Chapter 10: with translation of chapter title

Zhao Jianguo shoved the small screwdriver engraved with "Red Star Factory Repair and Parts Group" into his ring; as his fingertip left the metal surface, he heard Li Xiaohua shouting from the kitchen: "The meal ticket still has to wait a bit; your dad said he wants something tasty today."

He responded, walked over to check the stove. The pot was bubbling with stewed cabbage and glass noodles; the aroma was there, but it indeed lacked a meaty boost. He felt the interlayer of his bag; the five eggs he had gotten from the morning sign‑in were still cool and stuck to his forearm.

"Mom, how about we fry an egg?" he said offhand, "It was given by the family of a factory technician, who said it's thanks for my help checking the pump wiring last time."

Li Xiaohua's spatula paused: "Eggs? Don't talk nonsense; nowadays who gives eggs as a favor?"

"They just gave it like that; you can't push it away." Zhao Jianguo grinned, "Besides, we don't eat eggs every day—just today we'll improve things a bit. Look, Dad's been working so hard these two days his back can't straighten; a little supplement would do good."

Li Xiaohua frowned, her eyes darting between the pot and her son's face. Finally she sighed: "All right… just three, don't use them all up, keep two for emergencies."

"As you say." Zhao Jianguo deftly fished three eggs from his bag, tapped them against the bowl's rim; the egg yolk slid into the bowl, bright yellow, making one's heart warm just to look at it.

As the oil pan just started to smoke, the egg liquid hit with a "sizzle"; the aroma "whooshed" out, escaping through the door gap. The bedsheets hanging to dry in the neighboring courtyard hadn't been taken in yet; when the wind blew, the scent seemed to have grown legs, slipping into every household's nostrils.

Zhao Jianguo was stirring with chopsticks when the door burst open with a "bang"; Jia Zhangshi came in wearing her gray‑washed blue cloth shirt, one hand on her hip, the other slapping the doorframe, her voice louder than the pan: "Hey! What oil are you burning? It smells so good I thought the courtyard was on fire!"

Li Xiaohua looked up and saw it was her; she instinctively hid the spatula behind the pot: "Just frying an egg, nothing else."

"Eggs?" Jia Zhangshi raised her eyebrows, as if hearing something extraordinary: "Oh dear, life's gotten this good? While we're all chewing steamed corn bread with pickles, you lot have already started on fried eggs!"

Zhao Jianguo didn't rush to reply; his spatula kept turning, the egg chunks golden and fluffy. He even added a half spoon of salt and sprinkled some scallions—this was the bonus from the system sign‑in, dry as can be, but fragrant to the max.

"Aunt Jia, you've come at just the right time." He finally spoke, tone flat: "Care to try a bite?"

Jia Zhangshi blinked, not expecting him not to dodge or avoid but instead to invite her to eat.

"Me try?" she snorted, rubbing her apron vigorously: "You lot sneaking eggs for yourselves is bad enough, but daring to fry them in front of the whole courtyard? What is this? This is favoritism! This is cutting yourself off from the masses!"

Her voice rose higher and higher; instantly someone in the courtyard poked their head out. Qin Huairu stood at the doorway holding her child, looking around; He Yushui stood by the well platform holding a basin of clothes, motionless.

Zhao Jianguo scooped the fried eggs into a coarse porcelain bowl, then casually put the spatula on the stove, which clanged.

He turned, stared straight at Jia Zhangshi: "Aunt Jia, you just said 'sneaking around'?"

"What? Did I say something wrong?" Jia Zhangshi puffed out her chest: "Everyone's living tight, but your family's fine—your oil pot smokes every day?"

"Then let me ask you." Zhao Jianguo stepped forward, voice low but each word clear: "Your son Dong Xu earns over thirty bucks a month at the factory—shouldn't he also share some with everyone? And those corduroy shoes your grandson wears—shouldn't we go house to house asking who's missing a pair?"

Jia Zhangshi opened her mouth, but couldn't find a reply right away.

Zhao Jianguo gave her no chance to catch her breath, continuing: "Besides, last month the supply and marketing cooperative issued cotton cloth coupons; you were first in line and snatched an extra foot, claiming 'the kids are growing fast.' Does that mean other people's kids grow slow? And now you come to my house saying our eating an egg is 'exploiting the masses'?"

