Chapter 545: Nanko Daily (1)

August 1, 1942, the sun was just right and the breeze gentle.

He Xi town, named for the little stream that has been babbling beside the village year‑round, is one of the many resettlement villages in the population relocation program.

Rows of white‑walled, black‑tiled houses are arranged with charm along the stream, the muddy ground trampled smooth, and occasionally children chase butterflies.

The village is small, exactly five hundred people, all disaster refugees transferred from the North, coming from all corners, forming a new home.

When they first arrived, conditions were indeed harsh; many lived in simple bamboo huts that leaked wind and rain, and some cramped into hastily erected tents, barely sheltering themselves.

Fortunately, not long after, troops were sent, helping everyone cut trees, level the earth, and build walls, resulting in today's tidy white walls and black tiles.

The relocation program continues, with new disaster refugees arriving from the North each day, assigned to villages like He Xi.

Sichuan men lugging luggage, Hunan women bearing children, Hubei scholars with scrolls, and fellow villagers from Zhejiang, Jiangxi, Henan and Hebei arrived, weary yet hopeful.

Under the big locust tree at the village entrance, a crowd gathered around a traditional eight‑immortal table, on which lay stacks of brand‑new banknotes—the Nanko Yuan issued by Nanko.

The denominations aren't large, because the countryside doesn't need high values.

"Teacher Zhang, is this really money?" Chen Da rubbed his rough hands, his eyes full of disbelief, and whispered to Zhang Ping.

Zhang Ping had only one hand, the other lost in the war; he clutched a certificate from the village head, read it repeatedly, and said confidently, "Don't worry, Old Chen, the money is really being distributed."

Chen Da came from Henan; the 1942 famine had destroyed his family, and he fled here without ever having a full meal, let alone seeing money.

For Chen Da to reach Nanko meant many firsts, especially his first time on an airplane, which felt as if a deity were carrying him away.

At that time the plane was in the air, and Chen Da actually knelt in the middle.

Finally, the co‑pilot of the C‑47 transport sternly said, "If you don't sit in your seat, I'll throw you out."

That finally made Chen Da settle down quietly.

After arriving in Nanko, the first thing was to give Chen Da and the others a wash, disinfection, and brand‑new clothing.

Then they went to He Xi town, where land was allocated uniformly—five mu per person.

The land is truly good; Chen Da has dealt with farmland his whole life.

Before, those few mu of thin fields barely sufficed, but never enough to fill the stomach.

The climate here isn't like Henan; Nanko gets more rain and the soil is richer.

"But… how can there be free money?" Chen Da hesitated, recalling the Kuomintang disaster relief funds that were either deducted or never reached the victims.

A Sichuan man beside him shouted loudly, patting his thigh, "Old Chen, don't worry! The village head said Nanko's payments are living expenses, everyone gets a share!"

The man's name was Li Tie, formerly a blacksmith; he spoke bluntly, and had worried about finding work when he first arrived, but now that real money is coming, his face blossomed with joy.

Zhang Ping nodded and added, "The village head said each person gets at least 10 Nanko Yuan for three months; a teacher like me can receive 15 Nanko Yuan."

"What? Teachers can get more?" a girl from Zhejiang brightened her eyes; she was named Lin Xiao, sixteen this year, and had been learning literacy from Zhang Ping.

"Yes," Zhang Ping said with a smile, "Nanko values scholars; letting us teach literacy and giving an extra 5 Yuan is encouragement for us to teach well."

Besides soldiers, whose minimum is 18 Nanko Yuan, other occupations have a minimum of 10 Nanko Yuan; Zhang Ping, as a teacher, receives an extra 5 Yuan.

The Nanko government will continue distributing the 'Nanhuayuan' for three months—August, September and October—stopping in November.

Later, the whole Nanko region will open to free trade, and the first batch of northern settlers' rice fields will ripen.

Nearby, a Hunan woman holding her grandson asked, "Teacher Zhang, can my three‑year‑old grandson also receive 10 Yuan?"

"Yes!" the village head happened to walk over, smiling, "Regardless of age, anyone from our village can receive 10 Nanko Yuan."

Of course, this benefit applies to those from the North; locals in Myanmar also receive payments, but only 3 Nanko Yuan.

The woman smiled, wiping her eye corner, "That's wonderful; with this 10 Yuan I can buy rice for porridge for my grandson, no longer needing to eat bark and grass roots."

She may not have realized that in Nanko every meal is white rice, never bark or grass roots.

An elderly man from Hebei, leaning on a cane, said shakily, "I'm over sixty and this is my first time seeing such kindness—no looting, just giving us money willingly."

"Indeed, indeed," a scholar from Jiangxi adjusted his glasses, sighing, "Back home there were endless taxes; now here we have houses and money."

Li Tie rubbed his hands and asked eagerly, "Village head, when does distribution start? Once I get the money I'll buy a hammer, fix the tools, clear the nearby wasteland, and plant crops."

In fact Li Tie also plans to save some money and reopen his blacksmith shop in Nanko.

Otherwise a blacksmith would have to spend money to buy a hoe, which would be very embarrassing.

"Li Tie, don't let your craft fall behind!" the village head said.

After everyone settled in He Xi village, each person's information from the North was recorded, and the village head roughly knew each person's specialties.

"Alright!" Li Tie shouted.

The village head smiled, "Don't rush; come one by one, claim according to the registered name, everyone gets a share, no grabbing, no chaos."

Zhang Ping handed over his certificate; the village head checked the name and gave him fifteen brand‑new Nanko Yuan, the bills thick‑handed with Nanko's flag printed on them.

Zhang Ping took the money, slipped it carefully into his pocket, and a long‑missing smile appeared, "With this I can buy paper and pens to give the children more practice sheets."

Chen Da, seeing the money, finally relaxed, quickly produced his certificate and handed it over with both hands: "Village head, I'm Chen Da, from Henan, registered."

The village head verified and gave him ten Nanko Yuan, smiling, "Old Chen, take them, live well; you'll never have to flee famine again."

Chen Da took the money, his fingers constantly rubbing the bills, his eyes a little moist, "Thank you, thank you village head, thank you Nanko, I can finally buy a jin of flour for my wife."

Although everyone in the village can eat their fill, they are currently eating communal pot rice.

And the staple is rice, that is, paddy rice.

Chen Da came from Henan, so he and his wife have long wanted a noodle meal; now in Nanko they can not only eat their fill but also have noodles.