Chapter 233: The Immortal's Leap

In the deep autumn of 1958, the dark clouds over the siheyuan grew ever heavier; it was not just the weather, but a survival shadow pressing on everyone's hearts.

The crowd queuing at the grain store grew increasingly restless; the limited rations were like a drop in the bucket, utterly unable to fill the abyss of hunger.

To survive, the women and children of the courtyard who could still walk all grabbed baskets and small hoes, streaming out of the city in groups.

Barren slopes, field edges, even the roadside green belts—anything edible and green was stripped bare.

Shepherd's purse, purslane, gray-green vegetable… these wild greens once looked down upon now became the stars of the table, mixed with that bit of precious millet flour and boiled into thick gruel so dense you could see your reflection.

In the front courtyard, Yan Bu Gui's household had calculated to the extreme. San Dama brought back that pitifully small fine-grain ration, not daring to eat it herself, but instead scheming to have someone take it to the countryside and secretly exchange it for coarser, more filling grain—such as potatoes or sweet potatoes.

Even so, it was still barely making ends meet. By day, San Dama would take her daughter out with the other women of the courtyard, heading to the barren fields to scavenge that meager bit of green; after washing and blanching it, she mixed it with potatoes and sweet potatoes—this became the family's lifeline ration.

Yan Bu Gui stared at the bowl of gruel with hardly a trace of oil, lost all desire to fiddle with his abacus, and was left only with bewilderment about the next meal.

The Jia household in the central courtyard had sunk into even deeper despair. Because Jia Zhangshi and Qin Huairu, for the sake of that trifling land rent years ago, refused to switch to urban household registration, neither of them now had any grain rations!

The family of four (including Bang Geng) survived solely on Jia Dongxu's personal ration and the meager compensation he received for his work injury.

Long since out of balance, they could only grit their teeth and buy terrifyingly priced 'black-market grain' or 'negotiated grain.' Jia Zhangshi ate plenty herself and was too lazy to lift a finger, so all the pressure fell on Jia Dongxu and Qin Huairu.

That morning, Qin Huairu looked at the empty flour sack, her voice trembling as she told the just-returned Jia Dongxu, 'Dongxu… there's… no millet flour left…'

Jia Dongxu, exhausted to the bone, snapped at those words; a surge of anger flared up, and he slammed his sweat‑wiping towel to the floor: 'Gone? I just bought ten jin three days ago—only three days and you've used it all? Are you a rice barrel? Can't you manage a household?'

Qin Huairu shrank back under his shout, tears welling in her eyes but not daring to fall.

Jia Zhangshi sat cross‑legged on the kang, instantly joining the fray, pointing at Qin Huairu's nose and cursing: 'Wasteful woman! You're nothing but a broom star! I said from the start you shouldn't have been married! Besides eating, what else can you do? My eldest grandson's gone skinny from hunger because of you!' She completely forgot that she herself ate more than anyone at every meal.

Jia Dongxu scratched his head in irritation, squatting on the ground, sighing: 'What can we do? My wages and compensation aren't even enough to buy the expensive grain…'

Jia Zhangshi's tri‑cornered eyes shifted, and she lowered her voice: 'Go see your master! Yi Zhonghai! As an eighth‑level worker his monthly wage tops several others'! He has no kids, just the old couple—how much could they eat? He's still your master, the First Elder of the courtyard; by reason and sentiment he ought to lend us a hand! Besides, you're still expected to support him in his old age!'

Jia Dongxu hesitated a little, but seeing his son crying from hunger and his sallow, thin wife, and thinking of his empty pockets, he steeled himself and trudged over to Yi Zhonghai's home.

Yi Zhonghai was about to have breakfast; on the table lay a small dish of pickles and two steamed buns obviously stuffed with a lot of wild greens—though still better than others' fare, it betrayed his straitened circumstances. Seeing Jia Dongxu enter, he furrowed his brow ever so slightly.

'Master…' Jia Dongxu rubbed his hands, haltingly laying out his family's predicament, then looked pleadingly at Yi Zhonghai: 'Master, could you… perhaps lend us some grain to tide us over? Once we get through this, I'll surely repay you!'

Yi Zhonghai knew full well. Lend? In these times grain is life—what would they repay with? He didn't want to lend; his own resources weren't ample either, and the Jia household was a bottomless pit,

Jia Zhangshi's nature meant lending to her would be like throwing a meat bun at a dog—wasted. Yet he could not refuse outright.

He was the courtyard's First Elder, Jia Dongxu's master, constantly preaching 'master and disciple like father and son,' 'neighbors helping each other,' his moral standard set high; now that his disciple's family couldn't even open the pot, if he stood by and watched, where would he put his face? Would his prestige still count?

He pondered, his face showing both difficulty and concern: 'Dongxu, your family's situation… I know. But these days nobody's well‑off; your teacher's wife is unhealthy, constantly on medicine, and we don't have much surplus grain…'

He paused, seeing Jia Dongxu's disappointed gaze, then shifted tone: 'Still, your situation is indeed difficult. Here's what I'll do: I still have a few jin of sweet potatoes I exchanged a few days ago—filling enough. Take them back for emergency relief. As for grain… I'm also tight‑pressed; I can't spare much.'

In the end he produced only a few shriveled little sweet potatoes, their weight paltry—more a token send‑off than real aid.

