Chapter 231: Matchmaking

The scorching midsummer sun mercilessly baked the blue‑brick floor of the Siheyuan, the air seemed stagnant, and only the cicadas on the locust trees screamed hoarsely, adding to the irritation.

Hunger hung over everyone like an invisible net, and even the drought‑tolerant morning glories in the courtyard corner wilted, curling their leaves.

In the Xi Kua Yuan, Li Ping'an spread out stationery, weighing his words, to write a letter to an old comrade who served as an instructor in a northern unit.

His pen scratched the rough paper; he wrote with extreme care, detailing his sister Li Pingle's situation—age, temperament, appearance (he objectively wrote "eyebrows and eyes regular, tall and slender, hands and feet deft"), her work at the Textile Factory, and her simple, unpretentious requirements ("person of integrity, diligent and capable, household small, mother‑in‑law sensible"), all spelled out.

He neither exaggerated nor deliberately belittled, seeking only a truthful and reliable account.

Finally, he earnestly asked his old comrade to keep an eye out, and if a suitable, good‑natured young cadre or soldier appeared, to first make contact for information.

After sealing the envelope, Li Ping'an felt a bit more at ease. This route gave him more confidence than seeking a matchmaker on the street. People coming out of the troops are tempered, highly disciplined, and relatively clean‑slated.

After sending the letter, days still drifted slowly amid hunger and hope. Li Pingle seemed to sense something; she worked more diligently, but her eyes now held a barely noticeable shyness and unease, occasionally staring blankly out the window, lost in thought.

Yet life's upheavals always arrive unannounced.

That evening, the sky was overcast, the humidity suffocating. Li Ping'an returned from the factory, and upon entering the Front Courtyard, heard an unusually high‑pitched, almost frantic wail and curses from the Central Courtyard, Jia Zhangshi's, louder and more mournful than ever before.

"…We can't live anymore! Damn it! Even the children's rations are being deducted! This is trying to starve our descendants to death! Qin Huairu! You Broom Star! It's all you! Ever since you walked in, the Jia family hasn't had a single peaceful day! Return my son's rations! Return my…"

Immediately followed by Qin Huairu's suppressed, desperate sobs, and Bang Geng's heart‑rending cries after being frightened.

Many people in the courtyard were startled, gathering in the Central Courtyard to point and chatter, the discussion swirling.

Yi Zhonghai frowned at his own doorway, his complexion grim, yet he did not step forward.

Liu Haizhong stood with his hands behind his back, assuming a stance of delivering justice, cleared his throat to speak, but Jia Zhangshi lunged at him, snot and tears streaming, clutching his leg, causing Liu to recoil repeatedly.

Yan Bu Gui hid behind someone, his small eyes flickering, and whispered, "I heard Dongxu had an accident at the steel‑forging site, got injured; the compensation from the site… seems mostly deducted, so the Jia family got barely any money, and the grain coupons are even scarcer…"

Li Ping'an paused, his gaze sweeping over the chaotic Central Courtyard. Jia Dongxu injured?

He vaguely recalled Wang Dahu mentioning two days earlier that reports from below indicated frequent accidents at the steel‑forging sites due to primitive equipment and unsafe procedures, and he hadn't expected Jia Dongxu to be caught up as well.

He watched Jia Zhangshi's flailing, then glanced at the collapsed Qin Huairu, face ashen, and the child sobbing to the point of breathlessness, feeling little sympathy, only a deep sense of helplessness and sorrow.

In such a family, with such a mother‑in‑law, suffering seemed like a bottomless vortex.

He didn't linger, heading straight back to the Xi Kua Yuan. He closed the door, cutting off the outside clamor and tragedy.

Lin Xueqing was sitting by the window doing needlework, listening to the commotion outside, and sighed softly, "The Jia family… truly a sin."

"Each has their own fate," Li Ping'an said evenly, handing her a cup of warm water, "Take care of ourselves."

