Chapter 391: Mushroom Cloud Explosion

In the early morning of October, Four Nine City was startled awake by a sharp radio broadcast.

Our country's first atomic bomb detonated successfully!

The announcer's voice came through the loudspeaker of the public radio at Alley Kou, hoarse with static, yet each word rang like thunder.

First came silence.

The old lady buying vegetables stopped in her tracks, the street-sweeping sanitation worker straightened his back, and those cycling to work gripped their bike brakes.

Then an uproar broke out, roaring like thunder.

An atomic bomb? Our atomic bomb?

My goodness! Did it really succeed?!

The streets instantly boiled over. Although ordinary folks didn't know what mushrooms were good for, they knew that with mushrooms, everyone could live with their heads held high.

Someone threw their vegetable basket into the air, cabbages and radishes rolling everywhere, too excited to bother picking them up.

Someone embraced a nearby stranger, jumping and shouting, tears and snot smearing their face.

Bicycle bells rang in a chorus—not to yield, but to celebrate, ding-ling-ling ding-ling-ling, like festive firecrackers.

Li Ping'an had just pushed his cart out of Alley Kou when he was swept up by the surging crowd.

He lifted his gaze to the sky.

The autumn air was crisp and clear, the sky a spotless blue—naturally, no mushroom cloud could be seen.

But that invisible shockwave had already shaken the entire city.

"Ma Lan flowers bloom twenty-one, twenty-five-six, twenty-five-seven, twenty-eight twenty-nine thirty-one..."

Several half-grown kids hopped past, the tune of the children's song bright and clear.

Li Ping'an's lips curled up slightly.

"Ma Lan—that's the code name of the test base."

He pushed his cart onward, his steps much lighter than usual.

Spontaneous procession teams had already formed on the streets.

Workers held up hastily written slogans, students waved small flags, and street officials beat drums and gongs.

"Long live the motherland!"

"Self-reliance, strive for strength!"

Slogans rose and fell, faces glowing with pure, unguarded pride.

Li Ping'an moved slowly through the crowd.

The taut string in his heart, wound tight for so long, seemed to loosen a little.

The nation grew strong, and our spines straightened.

This is the most basic feeling of every Chinese person.

Meanwhile, in the dark room deep within the South of City tenement, the shopkeeper's steamed bun fell to the ground.

The gaunt man had just returned from outside, bringing that earth-shattering news.

"Impossible..." the shopkeeper muttered, his face ashen like a corpse's, "How could they...? It's only been a few years? The Soviet experts withdrew only a few years ago."

He suddenly grabbed the gaunt man's collar.

"Did you hear clearly? Is it really an atomic bomb? Not something else?"

"Everyone's shouting in the streets." The gaunt man's voice dry, "The broadcast plays it over and over. The procession is almost at Alley Kou."

The shopkeeper released his grip, staggered back to the bedside, and slumped down.

From outside the window came the children's singing, still that song "Ma Lan Flowers Bloom," their tender voices chanting the birth of a national heavy weapon, full of absurd irony.

"It's over..." he closed his eyes, "Everything's over."

The gaunt man was puzzled.

"Shopkeeper, even if they have an atomic bomb, what does it have to do with us..."

"You don't understand." The shopkeeper cut him off, his voice hollow, "This isn't a weapon; it's a banner. With it, people's hearts will wholly turn to them. All those things we used to say—'externally strong but internally weak,' 'poverty and backwardness'—have become jokes."

He opened his eyes and gazed at the mottled ceiling.

"Faith... our faith was built on their weakness. Now that they are strong, our faith has collapsed."

The gaunt man fell silent.

He recalled the faces he had just seen on the street.

On those faces, once numb from scrambling for three meals a day, now shone a certain light.

It was the light of having gained confidence.

The shopkeeper was right.

Some things have truly changed.

Even the Siheyuan courtyard exploded with chatter.

The three elders rarely gathered in the Central Courtyard, each face aglow, as if the mushroom cloud had been lit by their own hands.

"This is a great joy!" Liu Haizhong stuck out his belly, voice booming, "Our courtyard must show its appreciation! I suggest we hold a feast, celebrating the whole courtyard."

Yan Bu Gui pushed his glasses, his small eyes darting quickly.

"Old Liu is right! This is a national celebration, and our Siheyuan must not lag behind. I think tonight, each household should contribute something, pooling together for a lively table."

Yi Zhonghai puffed on a cheap cigarette, nodding slowly.

"That's reasonable. But we need to organize it well, avoid chaos. This way, I'll put up ten yuan as a token to get things started."

He said it lightly, but the three words "ten yuan" still jolted everyone.

That amounted to about half a month's wages for an ordinary worker.

Liu Haizhong's face stiffened.

He had his savings swindled by his eldest son not long ago, and only just regained some strength; his cash is very tight.

"I… I'll put in two yuan," he said with difficulty, "House expenses have been high lately; please understand."

Yan Bu Gui quickly calculated in his mind.

Yi Zhonghai contributed ten yuan, Liu Haizhong contributed two yuan; how much should he himself put in to be appropriate?

Contributing too much hurts the heart; contributing too little loses face.

"I'll put in half a yuan." He finally spoke, then added, "Everyone knows my family lives solely on my 27.5‑yuan salary, supporting the whole family alone. But for such a grand happy occasion, we can't dampen the mood; a token contribution."

The wording was slick, both feigning poverty and showing off.

It's Li Ping'an's turn.

He had just returned from the factory and was washing his hands at the sink.

"I'll put in five yuan." He flicked the water off his hand, "But there's something at home tonight, so I won't attend."

Yi Zhonghai's eyes flickered, and he said nothing.

Liu Haizhong wanted to speak, but Yan Bu Gui gave him a look to stop him.

