Chapter 18: Qin Huairu apologizes, Zhao Jianguo does not accept

Just as dawn broke, a figure was already moving beside the well platform in the courtyard.

Zhao Jianguo held a broom, sweeping up fallen leaves and dust on the ground, one stroke after another, his motion neither hurried nor slow, as if he were cleaning something, or as if he were waiting for something. When he reached the bluestone slab in front of the Jia family's door, he paused, then he scraped up several locust leaves stuck to the ground and tossed them into the ash heap at the wall corner.

The motion was small, but everyone who rose early in the courtyard understood—this was a "place of right and wrong."

Yesterday's confrontation—no one expected Zhao Jianguo to tear apart Jia Zhangshi's explanation until not a shred remained. The ten-dollar notes had long gone unissued, the 1958 grain tickets were nowhere to be seen, and the keys kept shifting from his person to under the mattress… If these words got out, the neighbors would surely laugh. Moreover, he even produced a small notebook in public and recited, word for word, the three versions Jia Zhangshi had altered over three days; his calm composure was sharper than the factory's accident report reviews.

Now people have quieted down, but the air still carries a faint smell of gunpowder that hasn't fully dissipated.

Qin Huairu came out of the kitchen holding a coarse porcelain bowl, inside was half a bowl of thin porridge, its steam already fading. She stood at her own doorway, glanced at Zhao Jianguo, then lowered her eyes to look at the bowl, hesitated a step, and still walked over.

"Jianguo." She lowered her voice, as if afraid to startle anyone, "I… I want to talk with you."

Zhao Jianguo stopped sweeping, straightened his back, leaned the broom handle on his shoulder, and looked at her: "Sister-in-law, go ahead, I'm listening."

Qin Huairu bit her lip, fingers digging into the bowl's rim: "What happened yesterday… was my mother's muddle‑headedness; she's old and got her words mixed up, so don't take it to heart. She was just in a hurry, didn't think much… I'm speaking for her, to apologize to you."

Having said that, she gave a slight bow, not deep, but the meaning came across.

Behind several windows in the courtyard, eyes instantly appeared.

Zhao Jianguo didn't move, nor did he respond; he just looked at her, his gaze neither cold nor hot, as if he were estimating how many steamed buns a pound of flour could yield.

"Sister-in-law," he finally spoke, voice not loud, "I saw that bow of yours. I also understood your mother's whole set of excuses. But this matter can't be settled with just a 'misspoken' remark."

Qin Huairu lifted her eyes: "Then… what do you want?"

"What do I want?" Zhao Jianguo chuckled, lightly leaning the broom against the wall, "I'm not after anything; I just want to lay out the reasoning clearly."

He took a half‑step forward: "She declared in front of the whole courtyard that my family stole her fifty dollars and five jin of national grain tickets, claiming I ate scallion‑oil pancakes with stolen goods. If this gets out, how can I hold my head up at the factory? If someone asks, 'Where does your family's enrichment flour come from?' what am I to say? That my mother exchanged it at the factory? Who would believe that?"

Qin Huairu opened her mouth, but no words came out.

"An apology can't be just words." Zhao Jianguo's tone leveled, "There must be concrete compensation. Otherwise today she could bite me, tomorrow she could bite someone else. If any household in this courtyard ever lacks a needle or thread, would they all have to investigate my family first?"

Qin Huairu's face changed: "You… you aren't bullying an old person, are you?"

"Bullying?" Zhao Jianguo shook his head, "If I really wanted to bully her, I would have gone straight to the police station yesterday to accuse her of false accusation. But I didn't. I gave her three days to file a report herself, and she didn't. So now we must follow my rules."

"What rules?"

"Three conditions." Zhao Jianguo held up three fingers, "First, she must, in front of the whole courtyard, personally say 'I was wrong, I shouldn't have framed Zhao Jianguo,' and also make a bow; second, compensate ten eggs; third, five jin of local grain tickets."

Qin Huairu nearly dropped her bowl: "Are you crazy? Ten eggs? Five jin of grain tickets? Eggs are now more precious than meat, and grain tickets… you're asking for her life!"

"Sister-in-law," Zhao Jianguo's tone unchanged, "If you think it's too much, you can refuse. But as long as she doesn't acknowledge it, this matter won't end. When I go to the factory today for work, if anyone asks, I'll say 'Jia Zhangshi claimed I stole her money, but she can't come up with ten eggs'—you tell me, if this gets spread, who loses face, me or her?"

