Chapter 26: Disaster Warning, Stockpiling Supplies

Zhao Jianguo rode his bike through the suburban dirt road as the sky just lightened; the bike's wheels rattled over gravel with a clack-clack sound. He had proactively told the internship team leader he wanted to be assigned to the western production team—others thought it far, but he felt it just right—there was an abandoned grain station there, unmarked on the map, but two days ago the system prompt during check-in had said "Nearby exists a high-density carbohydrate storage point," which was almost certainly grain.

Upon entering the village gate, noisy gongs and drums came from the canteen direction. Several cadre-like people stood on the steps, holding red banners and shouting, "Eat freely! Eat with communist vigor!" The big iron pot was lifted, white steam rose to the sky; inside was a pot full of millet rice, with sweet potatoes underneath. Villagers queued, each with a big bowl, scooping food into their mouths; children had no side dishes, just gulping down dry rice.

Zhao Jianguo frowned at the sight. This isn't daily life—it's a grain grab.

He remembered how back home Li Xiaohua would weigh the rice for porridge, not an ounce off. Here, though, one meal emptied half the storehouse. He asked an old man squatting in the sun by the wall base: "Grandpa, do you eat like this every day?"

The old man grinned, missing several teeth: "That's right! The leaders said, ten thousand jin per mu, grain so abundant we can't finish it—from now on every meal will be filling!"

Zhao Jianguo didn't respond, but his heart gave a clack. Having read some history before his transmigration, he knew this "eat freely" posture sounded lively but hid a landmine. Once the storehouse ran dry, even bark would have to be dug up.

On the way back to town, he turned to the outer wall of the supply and marketing cooperative's backyard, leaned against it, and silently thought "check-in".

The system interface popped up; he immediately chose "directed check-in," locking the location to the ground beneath his feet.

"Check-in successful, obtained fifty jin of sweet potatoes."

He almost laughed out loud. Good grief, fifty jin! If he brought it home he'd surely be accused of stealing grain. But he had prepared—the storage ring had already cleared a space, dedicated to coarse grain. With a thought, the pile of sweet potatoes vanished.

That night, taking advantage of the quiet, he took the sweet potatoes out of the ring, stacked them in a few old wooden boxes under the bed, and laid a layer of dry grass against moisture. In the morning Li Xiaohua saw them and asked, puzzled: "Where did these come from?"

"Issued by the internship team." Zhao Jianguo took a bite, blowing on the hot mouthful, "They said let us try the new rural variety—it's sweet."

Li Xiaohua slipped a piece into her mouth, nodded: "It's quite sweet, but eating too much feels heavy."

"Eat more of the heavy kind, less of the hungry kind." Zhao Jianguo chuckled, "I've been working a lot lately, get hungry fast, so I need this."

Li Xiaohua didn't ask further, but Zhao Erniu, passing by, glanced and said: "How long can this be stored?"

"Dried, it can last a winter." Zhao Jianguo answered offhand, "I plan to dry some sweet potato chips to keep as winter snacks."

Zhao Erniu nodded and left, but Zhao Jianguo knew that bluffing with just his mouth wouldn't last long. He needed to figure out how to get more, and do it silently.

Over the next few days, he figured out the pattern.

In the supply and marketing cooperative's backyard, grain trucks came and went every Wednesday and Saturday, giving the highest chance of getting sweet potatoes from check-in;

Beside the garbage heap behind the commune canteen, scattered cornmeal often turned up, and check-in could yield a dozen jin or so;

The best was the broken shed at the railway transfer point—once a temporary grain warehouse, now abandoned, but the system prompt said "residual grain energy concentrated," and one check-in gave him thirty jin of corn flour directly.

He began biking a dedicated route, three times a week, rain or shine. The seat wore a mark, his legs grew sore, but thinking of the grain piling up in his ring steadied his heart.

At night he leaned over the desk, took an old ledger, and sketched a rough map: red dot for the grain station, yellow for the canteen, blue for the transfer station. Beside it he wrote in small script: "Check-in heat map, priority: sweet potatoes > cornmeal > corn flour." On the back he listed:

Emergency zone: sweet potatoes 500 jin, cornmeal 200 jin, corn flour 150 jin

Medical zone: vitamin tablets (reserved), iodine solution, gauze

Relief zone: small packages, each 5 jin, labeled code A (He Yushui), B (the deaf old lady)

He pondered, when the crunch really came he couldn't just look after his own home. He Yushui's house leaked like a sieve, the deaf old lady couldn't hear—if grain ran out, they'd be the first to suffer. He needed to set things up in advance, silently bringing people into the safe zone.

That noon, having just checked in at the transfer point and returned, he passed the courtyard of a siheyuan and heard Jia Zhangshi blowing at the door: "From now on, we'll eat white-flour steamed buns as meals, meat coupons won't be exhausted! My grandson said communism is right ahead—just a few more days and we'll be able to ride a plane and eat airplane bread!"

