Chapter 243

In the 1960s, hunger was the main theme, yet under this theme every family fiddled with their own little abacus, producing either crisp or dull clatter.

In the rear courtyard, the Xu Damao household has lately been especially lively. His wife, Wang Cuihua, though a rural widow by origin, was caught red-handed by Xu Damao while showing movies in the countryside (rumors vary—some say it was a honey trap, others say Xu Damao failed to keep his trousers up, and in the end he grudgingly admitted it), but her appearance is indeed proper and her figure plump.

What a pity—this fine exterior is paired with a loud voice and a unwillingness to suffer loss. Since moving in, she has kept Xu Damao obedient; the once mischievous, slick-talking Xu Damao in the courtyard now, before her, resembles a chicken with its neck wrung, listless and drooping.

"Xu Damao! You useless wretch! Look at the West Wing courtyard, then look at the Sa Zhu family in the Central Courtyard— their kids are white and plump! Now look at our place! Even mice entering the house have to leave with tears! Your movie‑showing skill can't even earn two taels of oily profit?" Wang Cuihua stood at the door, hands on hips, pointing and cursing; her voice carried strong, audible across half the courtyard.

Xu Damao shrank his neck, not daring to speak indoors, feeling stifled as if a clump of rotten hemp were stuffed inside. He'd like to earn some extra income, but these days there's no food to eat, who has time for movies, and the factory no longer schedules rural film showings.

He muttered to himself: "Really, the Dragon King's fart—what's he puffing about? If it weren't for you… sigh!" These days are simply like playing a pipa under a bitter‑vine tree—there's no joy to be found even in making the best of bitterness.

In the Jia household of the Central Courtyard, Jia Zhangshi's abacus clacked even louder, its aim set on the room originally occupied by the Deaf Old Lady in the rear wing. The Deaf Old Lady (who would have thought that old corpse‑flesh was actually a deep‑cover agent!) was arrested, and the house naturally reverted to the street office, left vacant for now—this made Jia Zhangshi salivate.

"Dongxu, my son!" Jia Zhangshi slapped her thigh, launching into a lecture‑song‑routine for her sighing son: "Look! Bang Geng keeps growing, Xiao Dang is nothing but a mouth to feed, and our palm‑sized plot—how can we expand? The children are starving to skin and bone; at night their wails tear my heart like a knife grind! That back room sits empty and ready—what right does the street office have to deny us residence? You're a disciple of the First Elder; go plead with him, call a full‑courtyard meeting, and have everyone contribute money, grain coupons, even old clothes—anything! We can't let the old Jia line die out!"

Jia Dongxu, his head aching from the noise, muttered: "Mom, that house is public property—you can't just give it away. Donations… nowadays, who isn't struggling?"

"Hard? Nothing's harder than our plight!" Jia Zhangshi snapped her eyes open. "Yi Zhonghai is the First Elder of the courtyard, a grade‑8 worker with high wages, whether or not he has kids, you still expect him to support his parents—helping us is his duty! Hurry up and go! Tell him the children are about to starve to death; he can't stand by and do nothing!"

Jia Dongxu, left with no choice, steeled himself and went to see Yi Zhonghai.

Yi Zhonghai was at home leisurely sipping his substitute tea, hearing Jia Dongxu's halting plea, his mind as clear as a mirror. He set down the enamel jar, wore his usual "fair" expression, and spoke gently yet with an unquestionable evasion:

"Dongxu, I know your difficulties, Master." He first set the tone, showing concern, "but that house in the rear wing is an asset uniformly managed by the street office; the Deaf Old Lady… that's a matter of enemy‑vs‑us contradiction, her property is already arranged by the organization, we in the courtyard can't unilaterally decide—this is being without organization or discipline."

He shifted gears to donations: "As for calling a meeting to raise money and goods… well, it's not that the Master doesn't support it. Look at the situation now—every family is a mud‑bodhisattva crossing the river, each barely able to survive. Everyone's already tightening their belts; launching a donation drive now would only stir up conflict, which isn't good for unity."

Seeing Jia Dongxu's ashen face, he added fuel to the fire with a "heart‑to‑heart" remark: "In my view, if the children aren't getting enough to eat, we should address the root cause. Auntie (referring to Jia Zhangshi), don't you always say you've saved some pension money? In these times, saving lives is urgent—take that money out, buy the children some high‑price grain to tide them over the immediate crisis. After all, money is an external thing; people are what truly matter."