Xu Damao limped through the Central Courtyard, heard that money was being collected, and immediately voiced his stance.

"I'll put in one yuan! For such a grand happy occasion, we must support!"

He is now a "Model of Public Security," and his words carry much more confidence.

Sha Zhu was peeling scallions at his doorstep when he heard that, and sneered.

"Hey, Xu Damao, one yuan? That's only enough to buy a few liang of meat."

"Do you have any right to tell me?" Xu Damao bristled, "If you have the ability, you also put in one yuan!"

"If you're putting it, then put it." Sha Zhu fished out a yuan, slapped it into Yan Bu Gui's hand, "Take it, don't complain it's too little."

Yan Bu Gui cheerfully accepted it.

Jia Zhangshi poked her head out of the house.

"We're a low‑income household, we have no money."

She spoke with righteous confidence, yet her eyes fixed on the stack of cash in Yan Bu Gui's hand.

Yi Zhonghai sighed.

"Everyone knows the Jia family's situation, so I won't contribute. But come for dinner tonight, everyone is invited."

Jia Zhangshi then retracted her head contentedly.

In the evening, the Siheyuan became bustling.

Sha Zhu was elected head chef, and at this moment he was busy at the makeshift Stove.

The big iron pot was heated to a glowing red, the oil sizzled and crackled.

"Teacher Yan, what kind of meat did you buy?" Sha Zhu lifted the Pork Belly, his brows knotted, "It's all fatty, where's the lean meat?"

Yan Bu Gui was picking vegetables, not even looking up.

"The butcher shop only has this piece left, and this is good meat; it can be rendered into oil. Young people don't understand life."

Sha Zhu rolled his eyes in anger, but still tossed the meat into the pot.

Liu Haizhong, hands clasped behind his back, paced the courtyard, directing several young daughters‑in‑law to wash and chop vegetables.

"Xiao Zhang, slice the cabbage finer! For the Wang family, peel the potatoes cleanly!"

The manner was like commanding thousands of troops.

Yi Zhonghai sat beside the Eight Immortals Table, leisurely smoking, watching the courtyard's bustling scene, a sense of satisfaction in his eyes.

This is the grand courtyard he wanted.

Unity, liveliness; Yi Zhonghai coordinated from the center, his word weighed heavily.

Li Ping'an's household shut its doors early.

Lin Xueqing was tutoring her son with his homework.

"Dad, it's so lively outside," Li Yaozong looked up, "Why don't we go?"

"Dad has to write documents tonight," Li Ping'an patted his son's head, "Besides, for that kind of gathering, it's fine not to go."

He knows Jia Zhangshi all too well.

With her present, this meal can't be eaten peacefully.

As night fell, the dishes were served.

A large bowl of braised cabbage with vermicelli, a large bowl of stewed pork with potatoes, plus several plates of pickles, and a basket of steamed buns.

Although simple, for that era it was considered a feast.

The whole courtyard, young and old, sat around the makeshift tables, eyes eagerly awaiting the meal.

Yi Zhonghai cleared his throat.

"Today is a great auspicious day for our nation. Our Siheyuan gathers together to celebrate. Come, raise your cups—"

He lifted the bowl of diluted Scattered Wine.

The crowd raised their bowls one after another.

Jia Zhangshi, however, had already reached for her chopsticks.

A chopstick plunged into the pot of stewed pork with potatoes, precisely picking up the largest piece of marbled Pork Belly and dropping it into her own bowl.

The movement was so fast it dazzled the eyes.

Then another chopstick, another piece.

Bang Geng mimicked the behavior, his small hand holding chopsticks to rummage in the pot, picking out only meat slices.

"Jia Zhangshi, everyone hasn't started yet!" someone couldn't help but say.

Jia Zhangshi had meat stuffed in her mouth, speaking indistinctly.

"If you're quick you get... if you're slow you get nothing... hmm... delicious..."

She said as she kept picking.

The meat in the bowl decreased at a speed visible to the naked eye.

Sha Zhu could no longer bear watching.

"Jia Dama, are you feeding a pig? Save some for everyone!"

Jia Zhangshi glared at him.

"My grandson is growing, what's wrong with him eating more meat? Are you adults fighting with children?"

The words were shameless, yet they left people momentarily unable to refute.

Qin Huairu lowered her head, her face flushed bright red, and whispered, "Mother, slow down..."

"What are you slowing down for!" Jia Zhangshi grabbed another piece of meat, "If you slow any more it'll be gone!"

She simply lifted the pot of potato braised meat, with a splash, poured all the remaining meat slices into her own and Bang Geng's bowls.

Only potatoes and broth remained in the pot.

The whole room fell silent.

Everyone stared at Jia Zhangshi.

She was oblivious, and with Bang Geng she buried herself in eating, her mouth slick with oil.

Yan Bu Gui's rice dumpling fell onto the table.

Liu Haizhong was so angry his beard twitched.

Yi Zhonghai's face turned ashen, and he placed the wine cup heavily on the table.

Only Sha Zhu suddenly burst out laughing.

"Damn, my cooking was for nothing. Jia Dama, your way of eating is truly... awe-inspiring."

Jia Zhangshi looked up, smirking.

"If there's food, eat it; why waste words."

She kept her head down, eating with audible smacking.

The crowd exchanged glances, and upon looking again at the pot of cabbage stewed with vermicelli, they suddenly lost their appetite.

This banquet that should have been celebratory ended hastily amid Jia Zhangshi and her child's gluttonous eating.

In the distance, the celebratory gongs and drums still drifted faintly.

The night sky was clear, the stars bright.

But the atmosphere in the Siheyuan was like that emptied pot of potato braised meat, leaving only a greasy puddle of awkwardness.