60s: I have a store

Chapter 583 Help
Zhou Yimin thought about it and decided that the extra sleep he had gotten over the past two days was enough. If he continued to lie down, his body would probably get moldy.

Suddenly I remembered that I hadn’t visited Zhang Yan for a while. It happened that I had a day off tomorrow, so I could go back after class today.

Take action as soon as you think of it, wash up briefly, then take a step, sit on the shiny motorcycle, and stroke the leather-wrapped handlebars with both hands.

The chrome-plated parts glowed coldly in the sun, and the residual heat of the engine slowly transmitted through the metal frame.

He deliberately arrived at Zhang Yan's university half an hour early, but still underestimated the long wait before school was over on Sunday.

The malt sugar for Zhang Yan was hidden under the car seat. I took a detour to a time-honored shop to buy it.

Because he knew that Zhang Yan liked the malt sugar in this store.

The school gate gradually became lively, with students in groups of three or four casting curious glances.

Several boys were circling around the motorcycle, gesturing with their hands to show the shape of the exhaust pipe, and muttering, "How much does this cost?"

Another person retorted: "Do you think having money is enough? It's useless without tickets."

After all, you need a ticket to buy anything now.

The girls stood in the distance and whispered. One girl with pigtails blushed and asked her companion, "I heard that he is Zhang Yan's boyfriend?"

The girls are fantasizing that it would be great if Zhou Yimin was their partner, as that way they would become the object of others’ envy.

Zhou Yimin pretended not to hear, but his eyes unconsciously looked towards the teaching building.

The hour hand moved one notch after another with difficulty, and finally the bell rang for the end of get out of class.

Zhou Yimin immediately spotted a familiar figure in the surging crowd - Zhang Yan was wearing a moon-white sweater, her ponytail swaying gently with her steps.

She first stood there in a daze, staring at the motorcycle with an expression of surprise and a little aggrieved, then she trotted across the boulevard, her canvas shoes rustling on the fallen leaves.

"Brother Yimin, what's wrong with you?" Zhang Yan's fingertips were cool as she gently patted Zhou Yimin's shoulder.

She was very happy to see the person she had been thinking about day and night.

When Zhou Yimin turned around, she was suddenly stunned - the dark circles under the man's eyes were like two balls of ink that could not be dissolved, his cheekbones were more prominent than the last time they met, and the waistband of his overalls hung loosely on his hips.

"I've been busy in the factory recently." Zhou Yimin had just finished speaking when he saw Zhang Yan's eyelashes tremble violently.

Her eyes swept over his calloused hands and the new grease stains on his cuffs, and tears suddenly welled up in her eyes: "Brother Yimin, let me treat you to a meal! You've lost so much weight!"

These words made Zhou Yimin's throat tighten.

He looked at Zhang Yan's red nose, then smiled and agreed: "Okay!"

He deliberately dragged out his tone and flicked her hairband with his fingertips: "It seems that our Yan Zi has quite a bit of savings?"

Zhou Yimin would definitely not let Zhang Yan treat him, but he would not object either. He would just secretly pay the bill when the time comes.

Zhang Yan's face instantly turned red. She stretched out her hand to hit him but stopped in mid-air: "It's just the pocket money I saved!"

She muttered, but gradually lost confidence under Zhou Yimin's smiling gaze, and her fingers twisted the corners of her clothes, causing wrinkles in the fabric.

When the motorcycle started, Zhang Yan hesitated for a moment, and finally gently put her arms around Zhou Yimin's waist.

The wind whistled past, and she could clearly feel the bony bones of the man's back. The scent of engine oil mixed with soap lingered at her nose.

Suddenly, Zhou Yimin freed up one hand, took out a piece of maltose from his pocket and stuffed it into her palm: "Warm it up before eating, don't freeze your teeth."

Zhang Yan was very happy when she saw that it was her favorite malt sugar. It seemed that Zhou Yimin still cared about her, otherwise he would not have gone so far to buy malt sugar.

