Chapter 45: Mid‑Famine, Neighbourly Mutual Aid

Zhao Jianguo had just set foot through the Siheyuan's main gate, a faded blue cloth shirt draped over his shoulders, its edges frayed. Beneath his feet lay slushy snow‑mud, squelching with each step, as if treading on someone's heart. He carried an empty cloth bag, the half‑jin cornmeal he had collected from the Street Office—two liang less than last month. With less food, his spirit sank as well.

He didn't rush to Go Home, but lingered in the Courtyard, dazed for a moment. The newspaper pasted over the Jia family's window had been torn open by the wind, fluttering noisily; the iron bucket at Sha Zhu's doorway was encased in a layer of ice, like a sealed bowl; the deaf old woman shuffled back from the well, her water bucket half‑full and wobbling. He stared at that bucket, and his heart tightened sharply.

Just two days earlier he had helped Qin Huairu register her household; when she hung the sheets her back was perfectly straight and she laughed freely. Yet only a few days later the Courtyard had wilted again. The bark was stripped in rings, the grass at the Wall Base was all pulled up. These days were like a dry riverbed, with no water in sight. He knew a household registration could keep people from being expelled, but it couldn't fill a stomach, and they still couldn't survive.

That night he sat on the edge of the kang, lit a candle. The flame flickered, and the shadows on the wall quivered with it. Suddenly a interface appeared before his eyes—not the usual one, this time with an extra option: "Directed Sign-in — Siheyuan Kitchen Garden (repeatable, yield decreasing)". He gritted his teeth and selected it.

【Reward: Wild vegetable seed pack (bitter lettuce, purslane) ×1, Substitute food recipe card (corn cob fermented starch) ×1】

He clutched the yellowed slip, and his eyes lit up instantly. The thing was worthless, yet at this moment it was more precious than a Meal Ticket. He poured out the seeds and counted them—enough for three or four households. But how to divide them? If he gave them out publicly, a fight would break out tomorrow; if he kept them hidden, no one would harvest the crops. The dilemma lodged in his throat, unable to swallow or spit out.

At daybreak the sky was a dull gray, as if someone had torn a hole in a black cloth. He hoisted a hammer and battered the Jia family's door open.

"Dong Xu, you start work early, I came to check the beams; the rain the past two days sounded off," he said, peeking in to see Qin Huairu squatting at the stove, boiling elm bark paste, her face turning pale, a bitter smell blasting from the pot.

She looked up at him, forced a smile: "Jianguo, come in and sit for a while?"

"No, just a look," he said, tapping the beam twice, and while she turned to fetch water, he swiftly slipped a small cloth bag into the child's backpack pocket, lowering his voice: "Cook it before eating, don't chew raw, it can keep you alive."

The person had already left. Qin Huairu turned back, saw the backpack bulge, reached in, pulled out the cloth bag, opened it—inside was a dark object. Her fingers trembled violently; she made no sound, clutched the bag tightly to her chest, as if protecting her last breath.

In the afternoon he went to Sha Zhu's house again. Ma Dongmei sat on the kang, her face so thin the cheekbones protruded. Sha Zhu squatted at the doorway peeling frozen potatoes; the skins wouldn't come off cleanly, his hands clumsy like a child just learning to use chopsticks.

"The canteen issued an extra substitute voucher; I didn't use it, it's yours," he handed over a slip, "Follow this method to make some substitute food; it can replace a meal."

Sha Zhu took it, read: "Dry the corn cob, grind into powder, add yeast, ferment for six hours, steam and eat," and beneath was a crooked doodle, like a child's scribble.

"Where did you get it?" Sha Zhu asked, looking up.

"Don't ask," he waved his hand, "and don't tell anyone. There's not enough to go around; even if someone grabs it, don't act, or the courtyard will fall into chaos later."

Sha Zhu stared at the slip for a while, then suddenly grinned: "Alright, I get it."

Three days later, at night, he secretly scattered seeds in the corner of his own Wall Base and retrieved a small packet of phosphorus fertilizer powder from the void. The next day he found green sprouts emerging at the Jia family's Wall Base, and Sha Zhu had placed a few cracked pots filled with soil on the windowsill. He knew the fire had been lit; it had to be protected, lest someone step on it and extinguish it.

