60s: I have a store

Chapter 594 Problem Solved
The bumps of the motorcycle rolling over the gravel road gradually subsided, and the crown of the iconic ancient banyan tree in Rongshu Village was like an umbrella, stretching its vigorous branches in the twilight.

Zhou Yimin took off his goggles. The dust and sweat on the lenses blurred the outline of the green brick and gray tile village in front of him.

When Zhao Zhenguo jumped down from the back seat, the hem of his Zhongshan suit was still fluttering in the wind. He straightened his collar, but his pace unconsciously quickened.

Village Chief Rong was sitting on a stone bench in front of the ancestral hall weaving bamboo baskets, the strips flying between his fingers. He didn't even raise his head when he heard footsteps. "Section Chief Zhou, how come you have time to come here today?"

Before he finished speaking, he caught a glimpse of the factory emblem on Zhao Zhenguo's chest and paused.

Zhou Yimin smiled and kicked the stone at his feet: "Let me introduce you to Director Zhao from the instant noodle factory. He wants to discuss a business deal with the village."

The crisp sound of bamboo strips breaking exploded in the air. Village chief Rong raised his head, and a gleam of light flashed in his turbid eyes.

The corn skewers hanging under the eaves of the ancestral hall swayed gently, and he slowly took out his pipe: "Trading? Tell me about it."

Zhao Zhenguo's voice trembled slightly with urgency: "Our instant noodle factory has taken over all the chickens in your village!"

The negotiation process went unexpectedly smoothly.

Village Chief Rong tapped his pipe, looked at the advance payment clause on the contract, and his mouth corners gradually rose: "Director Zhao is open-minded!"

Zhao Zhenguo said yes repeatedly, and when he put pen to paper, the ink left small smudges on the paper, which seemed to reflect his excited mood at the moment.

On the way back to the city, Zhao Zhenguo hummed a little tune in the back seat, and the taillights of the motorcycle drew a winding red line in the night.

Arriving at the Zhao family's door, Zhou Yimin was about to turn the accelerator when Zhao Zhenguo grabbed the handlebars and said, "Yimin, you have to come in and have a drink!"

Zhou Yimin was dragged so hard that he almost fell off the car. He didn't know whether to laugh or cry: "Brother, wait a moment, at least let me take out the key."

Zhao Zhenguo then let go of his hand, but stared at Zhou Yimin as if he were staring at a treasure, fearing that he would take the opportunity to slip away. Zhou Yimin shook his head helplessly, and the metal key made a crisp "click" sound when it was pulled out of the ignition hole.

The street light at the alley entrance suddenly lit up. In the warm yellow light, Zhao Zhenguo was already pulling his arm towards the yard.

The moment I opened the door, hot air mixed with the aroma of burnt bacon hit me in the face.

Director Li, wearing a faded blue apron, poked his head out of the kitchen and saw his son holding Zhou Yimin's arm. He then looked at the smile that Zhao Zhenguo couldn't hide and forgot to put down the half-cut green pepper on the chopping board. "Done?"

"Done!" Zhao Zhenguo's impatient voice shook the old photos on the wall.

Zhou Yimin was pushed and staggered half a step. The knees of his overalls were still stained with straw from the afternoon in the chicken coop. He hurriedly bent down to take off his shoes: "Aunt Li, sorry to bother you tonight."

"What polite words are you saying!" Director Li's rolling pin made a crisp sound on the chopping board, and when he turned around, smile lines appeared at the corners of his eyes.

"The soup is still simmering on the stove, you two can chat first!" She saw her son casually throw his Zhongshan suit on the sofa and immediately glared at him: "Fold your clothes! What will the guests think of you?"

Zhao Zhenguo said nonchalantly: "Yimin, you are not an outsider, there is no need to make such a scene!"

Zhou Yimin also spoke up: "Brother Zhao, you are right."

The old-fashioned ceiling fan in the living room squeaked as Zhao Zhenguo grabbed a glass and poured water for Zhou Yimin. He lowered his voice and said, "If it weren't for you, I'm afraid my job as the director of the logistics department would be over."

Before he finished speaking, the sizzling sound of a frying pan came from the kitchen, mixed with the conversation between Director Li and his daughter-in-law: "Cut the bacon in the jar into two pieces. How can you entertain guests by just stir-frying vegetables?"