This preserved his dignity as First Elder and master while costing him little core interest. Jia Dongxu looked at those sweet potatoes, his heart chilled halfway, yet he dared not complain, merely accepting them with profuse thanks and leaving.

Yi Zhonghai watched his retreating back, snorted coldly in his heart, shut the door, and went on chewing his wild‑veg steamed bun. In this world, who looks after whom?

While the Jia household struggled over a few jin of millet flour, Xu Damao in the rear courtyard stirred up an even more shocking absurdity.

Relying on his status as a projectionist, Xu Damao often went to the countryside, originally hoping to earn some extra cash or flirt with a village girl to dispel his disappointment.

This time, after finishing a film screening in a remote village, he indeed hooked up with a fairly attractive young widow. She initially put up a token resistance, but after their night of passion, at dawn her 'uncle‑brothers' burst in with several strongmen and caught him red‑handed!

'You damn Xu Damao! How dare you bully our Xu family's widow! Go—report him for hooliganism! Send him to labor reform!' The burly leader snarled, fierce and menacing.

Xu Damao was scared witless, his pants not even pulled up properly. Once the charge of hooliganism stuck, not only would he lose his job, but even a labor‑reform sentence would be light! He dropped to his knees, kowtowing like pounding garlic, desperately pleading.

The other side had clearly prepared in advance, proposing a private settlement: pay compensation! Five hundred yuan—not a cent less! And it wasn't enough just to pay; they also demanded a written pledge guaranteeing he would marry the widow and take full responsibility, otherwise it would be all‑out war!

Five hundred yuan! At the time that was an astronomical sum, equivalent to nearly ten years' wages for an ordinary worker. Xu Damao's vision went black; he nearly fainted.

But he feared imprisonment more. Under the dual pressure of their threats and his own terror, he finally wrote out a humiliating IOU and pledge, pressed his fingerprint, promising to raise the money upon return and fetch her as soon as possible.

A few days later, when Xu Damao returned to the siheyuan like a frost‑bitten eggplant, leading the head‑down, rustic‑clad yet still somewhat alluring widow, the whole courtyard exploded in an uproar.

Xu Damao had returned—but not alone! Behind him trailed a young widow clutching a child, and she herself brought a child! The woman kept her head lowered, her face obscured, her figure somewhat plump; the child in her arms cried timidly.

Xu Damao himself resembled a frost‑bitten eggplant—listless, drooping, his face mottled with blue and purple, his eyes darting, completely lacking his former slick confidence.

The sight was too shocking; Zhu Sha, washing wild greens at the central courtyard's sink, was the first to see it, dropping his greens in astonishment before shouting in an exaggerated tone: 'Hey now! I'm telling you, Xu Damao—you can pull this off? Quietly acquiring a wife and kids all at once? This efficiency could rival a rocket launch! Where'd you find such a ready‑made bargain?'

His venomous, snide remark instantly drew the whole courtyard's crowd. Yan Bu Gui adjusted his glasses, his small eyes glittering with gossip; Liu Haizhong stuck out his belly, striking a pose of leadership inspection; even Yi Zhonghai stepped out of his room, brows furrowed; Jia Zhangshi, forgetting her hunger, craned her neck to watch the spectacle.

Upon hearing that, the widow lowered her head even further. Xu Damao's face alternated between blue and white; he wished he could sink into a crack in the ground.

Yan Bu Gui adjusted his glasses, his small eyes full of gossip: 'Damao, what… what's going on? You didn't even introduce her to everyone?'

Jia Zhangshi, also forgetting her hunger, shoved forward to size up the widow up and down, pursing her lips: 'Just looking at her, she's no law‑abiding sort!'

Liu Haizhong, hands behind his back, full of official tone: 'Comrade Xu Damao, you need to report your personal matter clearly to the organization!'

Yi Zhonghai also came over, frowning, and asked in a low voice: 'Damao, where's this girl from? Are all the formalities completed?' He sensed the matter was not simple.

Soon, Xu Damao's parents heard the news and rushed over anxiously; seeing their son and that strange woman, then hearing the bystanders' chatter, they nearly fainted.

Xu Fugui pulled his son aside and hissed urgently: 'Just what's going on? Where'd you get her from? The Lou family's engagement just fell through, and you…'

Xu Damao's face was ashen; under his parents' questioning and the crowd's gaze, he stammered, finally unable to deny it, and with a grief‑stricken visage admitted half‑truthfully that he'd met her in the countryside, that they'd fallen for each other, and… he'd just gone ahead and done it.

As for that five‑hundred‑yuan debt and the forced guarantee, he would rather die than admit it.

The siheyuan boiled over completely.

The shadow of the food crisis was temporarily eclipsed by this sudden absurd marriage, replaced by speculation, mockery, and schadenfreude.

Xu Damao had originally dreamed of finding a pretty city wife through his job and home, but that dream was utterly shattered; forced to marry an obscure‑origin widow who brought trouble, he became the courtyard's biggest joke.

Li Ping'an of the west wing courtyard heard the clamor from the central courtyard and shook his head slightly.

Xu Damao brought this on himself, yet the price seemed overly heavy. He gazed at the dull, overcast sky outside the window, feeling the courtyard's strange medley of joy and sorrow, his heart growing ever heavier.

In these hard times, the test is not just people's stomachs, but the limits of human nature and the fickleness of fate.

The Jia family's lament and the Xu family's farce are merely tiny, true footnotes in this grand era.