Chapter 3

【Ding! Check-in Successful today】

【Location: South Gong and Drum Lane Courtyard No. 95, inside the East Wing Room】

【Reward: 5 catties of rice + 5 catties of white flour】

He didn't even blink, but he let out a sigh of relief in his heart. The steamed corn bun he had gnawed on last night was still bumping around in his stomach; today he could finally change his taste.

He walked silently to the rice bin in the corner, his back to his parents in the room, and quietly slipped the two sacks of grain to the bottom of the bin in batches. The cornmeal remained spread on top, looking no different from yesterday. He even gently stirred it with a spoon, letting the new and old grain mix a bit, so it wouldn't be obvious at a glance.

Li Xiaohua was busy scrubbing the pot, glanced at him: "Jianguo, what are you staring at? Breakfast still has to rely on me cooking fresh; there's nothing ready-made today."

"Mom," Zhao Jianguo turned around, his tone flat, "the factory said there's a grain subsidy for new households; it was issued last night. If you don't believe me, I'll go fetch the grain ledger."

"Really?" Li Xiaohua paused, her brush still hovering over the pot bottom, "Your dad never mentioned this."

"He's busy looking at the drawings, he hasn't time for this. I saw you weren't worried, so I didn't say anything."

Li Xiaohua was half skeptical, but she still lifted the lid of the rice bin and took a look. She grabbed a handful, rubbed it between her fingers, and her brows slowly relaxed: "Hmm… this flour is finer, not like what we usually get. Alright, I'll cook a thicker porridge today; you dad stood in a meeting at the factory all day yesterday, he could use some extra."

Zhao Jianguo grunted, sat on the small stool, and lowered his head to fiddle with his shoelaces. He knew this hurdle was passed. Grain, in this courtyard, is more precious than money; whoever has an extra mouthful of white flour becomes the talk of the whole courtyard for three days. But his ploy of "issued by the factory" sounds plausible; no one will scrutinize it closely, so there's nothing to fault.

Just as Li Xiaohua placed her pot on the stove, she heard footsteps approaching.

The door curtain was lifted, and Jia Zhangshi appeared at the doorway of the Zhao family kitchen, holding a chipped ceramic bowl containing half a bowl of thin cornmeal porridge that was so watery it reflected a person's silhouette.

"Yo, new neighbor, good morning." Her voice wasn't loud, but it carried: "Just cooked? I came over as soon as I smelled it."

Li Xiaohua hurried forward: "Aunt Jia, what's this..."

Eh, it's not a big deal. Jia Zhangshi set her bowl down on the table and sat down, saying, "Our Courtyard has an old Rules Sign: newcomers must 'respect the elders' in their first month, giving the Courtyard's elders some grain, just to keep harmony. You folks just moved in yesterday, so I won't ask for much—one liter of rice, one liter of flour, enough to make two thick meals."

Zhao Jianguo was bending down to tie his shoelaces; hearing this, his hands didn't stop, but he smirked inwardly.

Respect the elders? Which courtyard rule ever stipulated that? Just now at the meeting I heard clearly—Yi Zhonghai spoke of 'unity and mutual aid,' not that new households must tribute the old ones. This old lady is taking the 'Rules Sign' as a club, swinging a blunt stick.

Li Xiaohua's face turned pale: "Aunt Jia, we… we don't have much stored grain; yesterday we only got by thanks to the factory's subsidy…"

"Oh dear, look what you're saying." Jia Zhangshi waved her hand, "A family of three, only your husband works—how much can you eat? We have a son and a grandson, none of them are little kids. Your life is tight; shouldn't you understand the Rules Sign? Neighborly help is both favor and duty."

Zhao Jianguo finally finished tying his shoelaces, slowly lifted his head, glanced at Jia Zhangshi, and spoke calmly: "Aunt Jia, you're right that neighbors should help each other. But I'm unclear on one point—when the three elders met and discussed the courtyard rules, which clause states that new households must supply grain? If such a clause really exists, I'll fetch it for you right away."

Jia Zhangshi was taken aback; she hadn't expected this kid to brush off her soft talk and instead ask for a "written regulation."

"Rule… Rules Sign, you know," she paused, "it's not only a Rules Sign if it's written on paper. Our Courtyard has operated this way for decades—whenever someone new moves in, they're expected to show some respect. Your father is a Seventh-Level Fitter, a technical expert; later, when we need a pipe fixed or a furnace core replaced, who wouldn't come to you? Offering a token gesture isn't too much, is it?"

Zhao Jianguo nodded, as if taking it in, then asked: "You say mutual aid is reciprocal. Your family also has a son working at the factory earning a good wage; if you truly want to help the neighbors, why not let Dong Xu earn a bit more, so when the Courtyard distributes benefits, everyone gets a larger share. Isn't that reasonable?"

Jia Zhangshi's face fell: "You little brat, how dare you talk like that? I'm doing this for your own good, teaching you the Rules Sign!"

"Our family may be a bit poor now, but every grain of rice is issued by the state; anyone who borrows must keep account, and even a half‑tael shortfall in grain coupons must be reported." Zhao Jianguo's tone remained even, but each word was clear: "If you think we ought to 'respect the elders,' why not go to the three elders and establish a written clause, black on white, and we'll follow it. Otherwise, I worry someone might later accuse us of taking advantage of public property."

The room fell silent all at once.

Li Xiaohua widened her eyes, looking at her son then at Jia Zhangshi, forgetting to put down the pot‑scrubber in her hand.

Jia Zhangshi's face shifted through several expressions, finally she let out a cold snort: "Fine, you've got a glib tongue. Today I won't quarrel with you; there's plenty of time ahead." Saying that, she picked up the bowl of porridge and left, adding as she exited: "Poor enough to make a racket, yet putting on airs."