As dusk crept onto the table through the screen window, Zhao Zhenguo's father pushed the door open.

The strap of his briefcase was worn white, and there was a thin layer of dust on the shoulders of his dark blue Zhongshan suit. When he saw Zhou Yimin, he immediately straightened his back and said, "Yimin is here!"

Zhou Yimin hurriedly stood up to greet him, his work clothes sleeves sweeping across the enamelware pot on the coffee table: "Uncle Zhao, you're off work so late today!"

"There's something wrong with the technical transformation at the institute." Father Zhao took off his glasses and wiped them. His eyes behind the lenses suddenly fixed on his son's face. "But, judging from you, did you make the deal?"

Just as Zhao Zhenguo was about to speak, Director Li pushed open the kitchen door carrying the braised pork. The hot steam rising from the edge of the porcelain plate blurred everyone's eyes: "It's time to eat! Any more food will get cold!"

The eight-immortal table was soon filled with dishes.

The shiny red bacon and the fresh green peppers are particularly tempting under the incandescent light, and the winter melon and pork ribs soup is bubbling with dots of oil floating in the air.

Zhao Zhenguo's wife added another pair of bowls and chopsticks. The poached egg at the bottom of the celadon bowl was shaking, as if reflecting the smiles on everyone's faces.

Father Zhao raised the filled glass, the wine glowing amber in the light: "Come, toast to Yimin!"

The crisp sound of clinking glasses, mixed with the darkening night outside the window, made this unexpected celebration party even warmer.

The incandescent lamp illuminated the round table brightly, and the steaming heat surged in the halo, blurring everyone's eyes.

Director Li served the last dish of spicy and sour potato shreds, with freshly cut green onions still smeared on the edge of the porcelain plate. "Hurry up and use your chopsticks. Don't be polite!"

Before he finished speaking, Zhao Zhenguo had already picked up the trembling braised pork. The fat and sauce dripped into the bowl, spreading an attractive red color on the white rice.

Zhou Yimin held the coarse porcelain bowl in his hand, staring at the pile of spareribs in the bowl in a daze.
Zhenguo's wife added a piece of meat with crispy bones to his bowl: "Yimin, eat more. You have been busy all day."

The piece of meat fell into the bowl and splashed the soup. He hurriedly used chopsticks to block it, but it caused the spoon to clink, which made Director Li laugh out loud.

"Try this winter melon soup!" Father Zhao picked up the soup spoon and first filled a bowl for Zhou Yimin.

There were a few wolfberries floating in the clear soup, and when it was scooped up, there were still slices of winter melon hanging on it as thin as a cicada's wing.

Zhou Yimin blew away the hot steam and took a sip. The sweet taste mixed with the rich aroma of the pork ribs instantly soothed away the fatigue from running around all day.

The topics at the dinner table came and went with the sound of dishes and chopsticks colliding.

Zhao Zhenguo talked about his sweaty palms when negotiating the price in Luojiazhuang, which made Director Li slap his thigh. Zhao's father, while holding bacon, recalled the famine years and suddenly raised his glass: "It's not easy to have this table of food now!"

As the wine swayed, the glass hit the enamel jar, making a crisp resonance.

Zhou Yimin lowered his head to eat rice, and out of the corner of his eye he saw Zhao Zhenguo's wife quietly putting some vegetables into her husband's bowl.

Under the dim light, the strands of hair on her temples were slightly curled by the heat, and her apron was stained with oil splashes from cooking.

When Director Li brought out the sour plum soup after the meal, the ice cubes in the porcelain bowl clinked.

Zhou Yimin looked at the hawthorn slices floating in the bowl and suddenly felt that this unexpected family dinner was more precious than any celebratory banquet.

The moonlight outside the window had climbed onto the windowsill at some point, interweaving with the warm light inside the house, softening everyone's smiling faces.

The next day, before the morning mist had dissipated, Zhao Zhenguo was already pacing back and forth in front of the factory gate, the pocket watch in his work pants pocket hot from rubbing it.

As a green Jiefang truck roared out of the workshop, he jumped into the passenger seat, gripping the armrest with his canvas gloves, his knuckles leaving deep indentations in the leather.

