Chapter 36: Sha Zhu's Marriage, Zhao Jianguo's Help

Sha Zhu squatted on the blue stone slab at the corner of the courtyard, holding a few yellowed papers in his hand, flipping them over and over, as if afraid of missing a word. When Zhao Jianguo passed by, he didn't lift his head, but his fingers pinched the paper edges tight, knuckles whitening.

Zhao Jianguo said nothing, brought a bowl of hot noodle soup from the house, squatted beside him, and set the bowl on the stone slab: "Eat it while it's hot; once it's cold it'll turn into a lump. Even as the head cook, you can't afford a bowl of noodles?"

Sha Zhu finally lifted his head, glanced at the noodles, then at him, his voice a little hoarse: "You still bothering about what I eat and drink? Aren't you afraid of getting bad luck?"

"Bad luck?" Zhao Jianguo chuckled, "You think you're a jinx? That day, plenty of people in the courtyard heard it—who doesn't know who did what? You smashed that badge, smashing the pie he'd been drawing for decades, and it made a loud crack; just hearing it made me feel relieved."

Sha Zhu's mouth twitched, but he didn't laugh. He lowered his head and stirred the noodles with his chopsticks; rising heat splashed onto his face.

"What about after that?" he muttered, "My sister learned the truth and couldn't sleep all night. As for me? I still go to work at the factory, still live in the courtyard, but everyone looks at me like I'm an idiot—before it was just 'Sha Zhu,' now it's 'Sha Zhu, fooled for eight years.'"

Zhao Jianguo nodded, not rushing to reply. He knew that when someone just crawls out of a pit, their legs are weak. Sha Zhu could overturn a table in public—that's the anger talking; but once the anger fades, leaving him empty, someone needs to give him a ladder.

"Brother Zhu," he said, leveling his voice, "you can't change the past, but from now on you have to pave your own way. How old are you this year? Twenty‑seven, right? A bachelor, spending your days fixing houses for people, handing out money, serving tea and water—what are you after? Just so everyone can praise you as a 'kind‑hearted person'?"

Sha Zhu's chopsticks paused.

"If you're still thinking of taking over as the 'big boss's' successor, then I might as well not have said anything." Zhao Jianguo stood up, patted his pants, "But if you really want to make something of yourself, I've got an idea."

"What?"

"Start a family."

Sha Zhu stared, almost dropping his chopsticks into the bowl.

"Are you crazy? Who would marry me? With my reputation half‑ruined, who'd dare take me?"

"Who says nobody?" Zhao Jianguo smiled, "The Street Office Director Wang has lately been helping a few refugee girls find partners—honest, literate, can cook, they just lack a place to settle. If you're willing, I can pull some strings for you."

Sha Zhu was stunned, his mouth opened then closed again, his eyes a little unfocused.

"I… I can do that?"

"If you can't, who can?" Zhao Jianguo slapped his shoulder, "You're the head chef of the Steel Rolling Factory canteen, earning thirty‑seven yuan fifty a month, with meat at every meal. You live in a Siheyuan with three main rooms, and the East Wing can be partitioned into a small room. You're tall and strong, work hard without sparing yourself—apart from being a bit inarticulate, what's not good enough for a decent girl?"

Sha Zhu felt his face warm from the praise, lowered his head and rubbed his hands: "But… what if I get tricked again?"

"This time it's not Yi Zhonghai setting you up." Zhao Jianguo laughed, "It's me. Trust me once—whether it works out or not, we'll see after we meet. If it really doesn't, at worst I'll treat you to a meal, no loss."

Sha Zhu finally nodded, his voice soft as if talking to himself: "…Okay, I'll give it a try."

Two days later, at the entrance of the Street Office.

Sha Zhu wore his most presentable blue‑cloth work uniform, the collar pressed crisp, his feet in new cloth shoes, and he carried an oil‑paper bundle—inside was the sweet‑and‑sour spare ribs he'd made especially, calling it a "meeting gift," though he himself hated to part with it.

Zhao Jianguo watched from afar, almost laughing out loud. He looked like a novice stepping onto the stage for the first time, not knowing where to put his hands.

Ma Dongmei arrived a step earlier, standing on the steps with her head down, clutching an old cloth bundle. She was clean‑dressed, though her clothes were clearly patched, her hair neatly combed and braided.

Zhao Jianguo seized the moment, walked over, and greeted with a smile: "Hey, Director Wang just left, said you'd meet soon. I happened to be passing by, so I stopped by to have a look."

Sha Zhu clung to him like a lifeline, quickly interjecting: "Jianguo, you came at just the right time—I… I was about to ask someone what to say at this meeting…"

"What to say?" Zhao Jianguo chuckled, "You're a cook, aren't you? Just say you feed three hundred people in the factory every day—who doesn't eat with relish? The girls care most about that—whether the food is fragrant and whether life is steady."

As soon as he said that, Ma Dongmei lifted her head, a flicker of curiosity in her eyes.

"I… I'm good at fried sauce noodles," Sha Zhu summoned his courage, looking at her, "The sauce is my own simmer, with diced fatty and lean meat, stewed low for two hours, mixed with cucumber shreds and radish shreds, plus a bit of garlic paste— the flavor—"

"I also eat fried sauce noodles back home," Ma Dongmei suddenly said, her voice soft but clear, "You like to put dried tofu in the sauce—do you do that here?"

"Sure do!" Sha Zhu's eyes lit up, "Dice the dried tofu, fry it until crisp and fragrant, toss it in—it's especially aromatic! You know your stuff!"

They went back and forth, from fried sauce noodles to hand‑pulled noodles, from the proportion of alkaline agent to the size of the pot lid, the conversation growing warmer. Zhao Jianguo stood to the side, hands behind his back, smiling silently.

