they determine the variety and colorfulness of the effects. Therefore, the cherished formula is passed down through the centuries from generation to generation. Even among ourselves, we speak in hushed tones when it comes to production secrets. Such secrecy is primarily due to the enormous competition among manufacturers.'
The inventor of gunpowder, the alchemist Li Tian, is canonized by Buddhists, and he is worshipped by the entire Asian school of pyrotechnics. The inhabitants of Hunan province built a pyrotechnics temple in traditional Chinese style at the site of his grave. A stone path surrounded by a bamboo grove leads to the saint's grave. Behind massive gates stands a three-meter bronze statue of Li Tian himself, with a burning fuse and a firework 'ball' fixed in his left hand. Instead of flowers, at the foot of the statue there is a scatter of exploded firecrackers and burnt-out candles. 'People come here for various reasons,' says Union factory director Huang De-Yi. 'Both when a son is born in the family and when someone dies.'
The correspondents of 'Itogi' decided to awaken the great god of pyrotechnics and take part in the traditional ritual. We bought three large candles, a pair of 'machine-gun belts' of firecrackers, and prepared paper money for the saint to spend in the world of the dead. Placing a stack of yellow banknotes in a bronze vat, we set them on fire, and when the money turned to ash, we threw the firecrackers in. They exploded so loudly that they probably alarmed the entire afterlife. Then the accompanying local comrades approached the statue and made some request to the saint. What exactly, no one ever said — after all, it's a personal matter for each...