Reborn in 1982, the prodigal son returns

Lin Nuo pushed open the door to the main room, and the aroma of stewed chicken wafted out.

Several dishes were laid out on the octagonal table. In the center was a pot of stewed chicken, with scallions and ginger slices floating on the oily soup. Next to it was a plate of scrambled eggs, piled high in a bowl, golden yellow. Pickled radishes were cut into thin strips and arranged on a blue and white porcelain dish. There was also a dish of peanuts, fried until golden brown and sprinkled with salt.

Aunt Liu Guixiang was still busy in the kitchen. The sound of the spatula stirring the food came through the wall, the iron pot sizzled, and the aroma wafted into my nose.

Uncle Lin Weidong sat in the main seat, holding an enamel mug in his hand. The mug had five red characters printed on it: "Labor is the most glorious," and half of the paint had peeled off.

He saw Lin Nuo come in, nodded, his face expressionless, but his eyes held a scrutinizing look.

"You're here? Have a seat."

Lin Weiguo sat on the right, with a half-empty bottle of baijiu (Chinese liquor) in front of him. It was Yanghe Daqu, and the label was worn rough.

His face was flushed red all the way to the roots of his neck, indicating he had already had several drinks. Upon seeing Lin Nuo, he snorted, said nothing, and took another sip of his wine.

The third brother, Lin Jian, sat opposite him.

He was wearing a brand-new military overcoat, not the cheap kind that villagers wore, but a genuine military green one, with thick, shiny fur on the collar.

His hair was slicked back with hair oil, combed until it was shiny, without a single stray hair. His forehead was exposed, and his fair complexion made him look nothing like someone who worked in a fertilizer factory.

He saw Lin Nuo and smiled.

The smile was polite, but not very warm. The corners of his mouth turned up, but his eyes barely moved, carrying a hint of city dweller's superiority over rural relatives, as if to say, "You've arrived? Okay, have a seat."

"Second Brother is here? Please have a seat, we've been waiting for you."

Lin Nuo hummed in agreement and sat down in the empty seat.

The moment his bottom touched the bench, he felt a chill. The bench was made of willow wood and had no cushion; sitting on it felt like sitting on a block of ice. He tucked the hem of his cotton-padded jacket under his bottom and glanced around.

Lin Jiang sat next to him; he was his older brother.

Lin Jiang was three years older than Lin Nuo, thirty-one years old this year. He had the face of a farmer, dark and rough, with high cheekbones, deep-set eyes, and chapped lips. He wore a drab cotton-padded jacket, the cuffs worn white, and his hands rested on his knees, his fingernails embedded with dirt that couldn't be washed off.

He was engrossed in eating peanuts, popping them into his mouth one by one with a crunching sound, not even glancing at anyone, as if the things on the table were none of his concern.

Lin Nuo looked at him, and her heart stirred.

In his past life, his older brother worked for him the longest. They went south together to work, carrying bricks and steel bars on construction sites, working twelve hours a day, and sending most of their earnings home to pay off debts. Later, when Lin Nuo started a small business, his older brother still followed him, never competing or fighting, doing whatever he was asked to do.

The person he owes the most in his life, besides Su Wanqing, is his eldest brother.

"The snow on the road is heavy."

Lin Nuo withdrew his gaze and said:

"We're late."

This was said to his uncle. Lin Weidong, an accountant by training, hated people who were late.

"It's not too late, it's not too late."

Aunt Liu Guixiang came out of the kitchen carrying a steaming bowl of stewed chicken, her apron splattered with oil, and her face beaming with joy.

"It's just out of the pot, eat it while it's hot. Nuozi, you've lost weight, eat more."

She placed the chicken in the center of the table, then turned around and went back to the kitchen to bring out a bowl of cabbage stew with vermicelli.

The aroma of stewed chicken, mingled with the scents of scallions, ginger, and garlic, wafted through the steam, causing Lin Nuo's stomach to clench. He hadn't eaten lunch; since his rebirth, he'd been preoccupied with processing the memories of his two previous lives. Only now, smelling the meat, did he realize he was hungry.

But he didn't touch his chopsticks.

He glanced at the bowl of chicken, thinking that he had to take the chicken leg back to Su Wanqing.

"Come on, let's eat!"