As they were about to leave, Sha Zhu scratched his head, face flushed, and said, "Sometime… I'll make you a bowl of fried sauce noodles to try?"

Ma Dongmei lowered her head, smiled, and nodded: "All right."

Zhao Jianguo felt sure in his heart— the matter was half‑done.

But a marriage isn't settled just by holding hands. Ma Dongmei is from out of town, her hukou is in Hebei; to settle here she needs a unit guarantee, housing proof, and Street Office approval—none can be missing.

Sha Zhu wilted at the words: "What guarantee do I have? I'm not a leader. The house… my East Wing is still piled with coal—how can anyone live there?"

"I'll handle the housing," Zhao Jianguo said, "My parents ought to loosen up a bit, right?"

That evening, Zhao Jianguo went home and told his parents; his mother waved her hand: "Oh dear, that's a big deal! If we partition a room out of our house, what'll we do when you get married?"

"Mom," Zhao Jianguo said patiently, "If Sha Zhu can't marry, he'll just be sucked back into Yi Zhonghai's 'old‑age support' talk. If he turns back, all our effort up front would be wasted. Besides, the East Wing is empty anyway; partitioning off a small room would be enough to live in. If his wife is capable, she could even lend us a hand—win‑win."

His father sucked on his dry tobacco, squinting: "…Then what'll you trade for the Street Office stamp? Director Wang doesn't just hand out seals for free."

Zhao Jianguo reached into the cabinet and pulled out a small cloth bundle; opening it revealed a stack of coupons: industrial, fine grain, and soap, neatly piled, saved up over nearly two years.

"Are these enough to exchange for a temporary worker slot as a 'Technical Assistant'?"

His father sucked in a breath of cold air: "You've been hoarding these to trade for a bicycle, haven't you?"

"Bicycles can wait; people can't." Zhao Jianguo rewrapped the coupons, "If Sha Zhu really settles down, his mind at ease, later he'll take charge of the factory canteen and we'll eat well too. That's a long‑term investment."

His mother finally relented: "…All right then, you tidy up the East Wing—don't make it too shabby."

The next day, Zhao Jianguo took the coupons to the Street Office, found Director Wang, and set the bundle on the table with a cheerful grin: "Uncle Wang, could you do me a favor? You've heard about Sha Zhu's situation—he's an honest sort, just lacking a chance. His wife‑to‑be, Ma Dongmei, is diligent, literate, and can cook; could you give her a temporary post in the Technical Section? Just say she's helping the canteen improve its menu."

Director Wang flipped through the coupons, sighed: "You little rascal, always calculating. All right, I've met the guy—he's indeed decent. I can stamp it, but the housing proof—does your family really intend to provide it?"

"My parents agreed." Zhao Jianguo handed over a photocopy of the property deed, "The East Wing can be partitioned into ten square meters—enough for Ma Dongmei to live in. If you don't believe me, you can bring someone to see it tomorrow."

Director Wang nodded and finally stamped the documents.

The final hurdle was the factory Technical Section's guarantee. Zhao Jianguo went to see Section Chief Zhang Weiguo, laying out all the favors and face: "Chief Zhang, Sha Zhu is now the factory's most popular master chef—every worker lines up for his meals. If he settles down, his mind at ease, the canteen could rise another notch. Give him a title so his wife can be listed as a 'Technical Assistant'; no salary needed, just the paperwork."

Zhang Weiguo laughed: "You little rascal, always finding me work. But speaking frankly, Sha Zhu is reliable. Fine, I'll sign—count it as our Technical Section's support for cultural‑civilization efforts."

All the paperwork was complete.

When Zhao Jianguo handed the documents to Sha Zhu, his hands were shaking.

"Is it… really going to work?"

"Just one step away." Zhao Jianguo said, "Once the Street Office gives the formal approval, you can go pick up your marriage certificate."

Sha Zhu stared at those pages for a long time, then suddenly looked up: "Jianguo, what… what can I offer you in thanks? I don't have much money; I can't produce a decent gift. I…"

"Why thank me?" Zhao Jianguo interrupted, "You should thank yourself. If you hadn't dared to smash that badge that day, dared to go to the post office to check the accounts, dared to stand up and shout, you'd still be lurking in Yi Zhonghai's shadow—where would today come from?"

Sha Zhu said nothing, his eye sockets a little red.

Zhao Jianguo patted him: "Go on, tell your sister the good news, and tell Ma Dongmei too. From now on, we have to earn it back bit by bit."

Sha Zhu came over carrying a packet of peanuts he'd roasted himself, grinning, and said to Zhao Jianguo: "It's approved! We can go get the certificate next week! My sister says she'll personally sew a new quilt for Ma Dongmei's bed."

Zhao Jianguo was squatting in the courtyard fixing the radio, without raising his head: "How's the tidying of your three main rooms going?"

"The coal's been moved, I've whitewashed the walls and put up shelves for pots, pans, bowls and ladles." Sha Zhu grinned, "Ma Dongmei says once we're settled, for our first meal she'll make Hebei-style noodles and invite you over."

Zhao Jianguo's solder trembled in his hand, almost burning his finger.

He lifted his head, looking at Sha Zhu's face—grinning so hard his eyes disappeared—and suddenly felt that the sky over the Siheyuan really seemed a bit different.

"All right." He put down the welding torch, "I'll be waiting. But—"

He paused, then pointed at his own chest while smiling: "Don't just invite me; you also have to read out those ninety-six letters your father sent back then. I've never heard a family letter in a Hebei accent before."

Sha Zhu stared for a moment, then burst out laughing, slapping him on the shoulder with a palm.