He paused, corner of his mouth lifting: "This isn't concern for the collective—you just want to be the 'local emperor' of our courtyard."

The courtyard fell silent all at once.

Jia Zhangshi's face flushed crimson, her fingers trembling: "You… you little brat, dare to talk to me like that?"

"I'm not talking to you." Zhao Jianguo's voice turned cold: "I'm reminding you. Last time you forced He Yushui to hand over half a sack of white flour, and she nearly went to the police station to accuse you of 'underhanded exploitation.' That matter isn't over yet. If you think my eating an egg is illegal, I'll go to the police station right now and we can sort out who's really stirring class antagonism."

As soon as he said that, even He Yushui by the well platform shrank her neck.

Jia Zhangshi's lips quivered a few times, her eyes darting; evidently she hadn't expected this kid not only to be unafraid but to slap a "counter‑revolutionary agitator" label right back at her.

She gave a dry cough, forcing a smile: "Fine, fine, your family's got money and power, you can afford eggs—I can't control you." After saying that she turned and left, but not before throwing over her shoulder: "You'll be crying sooner or later!"

Zhao Jianguo didn't chase after her, nor did he laugh; he just stood by the stove, picked up the last piece of egg, blew on it, and popped it into his mouth.

Hot, fragrant, the yolk crumbly—swallowing it in that instant felt even better than getting ten eggs from the sign‑in.

Li Xiaohua watched him, muttering low: "You said that too harshly; what if she comes back to cause trouble?"

"She wouldn't dare." Zhao Jianguo set the bowl down, wiped the table with a rag: "If she really had the guts to make trouble, she'd have done it already. She came today just to test our bottom line. If we lower our heads and admit fault, tomorrow she'll bring people to divvy up the vegetables in the pot."

Li Xiaohua was about to say more when Zhao Erniu stepped out from the inner room, holding a dry‑smoke pipe, just lit, the ember glowing then dimming.

He took two puffs, looked at his son: "What you just said was right."

Zhao Jianguo blinked: "You don't mind that I'm stirring trouble?"

"Not causing trouble is good, but being too soft won't do." Zhao Erniu exhaled smoke: "In this courtyard, some people eat that kind of thing up. The more you give in, the bolder she gets. If you obediently handed over the eggs to share today, next time she'll be demanding your grain coupons."

He paused, locking eyes with his son: "From now on, when you run into this sort of thing, you'll still handle it this way."

Zhao Jianguo smiled: "All right, I'll take the heat at home."

Zhao Erniu nodded, turned back inside. Upon reaching the doorway he paused again: "By the way, those eggs… can we still fry them tomorrow?"

"Sure!" Zhao Jianguo answered crisply: "As long as the sign‑in doesn't stop, our stove will smoke every day."

Li Xiaohua heard that and quickly glared: "Keep it down! Don't let outsiders hear!"

Zhao Jianguo waved a hand: "No worries. If she comes again, I'll say these eggs are the factory's reward for technical backbone—five per person per month; your son didn't make the cut, so he gets none."

Li Xiaohua burst out laughing: "You really can make things up."

"It's not made up." Zhao Jianguo said low: "This is psychological warfare."

At night, the lamp oil burned down to about half; Zhao Jianguo sat on the edge of the bed, pulled a small notebook from his ring, opened a page, and wrote with a pencil:

"Jia Zhangshi, bullies the weak, fears the strong, habitually uses moral blackmail, but has no real basis. She can be intimidated, not dealt with. In the short term avoid her sharp edge; in the long term dismantle her influence. Next step: keep an eye on Qin Huairu and He Yushui, find each of their weak spots."

After writing, he closed the notebook, then took out that small screwdriver from his ring and held it under the lamp to examine.

The engraving on the handle was a little blurred, as if something had worn it. He remembered it being clear when he took it out this morning—how could it have faded in just a day's work?

He frowned, about to wipe it with a cloth, when he noticed the tip of the screwdriver was smeared with something dark and grubby—like oil dirt, or… rust.

He scraped at it with his fingernail, but the black speck wouldn't budge.

"Weird." he muttered, about to put the screwdriver away, when his fingertip slipped and the tip "clicked" against the desk edge, giving a clear sound.

The lamp light flickered.

He lowered his head to look again—the black spot was gone, the screwdriver clean and dry, as if it had never touched anything.

Zhao Jianguo stared at the tip, motionless.