This speech was impeccable and seamless—it refused the Jia family's overreaching wishes, skillfully kicked the ball back to Jia Zhangshi, and subtly pointed out that she was hoarding private cash and refusing to spend it.

Jia Dongxu listened, speechless, his face flushing red then white, and he grudgingly went back.

Upon hearing that Yi Zhonghai not only refused to help but was even eyeing her pension money, Jia Zhangshi exploded, jumping and shouting inside the room: "Well done, Yi Zhonghai! Hypocrite! Fake do‑gooder! One who watches others die without lifting a finger! All you care about is my little coffin‑fund! I spit on you!" The curses were confined behind the door, yet that vindictive aura seeped out in wisps.

Qin Huairu watched cold‑bloodedly as all this unfolded—her mother‑in‑law's shrewishness, her husband's weakness, the First Elder's hypocrisy—like a series of icy files grinding away at the little hope she still had.

She lowered her gaze to her daughter Xiao Dang in her arms, whose malnutrition made her head large and body small, and to her son Bang Geng squatting in the doorway playing with mud. The determination to forge a path for herself and her children, like weeds pushing through stone cracks, grew more tenacious and twisted. Her eyes drifted involuntarily toward the opposite side of the Central Courtyard, where faint cooking smoke and food aromas drifted—toward the Sa Zhu household.

Compared with the clamor and undercurrents of those several households, the Li Ping'an family in the West Wing courtyard was a rare haven of peace and tranquility.

After dinner, Li Ping'an held his son Li Yaozong; the little one waved his chubby arms, babbling as he tried to grab his father's chin. Li Ping'an laughed and dodged, his heart soft. Lin Xueqing sat under the lamp mending the children's clothes; the light cast a gentle halo over her tranquil profile.

Li Ping'an glanced at his sister Li Ping Lei, who was sitting nearby stitching shoe soles, and said, "Ping Lei, I have something to discuss with you."

"Go ahead, brother." Li Ping Lei lifted her head; she now works at the textile factory, her demeanor calmer than before, her brows and eyes bearing the resilience typical of women workers of this era.

"Do you remember when I mentioned setting you up on a blind date? That Zhao Lianzhong, right? He's a combat hero from Shandong." Li Ping'an tried to keep his tone casual.

Hearing this, Lin Xueqing glanced up, met her husband's eyes with a slight smile, continued sewing with her head down, but her ears prickled up.

Li Ping Lei's face flushed slightly, she murmured an "uh," and her stitching slowed.

"Zhao Lianzhang is a person of sound lineage and red-blooded, brave in battle, has made merits, and his character is reliable." Li Ping'an weighed his words, "On his side, the organization also cares about his personal issues. His hometown is in the rural Shandong, his parents are quite simple. You see... would you like to find some time to meet, just to get to know each other as friends, to see if you get along?"

The room grew quiet, only the occasional pop of the kerosene lamp wick, and Li Yaozong's babbling infant speech.

Li Pinglu's heart started thumping. Blind dates, in this era, are nothing out of the ordinary. At her age, among the young women at the factory, she's considered not young anymore. Regarding marriage, she harbors both anticipation and a hint of apprehension toward the unknown.

Zhao Lianzhang, a Shandong native, is said to be honest and hardworking. Brother judges people well; he says he's reliable, so that should be about right. But... marrying far away? I've heard life in Shandong is even harder...

Her mind was in a jumble, the heat on her face not fading, she lowered her head, fingers unconsciously twisting the hemp rope, her voice as thin as a mosquito's buzz: "I... I will follow Brother's arrangement."

This was agreement. Li Ping'an and Lin Xueqing exchanged a reassuring glance.

"All right," Li Ping'an said, his tone easing, "I'll set a time later and meet you at Shichahai; it's quiet there. Don't be nervous, it's just to get to know each other—whether it works out or not doesn't matter."

"Mm." Li Pinglu's voice was like a thread of silk, but her heart felt like she'd caught a small rabbit, fluttering anxiously. It was apprehension about her future fate, plus a hint of secret anticipation. In these famine-stricken years, to find a steady and reliable refuge is something many girls dream of.

Outside the window, night deepened, the chill still lingering. In the siheyuan, scheming, struggle, anticipation, warmth... various emotions intertwined, forming a complex and true picture of worldly life.

The faint lights of every household, in the boundless darkness, stubbornly flicker, illuminating each one's own little world, and also reflecting the most genuine human warmth of ordinary people in this special era.