Lin Weidong picked up the jar:

"Don't just stare. Weiguo, drink less; you still have to walk back later."

"This little bit of wine is nothing."

Lin Weiguo waved his hand and poured himself another glass:

"Boss, you should have a drink too."

Lin Jiang shook his head:

"I'm not drinking anymore, I still have to feed the pigs when I get back."

"My older brother is just too honest."

Lin Jian smiled and put a piece of chicken in his mouth:

"Brother, how much money can you make feeding pigs all year round? Let me tell you, you have to use your brain to make money."

Lin Jiang didn't reply and silently ate his peanuts.

Lin Nuo glanced at Lin Jian.

These words sounded light, but they were harsh. My older brother is honest, but not stupid. He farms and feeds pigs at home, raising two children, and he can't save much money all year round. It's not that he doesn't work hard, it's that he doesn't have the opportunity.

Lin Jian spent three years in the county and saw some of the world. When he came back, he felt superior to others.

After several rounds of drinks and five courses of food,

Lin Jian put down his chopsticks, wiped his mouth, and cleared his throat. He stood up straight, as if he were about to give a speech at a factory meeting, his hands resting on the table, two fingers lightly tapping the surface.

"Uncle, Father, I have something to tell you."

Lin Weiguo picked up a peanut, popped it into his mouth, and chewed it twice.

"What's up?"

"There's a coworker at the county fertilizer plant named Ma Shengli."

Lin Jian lowered his voice and leaned forward, as if he were talking about something confidential:

"Guess how much money he made last year?"

There was a moment of silence on the table.

Lin Jian held up three fingers, his knuckles white and his nails neatly trimmed.

"Three hundred yuan."

Three hundred yuan.

What did this number mean in rural areas in 1982? It meant that one yuan per kilogram of pork could buy three hundred kilograms.

Lin Weidong put down the enamel mug and leaned forward slightly.

"How did you earn it?"

"Raising rabbits."

Lin Jian emphasized the word "rabbit":

"Angora rabbits, sheared and sold. A pound of rabbit fur can sell for more than ten yuan. A rabbit can be sheared four or five times a year. If you raise dozens of them, you can do the math."

Lin Weiguo's eyes lit up.

That kind of person was all too familiar to Leonfarino. His father was a true-blue farmer who had worked the land his whole life and barely made any money. He was practically immune to the idea of ​​"making money." He would believe anyone who told him they could make money.

Of course, he's an exception, that good-for-nothing.

"Is it easy to keep?"

"Easy to care for!"

Lin Jian slapped his thigh, making the dust on his military overcoat bounce up:

"Rabbits eat grass and vegetable leaves, so they don't use any grain. Ma Shengli said that several households in his village are raising them, and the supply and marketing cooperative buys them all, so there's no worry about finding a market. Dad, think about it, those things in the grassland don't cost any money, so raising a few rabbits is like making money for free."

"Really?"

Lin Weidong, having worked as an accountant, wasn't so easily swayed. He picked up his mug, took a sip of water, and looked over from behind his glasses:

"Does the supply and marketing cooperative have any documentation regarding their guaranteed purchase?"

Lin Jian paused for a moment.

The pause was so brief that the others at the table probably didn't even notice. But Lin Nuo did.

He hadn't noticed this detail in his past life. At that time, he was gnawing on a chicken leg, his mouth greasy, and his mind was on where to play cards later.

This life will be different.

When Lin Jian said "the supply and marketing cooperative will buy it," his eyes glanced to the side.

This is a sign of a lack of self-confidence.

"It was said verbally."

Lin Jian quickly followed up, his tone still very confident:

"But Ma Shengli wouldn't lie to me. We worked in the same workshop for three years. How could I not know what kind of person he is?"

Lin Weiguo nodded repeatedly, clearly having been persuaded.

"That"

He was about to speak when Lin Nuo spoke.

"Third brother."

Lin Nuo spoke up.

But everyone at the table looked over.

Lin Jian also looked at him, his brows furrowing slightly.

"Second brother, what's wrong?"

"Your Ma Shengli,"

Lin Nuo picked up the teacup on the table and blew on the tea leaves floating on the surface of the water:

How many rabbits did he keep?

Lin Jian was taken aback.

"what?"

"How many?"