Zhao Jianguo almost choked. Airplane bread? That thing probably doesn't even have a blueprint.

He didn't reply, went home, shut the door, plopped down, and silently thought "check-in".

"Location locked: behind the commune canteen."

"Check-in successful, obtained twenty jin of cornmeal."

He stored the grain, opened that notebook, and wrote on the last page:

"Disaster isn't heaven sending rain—it's people hollowing out the beams and not realizing it. Saving one Sha Zhu is worse than storing an extra sack of flour; storing a sack of flour is worse than waking a day earlier."

After writing, he closed the notebook and stared blankly at the old cabinet in the wall corner. Besides clothes, the cabinet now hid two bags of dried sweet potatoes, which he had dried the day before. He planned to "accidentally" let slip in a couple days: "Sister Yushui, I've got some dried sweet potatoes here that keep well—would you like to take some back?"

It wouldn't be charity, wouldn't seem abrupt, and would give her household a bit of a cushion.

As he thought, footsteps came from outside; Sha Zhu whistled a little tune as he passed, hammer in hand, heading for the Jia house. Zhao Jianguo poked his head out—seeing the fellow again fixing windows for Jia Xiangwen—crooked strips nailed askew, bound to fall in a breeze. Yet Qin Huairu hadn't even brought a cup of hot water, and Jia Zhangshi was still muttering in the door gap: "That big oaf is quite diligent; using him for free doesn't hurt."

Zhao Jianguo snorted coldly, thinking: "You're having him fix windows now; when the granary empties, he won't even be able to beg for a spoonful of gruel."

He turned, pulled a small cloth bag from the drawer, filled it with five jin of cornmeal, sewed the shut tight with thread, and embroidered a tiny "A" in the corner—barely visible. He'd made several of these, planning to "let people have a taste" in turn.

Lying in bed at night, he heard the wind howling outside, the window frame creaking. He paid it no mind, his thoughts turning to next week's check-in route: Wednesday to the supply and marketing cooperative, Friday detouring to the grain station, Saturday early to the railway point—he needed to stock up before the rainy season, because once humidity rose, grain would be hard to store.

The next morning, just as he was about to leave, Li Xiaohua called out: "Jianguo, have you lost weight lately? Why are you always running out?"

"Not really," he said, slurping two mouthfuls of porridge with a smile, "the internship workload is heavy; the teacher told me to spend more time in the countryside to understand the grassroots."

"Don't overwork yourself." Li Xiaohua handed him a steamed bun, "Take this; if you get hungry on the road, it'll tide you over."

He took the bun, his heart warming yet aching. He knew his parents were living comfortably now, entirely thanks to the system's support. But this comfort was fragile—a gust could blow it apart. He needed to be faster, to get more, to be steadier.

At noon, scooping rice in the school cafeteria, he heard a few classmates chatting: "I heard the higher-ups want to implement 'free meals'—will the cafeteria be all-inclusive from now on?"

"Really? Wouldn't that eat the system into bankruptcy?"

"Hey, if the leaders say you can eat, then you can eat."

Zhao Jianguo lowered his head to eat rice, silent. Seeing these remarks now felt like watching a fast‑forward disaster movie—he knew the ending, but couldn't tell anyone.

In the afternoon practical class, he went to the laboratory as usual. Upon entering, he saw He Yushui sitting on a small stool in the corner, clutching a cloth bundle; noticing him come in, she rose quickly: "Jianguo, I… I brought some pickles, my mother's, for you to try."

Zhao Jianguo took the cloth bundle, opened it, and found a few radish strips wrapped in coarse paper, the edges frayed.

"Thanks." He smiled and accepted it, "I happen to have some freshly obtained cornmeal; I'll bring you some later—it'll make fragrant porridge."

She blinked, her eyes flashing: "You… you're still going to bring me things?"

"What's up?" he feigned ignorance, "Between us, you've copied so many diagrams for me—I'm not being excessive by giving you a meal of coarse grain."

She lowered her head and laughed, voice soft as a murmur: "It's not excessive… I just didn't expect anyone to remember that I need this."

Zhao Jianguo didn't respond, merely put the cloth bundle into the drawer, then, as an afterthought, took out the small cornmeal bag embroidered with an "A" and slipped it into his schoolbag.

He had decided to deliver it on the weekend, saying, "We have extra at home—can't keep it all."

As class ended, it started raining again. Raindrops pattered on the window glass—pitter‑patter.

He Yushui looked up at the sky: "This rain… looks like it'll last a while."

Zhao Jianguo nodded: "It does need to rain a spell."

What he didn't say was that some things also needed to be finished before the rain stopped.