That evening he summoned Jia Dongxu, Sha Zhu, and Qin Huairu to the Kitchen, closed the door, and placed the packet of white powder on the table.

"Getting the crops to sprout is one thing; making them grow fast is another," he said, "But this stuff is limited; we might not have more next time. We need to set a rule—who contributes more gets a larger share."

The three stared at the packet of powder, none uttering a word.

"I'll teach planting and making substitute food," he continued, "Sister Qin will mend winter clothes, Sha Zhu will fetch water and tend the fire, Dong Xu will fashion a small soil‑turning rake from scrap iron at the factory. No weighing, no accounting; just keep a mental tally."

Qin Huairu nodded: "I can do it."

Sha Zhu grinned: "Fetching water? That's nothing; I'm used to drinking the northwest wind every day."

Jia Dongxu paused, then said, "I can handle the scrap iron; I'll start tomorrow."

"Then it's settled," he divided the powder into four portions, one per person, "Starting tomorrow night, we'll take turns watching the garden, guarding against rats and also against people."

Two days later, when he rose in the morning, half of his garden's soil had been turned over and most of the seeds dug up. He crouched, examined the footprints, and recognized them as the Yan family's old cloth shoes.

He neither shouted nor cursed. At lunch, in front of everyone in the courtyard, he poured the remaining seeds into the broken stone trough in the yard and clapped his hands.

"The land is insufficient; everyone share it," he said, "Whoever has taken some counts as having taken a portion first. If you want to plant later, take from the trough—first come, first served. Don't tamper with it at night, or you'll be like a thief."

No one responded; each bowed their heads.

Yanbugui stayed hidden inside, never showing his face. In the evening he returned home, and a coarse porcelain bowl appeared on the windowsill, half‑filled with sun‑dried locust‑flower cakes. No note was left, and no one greeted him.

He took the cakes, steamed them that night, and gave each child of the Jia family and Sha Zhu's family a small piece. When a child bit it, their eyes lit up.

Early the next morning, Qin Huairu came to him carrying a pile of old cotton clothes.

"Your blue cloth shirt's elbow was torn, so I mended it for you," she handed over, "Dong Xu's pants were also taken in size; they can be worn before the weather warms up."

He took the clothes and noticed that Sha Zhu's oily work uniform had also been refurbished.

"What you're…"

"We all help each other; only then can we get through the days," she smiled, "I also altered the deaf old woman's cotton pants; they were too baggy, and she fell twice."

In the afternoon, Sha Zhu carried an iron spade and cleared all the frozen water pipes throughout the courtyard, and also slathered a layer of mud on the Jia family's stove. Zhao Jianguo saw him squatting by the well, rubbing his hands and blowing warm air, and went over to hand him a cup of hot water.

"Is it worth it? So much work for nothing."

Sha Zhu took a sip, grinned: "The recipe you gave saved a member of my family; what is my little effort compared to that? Besides—" He pointed to the green sprouts at the Jia family's Wall Base, "Aren't those about to sprout? When we harvest, I'll be the first to share with you."

Zhao Jianguo smiled.

A few days later he noticed the corner plot of land had been divided into four small sections, each marked with a wooden sign: Jia family, Sha Zhu family, Zhao family, and one left blank with the words "Will replenish next time." He was puzzled when Qin Huairu passed by and whispered, "Uncle Yan came last night, brought a small hoe, and turned the soil evenly."

He said nothing, only nodded.

That night, as usual, he signed in, and the system popped up: "Directed Sign-in cooling down, remaining uses: 2."

He was about to close his notebook when he heard a noise outside. Going out, he saw the deaf old woman squatting at the edge of the vegetable plot, clutching a few seeds in her trembling hand and burying them in the soil. He said nothing, retreated inside, wrapped the last packet of phosphorus fertilizer powder in paper, and placed it at the doorway.

Early the next morning, the fertilizer powder was gone, and several dried mugwort stalks were neatly stacked by the door.

He picked up a mugwort stalk, smelled it—there was a faint bitter aroma. Just as he was about to enter, a voice shouted from the courtyard:

"Jianguo! The factory just notified me; they want me to report the lock‑edge procedure to the Technical Section!"