Chapter 13: Familiar Faces Make Things Easier

This private printing factory had no name and was hidden within a residential area at the urban-rural fringe of Tiebei; the owner was a stout middle-aged man whose simplicity concealed a hint of cunning.

“Oh my, Brother Chen’s here! Welcome, welcome!” Wu Xianping extended his thick hand and shook Chen Weimin’s, clearly they weren’t meeting for the first time.

Chen Weimin introduced Zhou Andong and Yao Jun, then got straight to the point: “This is my iron brother—he wants to print wall calendars, thirteen pages with covers, about ten thousand copies. Brother Wu, give me your lowest price.”

Wu Xianping thought for a moment: “Since you brought him, Brother Chen, I’ll cut it to the bone—four yuan and three jiao.”

Chen Weimin said: “Three yuan and two jiao. Quote three yuan and seven jiao—if you can do it, I won’t go anywhere else.”

Wu Xianping looked helpless: “Brother Chen, you’re an expert—the copperplate paper prices keep rising. Three yuan and two jiao is too low; I won’t make a profit.”

Chen Weimin smiled: “Print quality can’t be compromised, but the paper can be thinner and the dimensions smaller.”

Wu Xianping pondered, then gritted his teeth as if making a great sacrifice: “Fine, I owe you, Brother Chen.”

With Chen Weimin, a seasoned insider, the deal was settled in minutes. Then the three went their separate ways.

When Zhou Andong entered the house, he saw Zhou Anning sobbing quietly, her little face streaked with tears: “What’s going on?”

Seeing her big brother return, the little girl, who had just stopped crying, burst into fresh sobs and ran over, hugging his leg.

Zhou Andong picked her up, his heart aching, and immediately sensed something was off in the room.

His mother was stitching a shoe sole, the awl piercing the leather with force, producing a distinct puh-puh sound. His father leaned against the rolled-up quilt, smoking silently, puff after puff.

His eldest sister stood behind the door, red-eyed and slumped against the cabinet—she’d clearly been crying too. Zhou Anbei lowered his head, fists clenched, his toes scraping the yellow earth floor, digging small holes with each step.

Zhou Andong licked his dry lips: “What’s going on? Someone tell me.”

Zhou Anbei looked up—his face was swollen. Zhou Andong’s expression turned cold: “What happened?”

Zhou Anbei glared: “Zhou Anbin beat me.”

Zhou Andong raised an eyebrow: “Why did he beat you?”

Zhou Anbei said: “Anning went to watch cartoons, he wouldn’t let her, dragged her out, and threw her into a snowdrift. I went to argue, and Zhou Anbin beat me up.”

Zhou Andong asked: “Did Zhou Anlei lay a hand on you?”

Zhou Anbei shook his head: “Only Zhou Anbin hit me. Big Aunt was yelling too. Grandpa and Zhou Anlei stayed inside and didn’t come out.”

Zhou Andong laughed bitterly: “This is the Zhou family’s legacy—none of the eldest sons are decent.”

Zhou Xiaomin muttered: “How dare you speak like that?”

“Am I wrong? My great-grandparents were driven to death by my great-uncle. Look at my uncle—he embodies laziness, selfishness, and greed to perfection. Now it’s Zhou Anbin’s turn—he’s outdone them all. Gambling, drinking, womanizing, stealing, cheating, lying—has he ever left anything out?”

Zhou Andong snorted, placing the little girl on the kang: “I’ll go ask Zhou Anbin if he grew a second pair of balls.”

“Stay right here and don’t go anywhere,” Yuan Liying snapped.

Grandpa Zhou Bangye was an old revolutionary who served as a bodyguard for top commanders during the War of Resistance; his skills were no fake.

Zhou Andong had trained under his grandfather for a while—he’d always been ruthless in fights since childhood. If he hurt Zhou Anbin badly, this household would never know peace again.

Zhou Andong’s eyes flickered, then he nodded readily: “Fine, I won’t go after him.”