She began to talk about the interesting things that happened during this period, and Zhou Yimin listened quietly, responding from time to time.

Soon the two arrived at Donglaishun. Although it was not winter yet, the autumn was already very strong and it was still a little cold at night.

As the door curtain of Donglaishun was lifted, hot air with a rich aroma of sesame paste blew in your face.

Zhou Yimin stepped aside to let Zhang Yan in first, his eyes sweeping over the familiar mahogany tables and chairs. Copper pots were bubbling on each table, and the steaming white mist blurred the old photos on the wall.

Zhang Yan's fingers gently hooked around his cuffs, and with a bit of dependence, the two of them chose a seat in the corner by the window and sat down.

The waiter skillfully placed the copper hot pot on the table, and the charcoal fire crackled in the stove.

Zhou Yimin took the menu and subconsciously ordered Zhang Yan's favorite pickled garlic and frozen tofu, and asked for two plates of hand-cut fresh lamb.

When the waiter lifted the lid of the copper pot, bubbles rolled out of the milky bone soup. Zhang Yan leaned in to sniff it, her eyes curved into crescents: "It's still a familiar taste."

Zhou Yimin picked up the blue and white porcelain bowl and skillfully prepared the dipping sauce.

Sesame paste, chives and fermented bean curd are slowly blended in the bowl and finally sprinkled with a handful of green coriander.

He pushed his glasses and handed the prepared bowl to Zhang Yan: "Try it, it's still the old recipe."

Zhang Yan took the bowl and dipped the tip of her chopsticks in it. As soon as the tip of her tongue touched the sauce, she couldn't help but squint her eyes: "It smells just as good as the first time I came here to eat it!"

The hand-cut lamb was served on the table, the bright red slices of meat were as thin as cicada wings and neatly arranged on a blue and white plate.

Zhou Yimin picked up a piece and held his chopsticks above the boiling copper pot: "Watch it, three ups and three downs."

The meat slices flipped quickly in the boiling soup and became pink and tender in the blink of an eye.

He brought the mutton covered with sesame sauce to Zhang Yan's mouth. Zhang Yan's cheeks flushed slightly. She took a bite gently. The tenderness of the mutton mixed with the rich flavor of sesame sauce spread in her mouth. She sighed with satisfaction: "It's delicious!"

Zhang Yan also followed Zhou Yimin's example and picked up the meat slices to cook.

But she was a little slow, and the meat stayed in the pan for a few seconds longer, becoming a little tough.

She pouted in annoyance, but Zhou Yimin smiled and took her chopsticks: "I'll do it."

As he spoke, he skillfully shuffled the meat slices, blew them cool carefully, and then put them into her bowl.

While eating, Zhang Yan suddenly put down her chopsticks and took out an oil-paper bag from her canvas bag.

He opened it and saw a few pieces of sweet-scented osmanthus cake: "I made this myself, Brother Yimin, have a try."

Zhou Yimin took a bite. The soft and glutinous pastry had a sweet osmanthus fragrance. He smiled and said, "As sweet as you."

These words made Zhang Yan's ears turn red instantly. She glared at him in reproach, but couldn't help but raise the corners of her mouth.

The sky outside the window gradually darkened and a thin layer of mist condensed on the glass.

The soup in the copper pot was still boiling, and the two of them started talking.

Zhang Yan talked about interesting things at school, while Zhou Yimin shared new developments at the factory.

When talking about happy things, Zhang Yan laughed so hard that she almost knocked over the bowl of sesame paste. When she heard that Zhou Yimin was working late at night on the project, she frowned with heartache and put several slices of meat into his bowl.

The meal was so warm and cozy that even the air was filled with the scent of happiness.

Not until the soup in the copper pot was almost gone did the two of them put down their chopsticks reluctantly.

Zhang Yan wiped the corner of her mouth, looked at Zhou Yimin's satisfied expression, and thought to herself, how nice it would be if time could stop at this moment. The motorcycle rolled over the gravel at the entrance of the alley, and Zhang Yan's laughter mixed with the roar of the engine floated in the twilight.