As the door curtain fell, Li Xiaohua's legs went weak and she sank onto the stool: "Jianguo, you've stirred up trouble! That Jia Zhangshi isn't someone to mess with; if she later trips us up…"

"Mom," Zhao Jianguo interrupted her, lowering his voice, "if she were truly invoking the Rules Sign, she wouldn't be sneaking around to demand grain. What she wants is what she thinks is 'due'; as long as we don't acknowledge that 'due,' she has no recourse."

Li Xiaohua was about to say more when a laugh came from outside: "Hey, little Zhao, nice! I just heard—Jia Zhangshi's mouth has worn down many into obedient grain‑givers, but you, with just three sentences, talked her down!"

It was Sha Zhu—hadn't he just gone to the Steel Rolling Factory for work after the meeting? Why is he back already?

He stood in the doorway, holding an aluminum lunch box, his grin stretching to his ears: "I was passing the water tap, tightening a leaking fitting, when I overheard you speaking. Every word made sense—no quarrel, no noise, just listening felt satisfying."

Zhao Jianguo rose to offer his seat: "Brother Zhu, weren't you just going to work?"

"Yeah, I just finished up at the Steel Rolling Factory canteen and came right back," Sha Zhu plopped down, setting his lunch box on the table, "this morning I steamed some buns and happened to leave you two, still warm."

Zhao Jianguo didn't decline, took the lunch box and nodded: "Thanks, Brother Zhu."

"What thanks?" Sha Zhu waved his hand, "You've just moved here, unfamiliar with the place, and she came straight out shaking you down—of course you should push back. But your approach is clever: not arguing with her, using 'Rules Sign' to counter 'Rules Sign,' even her thick‑skinned face can't withstand it."

Zhao Jianguo smiled, didn't respond, turned to pick up the thermos, poured some hot water into the enamel basin, and handed it over: "Brother Zhu, have a sip of hot water to soothe your throat."

Sha Zhu blinked, took the water, and his expression shifted.

He'd been hanging around this Courtyard for over a decade, having seen all sorts of human warmth and coldness. Newcomers either cower or act rashly; someone like Zhao Jianguo—outwardly a mute gourd, inwardly calculating—is truly rare.

"You kid," he said after a sip, smacking his lips, "you've got a sharp tongue and a clear mind."

Zhao Jianguo didn't comment on that, just asked: "Brother Zhu, what vegetables did the canteen have this morning?"

"Stewed cabbage with vermicelli, not much—if you're late you'll only get broth." Sha Zhu said, then lowered his voice: "Come early tomorrow, I'll save you a bowl. Just say… it's my treat for the technical workers."

Zhao Jianguo nodded: "I'll remember that."

Sha Zhu sat a while longer, exchanged a few casual remarks, then got up to leave. As he was about to go out, he turned and glanced at Zhao Jianguo: "As for Jia Zhangshi's side, don't let your guard down. She's that sort—she squeezes whoever seems soft. You've established your stance now, so she won't dare come knocking for a while. But…" he paused, "there are some people in the Courtyard who look all smiles and laughs, yet behind the scenes they scheme even more than she does."

Zhao Jianguo saw him to the doorway, watched him go until he disappeared, then slowly withdrew his gaze.

He understood the meaning behind Sha Zhu's words. In this Courtyard, the surface is a Siheyuan, but in reality it's a little jianghu. Whoever has an extra mouthful of food, or whoever speaks a kind word, can turn it into a knife to stab someone else.

But he wasn't afraid either.

He had space, he had grain, he had skill. Yesterday he still felt he had to keep his tail between his legs just to get by; today he realized—here, merely enduring is useless. You must let people know you're not to be trifled with, yet not so much that you invite disaster upon yourself.

He returned home; the porridge in the pot was already bubbling away. Li Xiaohua lifted the lid and exclaimed in surprise: "Hey? Why is today's porridge so white?"

Zhao Jianguo walked over, scooped a spoonful—the grains were plump, the broth clear and bright.

"Mom," he said, "from now on our porridge can be cooked like this."

Li Xiaohua stared for a moment, looking at her son, her eye sockets tinged with red. She didn't ask further, merely turned the fire down a little and gently stirred the pot.

Zhao Jianguo stood by the stove, hands slipped into his pants pockets, fingertips brushing against his ring.

He knew, this bowl of white porridge was not just a victory of food, but his first Fulcrum for surviving in the Siheyuan.

Outside, Sha Zhu carried his lunch box toward the canteen; passing the water tap, he idly tightened the loose fitting again. The water stopped dripping, he nodded satisfied, and hummed a little tune.

Upon reaching the Kitchen door, he was about to push it open when he suddenly recalled something, turning his head to glance at the East Wing Room.

That door was shut, but the paper window cast a shadow—Zhao Jianguo was squatting on the ground, head bowed, fiddling with something.

Sha Zhu chuckled, pushed the door open, and went inside.

Zhao Jianguo actually wasn't messing around with anything.

He was squatting, waiting for the hole in the shoe sole—the thread he had pried open a bit with his fingernail—to tear a little more.

He needed to remember that size.

Next check‑in, he planned to go to the kitchen's back door—there, nobody often goes, the electric wire is aged, the roof leaks, making it a good spot.

He slowly rose, walked to the window, and glanced at the clothes‑drying rope in the courtyard.

A few wet garments hung on the rope, swaying gently when the wind blew.

One of them was Jia Zhangshi's blue cloth shirt, its cuff still stained with the rice‑soup that had spilled when she served porridge this morning.

Zhao Jianguo stared at that piece of clothing for two seconds.

Then he turned, scooped half a bowl of rice from the rice bin, and poured it into the pot.

The porridge in the pot had grown a shade lighter.