“Really?” Zhou Andong’s too-easy agreement left Yuan Liying with zero confidence.

Zhou Andong grinned: “I’d never lie to you.” He picked up the little girl and stepped out: “Look what I’ve got.”

“Wow!” the little girl cried excitedly: “Meat buns!”

Zhou Andong smiled: “Want to eat them?”

“Yes!” she shouted.

“Good!” Zhou Andong said: “Let Big Sister heat them up—we’ll finish every last one.”

“You just ate dinner—why eat buns now?” Yuan Liying stepped out, snatched the buns, and placed them on the shelf: “Eat them tomorrow morning.”

Zhou Andong winked at the little girl: “No more buns now.”

The little girl giggled: “What now?”

Zhou Andong sighed: “Then we’ll eat them tomorrow morning.”

“Okay!” the little girl clapped her hands: “Eat them tomorrow morning!” Then she looked outside: “Why isn’t it light yet?”

Zhou Andong laughed loudly, pinching her nose: “Sleep one nap, and it’ll be light.”

Back inside, Zhou Andong put an arm around Zhou Anbei’s shoulder: “Enough of this gloom—you’re a big guy now. So you got beaten—next time, you’ll get even.”

He comforted Zhou Anqin next: “Wait—I’ll buy a big color TV before New Year’s, just to piss them off.”

Zhou Anqin rolled her eyes: “You’re just blowing smoke again.”

“It’s still a month till New Year’s—see if I’m bluffing.” Zhou Andong found Zhou Anqin’s schoolbag, pulled out a pen and notebook: “Lend me these.”

Back in the side room, Zhou Andong lay on the kang and began drawing. Zhou Anbei didn’t even notice when he slipped in.

“Brother, what are you drawing?” Zhou Anbei climbed beside him, picked up a sketch, and stared at it.

Zhou Andong looked up: “It’s the packaging box design for our factory.”

“This is a packaging box?” Zhou Anbei looked baffled, picked up another sheet: “What are these wavy lines? This narrow-top, wide-bottom, grid-like thing—is it a ladder? And why’s there a lightning rod on top?”

Zhou Andong’s face darkened: “That’s my logo—the wavy lines are the Jiangzhou River, the narrow-top, wide-bottom grid is the Donghu Ancient Pagoda.”

Zhou Anbei stared at the drawing, couldn’t hold back, and snickered quietly—it looked nothing like the river or the pagoda; it was two earthworms climbing a ladder.

“Laugh it up, you idiot!” Zhou Andong kicked Zhou Anbei off the kang: “Get out, don’t interrupt my creation.”

“This is creation?” Zhou Anbei shot back mercilessly: “Grab a spider, dip it in ink, let it crawl on paper—it’d look better than this.”

Zhou Andong sprang up: “I think Zhou Anbin didn’t beat you hard enough.”

Zhou Anbei bolted out the door, then poked his head back through the curtain: “Better have Big Sister draw it for you.”

Zhou Andong picked up the sketch, frowning: “I thought it looked fine—is it really that bad?”

Zhou Anbei nodded vigorously: “Bad? It’s a disaster. If you hadn’t told me, I’d swear it was two earthworms climbing a ladder.”

Zhou Andong scratched his head, reluctantly tossed the paper aside: “Go get Big Sister.”

“Brother, you called me?” Zhou Anqin arrived quickly.

Zhou Andong nodded: “Help me draw something.”

“Okay!” Zhou Anqin had never studied art professionally, but she’d loved drawing since childhood and once dreamed of entering an art academy—until family circumstances forced her to give it up.

Zhou Andong described, Zhou Anqin drew; the siblings worked together, revising and refining until past eleven.

“It’s only slightly better than mine,” Zhou Andong said aloud, but inwardly he had to admit his sister had real talent—he silently resolved to send her to a proper art academy. This lifetime, he’d make sure she lived the life she wanted.