She hugged Zhou Yimin's waist and was talking about a joke the teacher made in class when she suddenly felt the car body shake violently.

Zhou Yimin's voice pierced through the wind: "Yanzi, there seems to be something wrong up ahead."

Under the dim street lights, a child of five or six years old was kneeling on the bluestone slabs, the cuffs of his little cotton-padded jacket worn to a shine, and he was desperately shaking the man beside him.

The man's face was sallow, his lips were cracked and peeling, his blue shirt was patched up, and an empty clay pot was tilted beside him.

When Zhang Yan jumped off the motorcycle, her knees hit the body of the motorcycle, but she didn't care about the pain. She squatted down and gently hugged the trembling child: "Don't be afraid, tell me what happened?"

Zhou Yimin knelt on one knee beside the man, felt his pulse with his fingers, and then leaned in to check his pupils.

"Comrade? Comrade, can you hear me?" The shouts echoed in the silent alley, only to be met with faint moans.

The child suddenly grabbed Zhou Yimin's clothes, his face covered with snot and tears: "Brother, Dad gave me all the steamed bread to eat"

The wind blew up Zhang Yan's hair. She looked at the child's red, frozen hands and felt a pang of pain in her heart.

Zhou Yimin had already stood up and got on his motorcycle: "Yanzi, you guard them!"

Amid the white mist from the exhaust pipe, the headlights of the car cut through the night sky and disappeared at the end of the alley in an instant.

Although Zhou Yimin could buy things from the store, there were other people around and he had to avoid everyone's sight.

The late autumn wind was like a knife scraping on the face. Zhang Yan untied her scarf to wrap the child and took out a handkerchief from her canvas bag to wipe his little face.

The child sobbed and said that his father was doing odd jobs at a construction site and had not been paid for three days, so he gave his last rations to him this morning.

As he was talking, the roar of a motorcycle came closer and closer. Zhou Yimin was holding a coarse earthenware kettle in his arms, and in the basket were oil-paper bags and roasted sweet potatoes.

"Come, wake up!" Zhou Yimin unscrewed the lid of the pot, and the sweet fragrance of honey mixed with hot steam wafted away.

He lifted the man's neck and slowly fed warm water into his dry lips. The man's Adam's apple rolled violently, and he suddenly opened his eyes with a cough, and turbid tears slid down his wrinkles.

The child screamed and threw himself into his arms, his little hands tightly clutching his father's clothes.

The man looked at the white flour bun handed to him by Zhou Yimin, his rough fingers trembling in the air.

In an era when food coupons were more valuable than gold, white flour steamed buns were a rare commodity that could only be found during the Chinese New Year.

"Here!" Zhou Yimin stuffed it into his hand: "Only when you are full can you have the energy to find work."

The man choked with sobs. He broke off half of the steamed bun and stuffed it into the child's mouth, but he only took a small bite himself, as if it was not food but a priceless treasure.

Zhang Yan squatted aside, breaking the roasted sweet potatoes into small pieces and blowing them cool carefully.

The firelight reflected her gentle eyes and eyebrows. The man suddenly covered his face and sobbed: "Good man, I will definitely pay you back when I make money."

Zhou Yimin waved his hand, took out the two remaining food coupons from his arms and stuffed them into the child's pocket. When he turned around, the canvas bag strap brushed across the back of the man's hand.

The late autumn night wind blew dead leaves across the alley. The man looked in the direction where the motorcycle disappeared, with the steamed bun in his arms still warm from his body temperature.

He trembled as he broke the remaining half of the steamed bun into crumbs and carefully stuffed them into the inner pocket of his torn cotton-padded jacket. His fingertips repeatedly rubbed the seams of the fabric to make sure not a trace of the grain aroma leaked out.

Hearing the cry of a night owl in the distance, he raised his head suddenly and looked around vigilantly - in this era of material scarcity, half a piece of white steamed bun was enough to make a starving person take risks.

The son in his arms suddenly moved, and the man then remembered the strangeness in the child's pocket.