Lin Nuo took a sip of tea, her gaze shifting from the edge of the teacup to Lin Jian:

"You said he earned 300 yuan in half a year, so how many rabbits did he raise? Were they breeding rabbits or meat rabbits? Did he make the rabbit cages himself or buy them? How was the feed formulated? Were they vaccinated? Did the supply and marketing cooperative buy rabbit fur according to grade or as a general quantity?"

A barrage of questions followed, and then silence fell over the table.

Lin Weidong raised an eyebrow and looked at Lin Nuo with renewed scrutiny.

Lin Weiguo was also stunned, his hand holding the wine glass frozen in mid-air.

Lin Jian's face froze for a moment.

Why are you asking these questions?

His tone was somewhat unnatural, but he still managed a forced smile:

"Second brother, you don't understand these things, so asking is pointless."

"You should ask if you don't understand."

Lin Nuo said:

"After all that talk, I just want to know one number: how many rabbits did it take to earn three hundred yuan in six months?"

The room was silent for several seconds.

The sound of the spatula in the kitchen stopped; Liu Guixiang was probably listening too.

Lin Jian's lips twitched; his smile was about to crumble.

"I've raised... about twenty of them."

他 说:

"You can make money breeding rabbits, selling baby rabbits, and shearing their fur; it's about the same amount all together."

Lin Nuo didn't say anything.

He put down his teacup, rested his fingers on the edge of the table, and started calculating in his mind.

He learned this skill in his previous life in the South. Back then, he had set up a stall at the night market and sold fish at the vegetable market; accounting was a fundamental skill for him.

Twenty rabbits, even if they are all Angora rabbits, need to be sheared three times every six months. One adult Angora rabbit yields three to four ounces per shearing, so twenty rabbits yield five to six pounds per shearing. A pound of rabbit fur costs around ten yuan, so each shearing session would only cost seventy to eighty yuan. Three shearing sessions would cost over two hundred yuan.

Even with the money from selling the rabbits, it would only amount to a little over three hundred.

But this is gross revenue.

What about feed? What about disease prevention? What about losses? What about rabbit cages?

If we subtract those, we'll be lucky to have 150 left.

Three hundred yuan, haha.

"Earn 300 yuan in half a year? Twenty rabbits."

Lin Nuo's voice remained neither too loud nor too soft, but each word was pronounced clearly:

"Third brother, have you considered the costs involved?"

Lin Jian was completely humiliated.

"They're raising breeding rabbits."

His voice rose, crackling with anger:

"Breeding rabbits are expensive; one breeding rabbit can sell for tens of dollars! Second brother, if you don't understand, don't talk nonsense, okay?"

"oh,"

Lin Nuo nodded, his tone remaining calm:

"You just said you make money shearing rabbits, and now you're saying you make money selling baby rabbits. Third brother, have you even bothered to find out? Raising meat rabbits, raising Angora rabbits, and raising breeding rabbits are three different things. The costs are different, the risks are different, and the profits are different. When you say 'raising rabbits makes money,' which one are you referring to?"

Lin Jian opened his mouth, but couldn't say anything.

His face went from red to white, then from white to pale. His fingers gripped the edge of the table, his knuckles turning white.

The atmosphere at the table suddenly turned cold.

Lin Weiguo was clearly displeased by Lin Nuo's words. He was a man who cared about his reputation, and he felt he had lost face that his second son had contradicted his third son in front of his elder brother and sister-in-law.

"Second son,"

Lin Weiguo put down his wine glass, his voice deepening:

"Your brother finally came back and offered to share a way to make money, and you immediately throw cold water on it. What do you know? You've barely even farmed a few times, what right do you have to give me advice?"

"Dad, I'm not trying to discourage you."

"You're just throwing cold water on things."

Lin Jian was enraged. He stood up abruptly, the chair legs scraping against the ground with a screeching sound.

"Second brother, to put it bluntly, what have you been doing at home? You don't farm, you don't do any work, and even your own wife complains about you. What right do you have to stand here and give orders?"

These words were like a knife, stabbing straight at me.

The table fell completely silent.

Liu Guixiang peeked out from the kitchen, her smile gone, replaced by unease.

Lin Weidong frowned, glanced at Lin Weiguo, and seemed about to say something, but swallowed his words.

Lin Jiang raised his head, glanced at Lin Jian, then at Lin Nuo, his lips moved, but he ultimately remained silent.