As the wheels bumped over the gravel road, he counted the telephone poles on the roadside, each one like a countdown mark.

At the entrance of Luojiazhuang, Village Chief Luo had refilled his pipe three times.

Seeing the dust raised by the truck, he stood up suddenly, with tobacco all over his shoes: "Director Zhao, you are finally here!"

A hoarse shout penetrated the mist, and his calloused hands slapped the car door, startling the driver's shoulders. Zhao Zhenguo jumped out of the car, his leather shoes sinking into the mud that had not yet dried with morning dew.

"The road is not easy to walk on." He pulled his crooked tie and glanced at the villagers behind Village Chief Luo who were ready to go - some were carrying bamboo cages, some were holding hemp ropes, and even a few half-grown children were waiting by the side holding straw ropes.

The sound of roosters crowing one after another came from the direction of the chicken farm, and the faint aroma of bran wafted into the moist air mixed with dew.

The moment he pushed open the bamboo fence, Zhao Zhenguo held his breath.

Thousands of egret chickens fluttered in the fence, their golden feathers fluttering in the sun like flowing flames.

The bamboo baskets were filled with neatly bundled chicken cages. Each chicken had its feet carefully tied up, and would occasionally struggle and make clear cries.

"Village Chief Luo, I didn't expect you to catch the chickens so quickly!" His voice trembled barely perceptibly, and when he reached out to touch the chicken coop, he felt the warmth of the bird feathers on his palm.

Village Chief Luo tapped his pipe against the sole of his shoe, and air leaked from his half-missing front teeth: "Once the chickens are well raised, they must be slaughtered as soon as possible."

He waved his hand, and more than 20 villagers immediately dispersed. Some held up the chicken coops, while others used human ladders to carry them onto the truck.

Zhao Zhenguo hurriedly took out a whole pack of cigarettes from his canvas bag, the filters glowing white in the morning mist: "Comrades, thank you for your hard work!"

The noise of the crash was deafening.

The clattering of bamboo cages, the clucking of chickens, and the shouts of villagers are all intertwined.

Zhao Zhenguo was standing on tiptoe counting the cages when someone suddenly tapped his shoulder from behind. It was a little girl with pigtails holding three chicks in her arms. “Uncle, my mother asked me to give these to you!”

When he squatted down, his Zhongshan jacket rubbed against his trouser legs which were covered with grass debris. He smiled but did not take the chicken: "Little sister, uncle cannot take a single needle or thread from the masses."

By the time the truck's canvas awning was tied tight, the sun had already climbed up the branches of the ancient banyan tree.

Zhao Zhenguo held Village Chief Luo's hand and felt the raised calluses on the other's palm.

Then he said, "Village Chief Luo, as for the money, do you want us to send it to you, or do you want to go and get it?"

Village Chief Luo thought about it and trusted the people Zhou Yimin introduced. It was not safe for him to take so much money alone. "Then I'll trouble you. Director Zhao, please deliver it to me when the time comes!"

Zhao Zhenguo nodded to show that he understood.

Amid the roar of the truck starting up, he heard the villagers' instructions mixed with the crowing of roosters, drifting far away in the morning mist.

In the rearview mirror, the outline of Luojiazhuang gradually blurred, while the crowing of roosters in the carriage was like an exciting song of victory, playing on the way back to the city.

The bumpy ride of the Jiefang truck rolling over the speed bump at the factory gate had not yet subsided when the sharp sound of brakes pierced the stuffy air in the instant noodle factory.

The moment Zhao Zhenguo lifted the canvas awning, the cries of thousands of reed chickens surged out like a tide, and the scent of rice bran and bird feathers exploded over the factory.

The female worker who was kneading dough was the first to look up. She stood there with her flour-covered hands still holding the wooden spoon.

"Chicken! It's a chicken!" Someone shouted, and the clanging sound of metal tools colliding suddenly rang out in the workshop.

The hum of the dough kneading machine came to an abrupt end, the conveyor belt of the dough sheeting machine stopped turning, and the workers poured out of the workshops like a flood breaking through a dam. The sound of Liberation shoes stepping on the concrete floor caused the wall paint to fall off.

Some people didn't even take off their helmets, some still had their aprons on, and everyone's eyes were fixed on the flock of chickens flapping their wings on the truck.