He trembled as he took out two neatly folded food coupons. The ink on the five coupons glowed a warm yellow light under the street light. Next to them were two brand new one-yuan bills, the edges of which were so stiff that they could scratch his palm.

He felt dizzy as the blood rushed to his head, and a vague whimper came from his throat. His fingertips moved repeatedly on the food coupons, as if to confirm whether this was a dream.

"Dad, what is this?" The son raised his little face with tears still hanging on his eyelashes.

The man suddenly hugged the child tightly in his arms, resting his chin on his soft hair, letting his hot tears fall on the back of the child's neck: "This is... This is the life-saving money given by big brother."

His voice was muffled by his cotton coat, and he choked with sobs: "Remember, the big brother and sister just now are the benefactors of our family."

The child nodded as if he understood, and his little hands unconsciously grasped the corner of his father's clothes.

The man looked down at the child's chapped palms, remembering Zhang Yan's tenderness when she wiped his face just now, and Zhou Yimin's hand covered with oil calluses when he stuffed the food coupons into his hand.

He suddenly knelt down in the direction where the motorcycle disappeared, and his forehead hit the bluestone slab heavily, scaring away a wild cat foraging in the corner.

The man wrapped the child tightly, carefully hid the food coupons and banknotes in a cloth bag against his chest, and tied it tightly with a patched cloth belt.

The motorcycle slowly drove out of the alley, and its taillights drew a dark red arc in the night.

Zhang Yan's voice came from behind, choking with sobs that were difficult to conceal: "Brother Yimin, when will this disaster year be over!"

She recalled the child's red face from the cold, and the man's skinny appearance, with his throat feeling as if it was tightly strangled by a rough hemp rope.

The wind blew scattered dead leaves onto her face, but they were not as chilling as the chill in her heart.

Zhou Yimin tightened his grip on the handlebars, his knuckles turning white from the force.

He answered seriously: "Swallow, don't worry, the disaster year will surely pass soon."

His voice was calm and firm, and his words were meant to comfort Zhang Yan.

In Zhou Yimin's memory, this disaster lasted for a total of three years. This year is the last year and it will be over soon.

Along the way, the two of them chatted.

Zhang Yan talked about the story of classmates sharing food rations with each other in school, while Zhou Yimin talked about the heartwarming behavior of the masters in the factory who saved their meal tickets to help needy employees.

As the night deepened, the roar of motorcycles echoed in the silent streets, but it could not cover up the warmth and hope conveyed in the two people's words.

Soon, the motorcycle stopped in front of the Zhang family’s courtyard.

Zhou Yimin originally wanted to say goodbye at the door. After all, it would be rude to come in empty-handed.

But Zhang Yan would never let him go. She grasped his sleeves tightly with her slender fingers and dragged him into the house like a spoiled kitten: "Since you are here, go in and have a cup of hot water before you leave!"

As soon as the mottled wooden door was opened, warm yellow light poured out.

Zhang Jianshe was pasting the seams of the window. When he looked up and saw Zhou Yimin, he immediately put down the paste brush in his hand and laughed heartily: "What a rare guest! Come in and sit down!"

Aunt Zhang, wearing a blue apron, poked her head out of the kitchen, rolling pin in her hand. When she saw Zhou Yimin's slim figure, her brows instantly twisted into knots.

"Yimin," she walked over quickly, and gently stroked Zhou Yimin's sunken cheek with her calloused hands, "You have to take care of your work, but you also have to take care of your health! You know, your health is the capital of the revolution."

As she spoke, her eyes turned red. "I feel bad for you seeing you become so thin."

Zhou Yimin's heart warmed up, and his nose felt slightly sour. He smiled and nodded, with a bit of shyness in his voice: "Aunt Zhang, I'm a little busy during this period, I will pay attention in the future. Don't worry, I'm strong!"

Before she finished her words, Aunt Zhang turned around and walked towards the kitchen, muttering that she wanted a bowl of egg noodles, and her attitude did not allow any refusal.

(End of this chapter)