Lin Nuo's hands clenched tightly under the table.

Su Wanqing.

These three words were the greatest pain of his past life. Lin Jian brought this up, touching the softest spot in his heart.

But Lin Nuo didn't get angry.

In his past life, he was quick to anger. He had a terrible temper; he'd flip the table at the slightest provocation. Back in the south, he argued with the foreman, the landlord, and even got into fights with people at the card table. Once, he almost got his head smashed open with a beer bottle.

But he's over forty now.

A man in his forties who has lived two lives knows that getting angry won't solve anything.

He loosened his fist, picked up his teacup, and slowly took a sip of water.

The water was a little cold, and tea leaves floated on the surface. He blew on them, swallowed them, and then spoke.

"Third brother, I'm asking these questions not to argue with you."

He said his voice was still neither too loud nor too soft, but steady and clear:

"I want to understand. It wasn't easy for Dad to save up this money. Our family's resources are meager, and we can't afford to take any risks. Your coworker said he can make money. Okay, then let's find out more about it. If it really can make money, I'll be the first to support him. But if we invest money without finding out the facts..."

He glanced at Lin Weiguo and swallowed the rest of his sentence.

That's called gambling.

He didn't say that.

It was Lin Weidong who said it.

All eyes turned to the eldest uncle.

Lin Weidong slowly took a sip of water from his enamel mug, glanced at Lin Nuo, and then at Lin Jian.

"Nuozi is right."

Lin Jian's face turned even redder.

"Uncle."

"Don't worry,"

Lin Weidong waved his hand, his tone unhurried and calm, displaying the composure characteristic of someone who had served as a cadre:

"I'm not saying we shouldn't raise them. I'm saying we should find out more before we do. The questions Nuozi asked—how many, what breed, what the cost, what the profit, whether the supply and marketing cooperative will buy them—these are all legitimate questions. Investing money without knowing anything isn't making money, it's gambling."

Lin Weiguo said in a low voice:

"Big brother, you think so too?"

That's what I think.

Lin Weidong put down the jar and leaned back:

"Weiguo, I know your family situation. You have three sons. The eldest farms at home, the second—"

He glanced at Lin Nuo, but didn't say the words "staying idle at home," instead using a different phrase.

"The second son has his own ideas, and the third son works in the county. I understand your desire to earn more money. But the more you want to earn more money, the less you should rush it. Think about it, last year Widow Zhang raised chickens. She heard that it could make money, so she bought two hundred chicks at once, but they all died in a chicken plague."

Lin Weiguo fell silent.

He knew about that incident. Widow Zhang's family lost over four hundred yuan, cried for days, and still hasn't been able to pay it back.

Lin Nuo breathed a sigh of relief.

The eldest uncle's attitude is key. In this family, Lin Weidong's words carry more weight than Lin Weiguo's. He used to be a commune accountant, had seen the world, and everyone in the village consulted him on matters big and small. If he sided with them, there was room for negotiation.

But Lin Jian clearly had no intention of letting the matter rest.

"OK,"

Lin Jian grabbed the military overcoat draped over the back of the chair, his face ashen.

"You all think I'm harming my own family, right? Fine, forget I said anything. Anyway, I've told you how to make money, believe it or not."

He put on his military overcoat, turned around and left.

"Third brother!"

Lin Weiguo grew anxious, stood up, and grabbed his sleeve:

"What are you doing? Let's talk this out."

"There's not much to say."

Lin Jian shook off his father's hand, the movement so forceful that it nearly knocked over the wine glasses on the table.

"I came back with good intentions to tell you about making money, but my second brother treated me like a thief. I've been in the county for three years and seen more than you have. You don't believe me, but believe one of you."

He glanced at Lin Nuo and swallowed the rest of his sentence.

But everyone understood.

The door was flung open with a bang, and a blast of cold wind carrying snowflakes rushed in, causing the dishes on the table to tremble.

"Third brother! Third brother, stop right there!" Lin Weiguo chased after him to the door, but Lin Jian walked into the snow without turning his head, the hem of his military overcoat fluttering in the wind.

Lin Weiguo stood at the door, watching his third son's figure disappear into the snow, sighed, turned around, plopped down in a chair, picked up his wine glass, and downed it in one gulp.

"This child's temper is getting worse and worse."