Zhao Zhenguo held onto the edge of the shaking carriage, looking at the dark crowd surrounding him, and suddenly felt his throat tighten.

In the front row of the crowd, the old worker Lao Zhang’s Adam’s apple rolled violently and tears welled up in his cloudy eyes.

Several young female workers were whispering to each other, their fingers nervously tugging at the corners of their clothes; in the corner, a new apprentice was standing on tiptoe to look around, the knees of his overalls still stained with mud from falling this morning.

"Everyone, don't get excited!" Zhao Zhenguo shouted at the top of his lungs, but his voice was drowned out by the constant discussions.

He suddenly jumped out of the car, slamming his army green Liberation shoes to the ground: "I promise, everyone can eat chicken at noon!"

These words were like a stone thrown into boiling water. The crowd instantly quieted down, and only the rustling sound of chickens flapping their wings could be heard.

He wiped the sweat from his forehead and raised his hand holding the purchase contract: "This is the supply agreement for Luojiazhuang and Rongshu Village! From now on, the meat supply for the factory is guaranteed!"

When the workers heard that their meat supply would be guaranteed in the future, the crowd broke into thunderous applause.

Some female workers were secretly wiping away tears, some male workers were laughing and pushing their companions, and a few children crawled out from between the adults' legs, staring at the chickens in the chicken coop and drooling.

"Don't just stand there!" Zhao Zhenguo pointed in the direction of the slaughterhouse. "Men, help unload the chickens, and women, prepare the big pot to boil water! We'll have more food today, and you can have as much as you want!"

The crowd immediately split into several groups, some ran to get the hemp rope, some rushed to the kitchen, and even Xiao Li, who was usually the most listless, trotted to get the ladder.

On the truck bed, Zhao Zhenguo looked at the busy figures and suddenly felt his eyes getting hot - the anxiety and running around of these days were all worth it at this moment.

The midday sun made the canteen's iron roof hot, but the kitchen chimney emitted thicker white smoke than usual.

Eight large iron pots were boiling at the same time. As the water surged, the plucked and cleaned egret chickens floated in the soup, ginger slices and scallion segments swirled in the whirlpools, and the aroma of meat mixed with the spicy scent of star anise and cinnamon penetrated into every workshop through the vents.

"Dinner is ready." Before the cook had even finished his call, a long line had formed outside the canteen.

The workers' hands were shaking slightly as they held the enamel bowls. Amid the sound of the bowls knocking against each other, some stood on tiptoe to look towards the kitchen, while others swallowed their saliva and rubbed the rims of the bowls repeatedly.

When the first pot of chicken soup was served, the steam instantly blurred everyone's glasses, and the aroma seemed to have grown wings and flew into everyone's nostrils.

"Give me more chicken!" Lao Zhang stretched out his arms, pressing the rice in the bowl tightly. "My kid has been craving for meat for half a year! Finally, I can bring some meat back."

When the cook scooped up the golden chicken legs, the soup dripped down the edge of the spoon, forming tempting oil droplets on the rice.

The team erupted in envious laughter, and someone joked, "Lao Zhang is going home to be a hero."

The laughter was mixed with the sound of swallowing saliva.

In the corner, several apprentices sat on a long bench, holding their bowls and reluctant to use their chopsticks.

The thinnest and youngest, Aqiang, stared at the chicken in the bowl. His Adam's apple moved. He suddenly took out an oil paper bag and carefully wrapped the chicken leg: "Save it for my mother."

His companions were stunned at first, but then they followed suit. Some tore off half of the chicken breast, and some poured the chicken soup into the enamel pot they carried with them.

Zhao Zhenguo stood at the entrance of the cafeteria, his eyes warmed as he watched the scene in front of him.

His figure was reflected in the glass window of the office. The oil stains on the collar of his Zhongshan suit and the chicken feathers on his cuffs now became medals.

A worker ran over with a bowl and forced a piece of meat into his hand: "Director Zhao, you eat too!"

Zhao Zhenguo didn't hesitate to take it and took a bite. The soft and tender chicken mixed with the rich soup melted on his tongue, more delicious than any delicacy.

As the steam rises, the sound of "What a delicious smell" rises one after another.

(End of this chapter)