Qin Huairu's face turned white with anger, her hand trembling: "You… you're extorting people!"

"Extorting?" Zhao Jianguo laughed, "When your family puts on a performance, why aren't you afraid people will call it extortion? The lines are all off‑cue, yet you want me to shut up."

He turned, picked up the broom, and patted off the dust: "Sister-in-law, I'm not refusing to show feeling. But feeling must have a bottom line. If she's truly senile, I'll accept it. But if she's pretending to be muddled, hoping to brush things over with a couple of wails—then sorry, in this courtyard my family also counts as a member. We're not so easily brushed aside."

Qin Huairu stood where she was; the heat in her bowl had completely dissipated, a thin skin forming on the porridge surface. Her lips moved, but she ultimately said nothing, turning and going back inside.

The door shut with a "bang."

Not even half an hour later, the Jia household erupted in argument.

The voice wasn't loud, but every word was clear: "…You want me to bow in public? You also want me to compensate eggs? I'm an old bag of bones—do you also want me to kneel?"

"Mom, keep your voice down…" said Qin Huairu.

"Why should I lower my voice? A young upstart dares to press me like this? I've lived over fifty years—who dares speak to me this way?"

"But… the money you mentioned, does it really exist?"

"Do you also believe his story?" Jia Zhangshi's voice suddenly rose, "Even you are taking his side? I've raised you for nothing all these years!"

The room fell silent for a few seconds, then came Dong Xu's voice, low and heavy like a stone dropped into water: "Mom, if you truly haven't lost anything, just do as Jianguo says. Ten eggs, five jin of tickets—I'll provide them."

Qin Huairu gasped: "You… you really intend to give them to him?"

"I won't give them to him." Dong Xu's tone steady, "I'm making Mother admit fault. If she refuses, tomorrow I'll go to the factory and tell the leaders, 'My household falsely accused the family of a seventh‑level fitter at the factory, nearly ruining someone's prospects'—you guess how the factory will deal with you."

The room fell completely silent.

Zhao Jianguo was inside, pouring hot water into an enamel basin, hearing this, the corner of his mouth twitched slightly, and he said nothing.

He knew, this round, victory was certain.

Just past noon, the sun bleached the well platform white.

Jia Zhangshi leaned on her cane, slowly shuffling to the center of the courtyard. She wore a gray‑washed blue cloth shirt, her hair neatly combed, but her complexion was ashen, and the cane she gripped struck the ground, each tap heavier than the last.

Everyone in the courtyard came out—some stood at the doorways, some squatted on the horse‑racks, even Yanbugui set down his abacus.

Qin Huairu followed behind, holding a bamboo basket with ten eggs, lined with straw; her other hand clutched several grain tickets, knuckles whitening from the grip.

Jia Zhangshi planted herself, lifted her gaze to scan the crowd, and finally fixed it on Zhao Jianguo's doorway.

Zhao Jianguo stood there, wearing a white shirt with sleeves rolled to the elbows, holding an aluminum lunch box, as if just about to head out to work.

"I…" Jia Zhangshi began, voice dry, "I was wrong."

No one spoke.

"I shouldn't have… rashly claimed Zhao Jianguo stole my money. That money… I didn't lose it."

She paused, then bent her waist a little, the motion stiff, like a rusted iron rod.

"I owe him an apology."

Having spoken, she straightened up, leaning on her cane, her face grim as if she had swallowed bitter melon.

Qin Huairu stepped forward and handed over the bamboo basket and grain tickets.

Zhao Jianguo didn't rush to take them; he first lowered his head to count the eggs—none missing. Then he picked up the grain tickets, held them to the sunlight, and the paper, seal, and numbers all matched.

He nodded, tucked the lunch box under his arm, one hand taking the basket, the other receiving the tickets, and walked indoors.

Reaching the doorway, he paused, turned back, and said, "This ends here."

No one responded.

He lifted his foot to enter, hand just touching the door handle, when Jia Zhangshi suddenly shouted, "Zhao Jianguo! Don't think you've won!"

Zhao Jianguo did not turn back.

"In this courtyard, it's not you who gets to decide!"

Zhao Jianguo's hand paused, he slowly turned around, looking at her: "Then you say, who gets to decide?"

Jia Zhangshi's lips trembled: "... Anyway, it's not you!"

"Fine." Zhao Jianguo nodded, "Remember what you said today. Next time you want to use your crutch as a sounding board, first ask yourself—"

He paused, his voice not loud:

"Is your makeshift stage stable?"