Chapter 319: Yan Bu Gui Makes Honeycomb Coal

The neatly stacked honeycomb coal at the entrance of Xi Kua Yuan, piled like a mountain, was like a silent wall; it not only blocked Yan Bu Gui's thoughts of taking advantage, but also became a thorn lodged in his heart.

As the weather grew colder day by day, icicles hung from the eaves, and the Yan family in the Front Courtyard could no longer sit still. Yan Bu Gui gritted his teeth, still unwilling to spend money to hire help, so he ordered his eldest son Yan Jiech​eng and his two half‑grown boys Yan Jiefang and Yan Jiekang; the four of them, huffing and puffing, also went to the coal yard and hauled back several hundred jin of coal blocks, piling them in the narrow passage at their own doorway.

Imitating Xi Kua Yuan's setup, the Yan father and sons also began the Engineering of making honeycomb coal. Mixing mud and coal, they did it fairly decently. But when it came to the crucial proportion stage, Yan Bu Gui's bone‑deep scheming resurfaced.

He crouched beside the coal pile, watching the black‑goldish coal dust, and his mental abacus clanged loudly: This coal is so expensive! Yellow mud costs nothing; add more mud and we'll save coal, right? If each coal cake contains ten percent less coal, how much can we save over several hundred jin? Enough to burn for many days! He seemed to already envision his "brilliant achievement" of getting through the whole winter with the least coal.

"Jiech​eng, add more mud! Yes, add even more! This mud is solid, it will hold after burning!" Yan Bu Gui commanded, taking over himself, and added several iron‑shovelfuls of yellow mud into the coal pile; the ratio made Yan Jiech​eng a little hesitant.

"Dad, is this… is the mud too much? I saw Li Ping'an's family didn't use that much…"

"What do you know!" Yan Bu Gui cut his son off, adjusting his glasses with a look that said "I eat more salt than you eat rice," "Coal is precious, but you still have to make a living! Listen to me, alright! Hurry and mix!"

The Yan brothers dared not defy their father and could only follow his orders. The resulting coal‑mud was noticeably lighter in color than Xi Kua Yuan's, with more earthy yellow, and its viscosity was insufficient, appearing somewhat loose.

Pressing it into shape was even more laborious. When the mold was released, the coal cakes had ragged edges, were not compact, and some would almost fall apart as soon as they were lifted. Yan Bu Gui, however, was self‑satisfied: "Fine, fine! Looks solid to me!"

After working hard for most of the day, the Yan household finally stacked rows of honeycomb coal at their doorway. Yet compared with the jet‑black, oily, neatly edged coal cakes at Xi Kua Yuan's entrance, the difference was stark—like a malnourished skinny monkey facing a robust calf.

The cold winter night arrived unusually early. The north wind howled through the Alley, cutting the face like a small knife. Inside the Yan house, the chill was biting; breath turned to frost.

Yan Bu Gui rubbed his hands, brimming with confidence, picked up a piece of his own "high‑efficiency, energy‑saving" honeycomb coal, placed it into the stove, and struck a match.

The flame licked the coal cake; at first there were faint sparks and a puff of thick, earthy‑smelling yellow smoke, but it quickly died down. No matter how Yan Bu Gui fanned it, the coal cake refused to burn properly, only emitting a choking, half‑dead smoke, and the stove never showed the expected red blaze.

"It's cursed!" Yan Bu Gui panicked, swapped in another piece, with the same result! The coal cake seemed intent on defying him, only the surface blackened in a thin ring while the core wouldn't ignite at all; the stove stayed cold, and the house was barely warmer than outside.

The family huddled around the icy stove, shivering. Yan Jiech​eng's wife Yu Xiulian crossed her arms and muttered softly, "I told you the mud was too much…" and was immediately met with Yan Bu Gui's fierce glare.

"It must be the coal! Or maybe the mold is wrong!" Yan Bu Gui refused to admit his own scheming was at fault and began blaming external causes.

He paced anxiously inside, his gaze involuntarily drifting toward Xi Kua Yuan. Through its windows a warm glow seeped out, and faintly one could hear children's laughter; one could imagine the fire inside burning brightly.

A sudden surge of inexplicable spite and resentment surged to Yan Bu Gui's mind. It's all Li Ping'an's fault! If he hadn't been stingy, refusing to lend a cart or help us make the coal, would my family be in this mess? He must know the coal‑to‑mud ratio and kept it hidden! Look at the joke my family has become!

The more he thought, the more convinced he was, completely forgetting that it was his own greed—trying to cheapen himself and failing, and his haphazard formula to save a bit of coal.

The next morning, by the communal water tank in the courtyard, several housewives were washing vegetables. Yan Bu Gui carried an enamel basin over, his face sullen, deliberately raising his voice as if speaking to everyone:

"Alas, these days, people's hearts are no longer ancient! Some people, looking respectable, hide their abilities, watching neighbors freeze without lending a hand or offering advice! This honeycomb coal looks simple, but the trick inside is deep! Who knows, maybe someone is up to mischief, using some unsavory method, making the coal burn so well!"

His words were veiled accusations, thinly veiled, directly targeting Xi Kua Yuan.

Sha Zhu, who was drawing water on the other side of the tank, slammed the faucet shut, and barked back in a coarse voice: "Third Elder, I don't like hearing that! Li Ping'an's own coal, he can burn it however he likes—what does that concern you? You added too much mud yourself, it won't catch fire, yet you blame others? This logic doesn't hold anywhere!"

Sha Zhu's shout aired all of Yan Bu Gui's petty thoughts, causing several nearby women to giggle.

Yan Bu Gui, flushed and stammering, said, "I… I didn't name anyone! Zhuzi, don't meddle…"

"What did I meddle with? I'm speaking the truth!" Sha Zhu, not tolerating him, retorted, "If you have time to chew gossip, you'd better go back and crush the coal and remix it! Add more coal, less mud—any three‑year‑old understands that!"

Yan Bu Gui, ashamed and angry, carried the basin, his face caked with ash and dust, and slipped back to the Front Courtyard.

In Xi Kua Yuan, Li Ping'an vaguely heard the commotion outside. He was holding a small hammer, gently tapping away the excess burrs from a honeycomb coal edge, his movements unhurried. He didn't even raise an eyebrow at Yan Bu Gui's complaints and accusations.

Lin Xueqing stepped out of the house, speaking softly with some worry: "Ping'an, Third Elder he…"

"Ignore him," Li Ping'an cut in, his tone even, "His own calculations are too precise; he smashed his own foot and still wants to throw the pot at others. In cold weather, hearts shouldn't freeze, but we won't deal with hot faces slapped onto cold backs."

He had long anticipated Yan Bu Gui would add extra mud to save coal, but hadn't expected him to so boldly blame himself.

This further solidified his resolve not to get overly involved with the courtyard. Helping is a bond; not helping is a duty, especially with someone like Yan Bu Gui, who only seeks advantage and never thinks of gratitude.

In the end, the Yan family's several hundred jin of honeycomb coal, mixed with excessive yellow mud and nearly unburnable, became a modest but notable joke in the Front Courtyard.

Pressed by the bitter cold and his family's complaints, Yan Bu Gui reluctantly smashed the batch of "defective products," repurchased a small amount of coal, and strictly followed the proper ratio, only then barely solving the heating problem.

But all that trouble not only saved no money; it cost even more needless expense and became a laughingstock known throughout the courtyard—truly a case of "losing the wife and the troops".