He walked to the window, gazing at the gloomy sky, but his thoughts were on the larger issues reflected by Jia Dongxu's injury.

The steel‑forging drive is advancing blindly, with huge safety hazards; Jia Dongxu's fate is unlikely an isolated case. This adds another layer of worry to his view of the current frenzy.

A few days later, a more unsettling rumor was quietly passed to Li Ping'an by Wang Dahu.

"Director, the City Bureau reported new developments in enemy special Radio Station activities," Wang Dahu lowered his voice, his expression stern, "They seem to be exploiting the current tight material supplies and shifting public sentiment, intensifying rumor‑spreading to sway hearts. The focus is… inciting discord between workers and peasants, denigrating policies, even hinting… hinting that greater hardships lie ahead."

Li Ping'an's eyes sharpened, "Can the source be pinpointed?"

"The signal is erratic, their counter‑reconnaissance is strong; they're likely veterans. But the general area remains in Nan Cheng, possibly linked to the 'dark line' that wasn't fully cut last time," Wang Dahu replied.

Sure enough! Those hidden pests in the shadows are like flies drawn to rotting meat, never missing a chance to stir trouble! They try to exploit this temporary difficulty to sow panic and discontent among the people; their hearts are condemnable!

"Increase surveillance! Focus on the staff of the Trust Store and anyone with suspicious contact with him! Notify each factory's security department, heighten vigilance, strengthen positive propaganda, guide workers and the public to correctly understand the temporary hardships, and not be misled by rumors!"

Li Ping'an swiftly issued the orders, his voice cold. He knew this was a covert battle for hearts, more complex and cruel than any real gunfight.

In the days that followed, Li Ping'an grew even busier. He not only had to manage the increasingly heavy security duties at the factory and address the myriad fallout from the steel‑forging drive, but also split his attention to monitor enemy specials and his sister's marriage, the burden on his shoulders heavy.

And within the Siheyuan, the Jia family's tragedy seemed only a beginning.

Food shortages became increasingly evident; the day to collect grain coupons turned into the courtyard's most tense moment, with people queuing at the grain shop early like soldiers, fearing to return empty‑handed. The vegetable stalls offered fewer choices, and prices subtly shifted.

A restless anxiety, catalyzed by hunger, spread like summer mold, silently sprouting throughout the courtyard.

Xu Damao seemed to have recovered from the blow of a failed match with the Lou family, or rather, he turned that resentment into more concrete action.

He no longer pontificated, but worked harder to cultivate his network as a Projectionist, seeking new targets to latch onto.

Only when he occasionally glanced toward the Sha Zhu family in the Xi Kua Yuan or Central Courtyard did a barely perceptible, ominous glint flash in his eyes.

Yan Bu Gui's calculations grew even more meticulous, almost to the point of counting every grain. Liu Haizhong still tried to uphold his shaky "leadership" authority, yet often became the subject of private jokes.

In the anxious yet hopeful late summer, Li Ping'an received a reply from his old comrade.

The letter said their unit indeed had a young platoon leader, surname Zhao, originally from Shandong, upright and simple‑hearted, brave in battle, decorated, with parents who were honest, plain farmers, of good standing.

The letter included a photo of a young man in uniform, with a plain face and bright eyes.

Li Ping'an looked at the photo and the description, feeling a slight stir inside. He kept the letter, not telling his sister immediately. He needed to be more cautious and see his sister's own opinion.

Night fell, the heat persisting.

Li Ping'an stood in the Xi Kua Yuan courtyard, looking up at the sky thick with black clouds, starless and moonless.

A mountain storm loomed, wind filling the building. He felt that not only the macro‑climate's shifts, but even this tiny Siheyuan, was being driven by visible and invisible currents toward an unknown, perhaps harsher, autumn.

And he must be like the Divine Needle, steadying this home, amid the chaotic tide of the era, to find a safe harbor for his sister, his wife, and the unborn child.