Rebirth in a Courtyard: I Am a Little Hunter

The sight inside the room made Wei Chen's gaze sharpen slightly. Ten large black pigs lay sprawled across the floor, like black mountains of flesh, occupying almost two-thirds of the room, leaving barely any room to step.

Four or five burly men, working in pairs, were shouting slogans as they struggled to lift heavy, fat pigs and weigh them on a huge steelyard. Their faces were flushed, and the veins on their necks were bulging.

The pungent smell of livestock, the sweaty stench of the men, the acrid smoke from burning cheap tobacco, and the dust rising from the ground all mingled together, forming a vortex of nauseating odor that filled the entire cramped space.

"Brother Tiger, sorry to keep you waiting." Wei Chen's voice was still low and hoarse, like two stubborn rocks rubbing against each other, with a cold, iron-like quality, clearly penetrating through the noisy environment.

"Not long, not long! Brother, your efficiency and credibility are truly impressive! I'm completely impressed!" Tiger patted his chest vigorously, gave a thumbs up, and his smile almost overflowed. Pointing at the black pigs scattered on the ground, his voice rose eight octaves with excitement.

"Look! Look at this! What a real 'stone pig'! This is what you call a real 'stone pig'! Brother! This batch of yours is amazing! Every single one is plump and strong, glistening with oil! The weight and the quality are hard to find even with a lantern in Beijing! Brother, your methods are top-notch! Top-notch enough to break steel bars!" He spared no expense in offering the most exaggerated praise, his spittle almost spraying onto Wei Chen's face.

In an era of extreme meat scarcity, where even rationing was insufficient, ten top-quality fat pigs like these were worth far more than currency itself. They represented resources akin to hard currency, unimaginable connections, and enormous, enviable profit margins!

At this moment, a tall, thin man wearing thick-rimmed glasses, responsible for keeping accounts, squeezed through the crowd with difficulty, clutching a small notebook and a pencil tightly in his hand. His voice trembled slightly with excitement: "Brother Tiger! Brother Iron Tower! We're done weighing! Ten heads, totaling 3,128 jin! The lowest was 305 jin, and the highest was 321 jin! On average, each one is well over 310 jin! They're all top-quality, first-class!"

"Good—!" Tiger shouted suddenly, like a thunderclap, causing dust to fall from the roof and even pausing the pigs' squeals. "As promised before, two yuan a jin! Three thousand one hundred and twenty-eight jin, that's exactly six thousand two hundred and fifty-six yuan!"

He calculated incredibly fast; the math was clearly second nature to him. "Machine, brother, you're so kind! Calculate it as three thousand five! Six thousand two hundred and fifty-six, minus three thousand five..."

"Two thousand seven hundred and fifty-six," Wei Chen replied calmly, uttering the number as if he were stating something trivial that had nothing to do with him.

"Yes! Two thousand seven hundred and fifty-six dollars!" Tiger slapped his thigh hard, his voice resolute. Without hesitation, he turned around and pulled out a thick stack of neatly bound black ten-dollar bills, each stack containing a hundred bills, totaling a full one thousand dollars, from an old military canvas satchel that one of his trusted subordinates was clutching tightly in his arms.

Then he quickly counted out seventy ten-yuan bills from the bundled bills, totaling seven hundred yuan. Finally, with his fingers flying across the paper and his saliva moistened, he expertly counted out fifty-six yuan from another stack of loose bills.

He shoved the thick stack of banknotes, totaling 2,756 yuan, into Wei Chen's broad chest. The banknotes were heavy, carrying the smell of human sweat, tobacco, and fresh ink; they had a substantial weight to them.

Wei Chen showed no politeness whatsoever. In front of Brother Hu and several of his confidants, his thick fingers moved with the nimbleness of a master craftsman, rapidly twisting stacks of banknotes.

Stacks of brand-new "Big Black Ten" banknotes made a crisp, melodious "whoosh" sound in his hands, like a babbling brook. His movements seemed rough and casual, but were actually incredibly precise, his sharp eyes scanning the thickness and edges of each stack.

When counting the change, his fingers were surprisingly nimble, making no mistakes whatsoever. The whole process took just over a minute. He had gathered all the banknotes together, and under the slightly tense yet admiring gazes of Tiger and the others, he nodded and uttered two words: "The amount is correct."

"Hahaha! That's great! That's awesome!" Tiger was overjoyed to see Wei Chen act so decisively and without any hesitation, and he slapped Wei Chen's iron-like arm hard.

"Doing business with you, brother, is so straightforward! It's so reassuring! Next time you have any high-quality goods, please remember me! Prices are negotiable! I'll pave the way for you!"

"No problem." Wei Chen said succinctly, casually stuffing a thick wad of money into the deep inner pocket of his oversized cotton-padded coat—in fact, the money had already been transferred into the absolutely secure game backpack compartment the moment it touched him.

"Pigs, you'd better deal with this quickly." He glanced at the mess in the room and the black pigs.

"Don't worry! Brother, you can rest assured!" Tiger patted his chest, making a loud thud. "We'll send them away before dawn! I guarantee they'll be spotless, not even a single pig hair will be left! I know the rules!" His eyes gleamed with shrewdness.

The transaction was completed, and both parties were satisfied with the result, making the atmosphere much more relaxed. After exchanging a few more pleasantries, Wei Chen excused himself and left, saying he had other matters to attend to.

Tiger personally escorted him to the door, watching his massive, mountain-like figure disappear into the unfathomable night like a giant beast. Only then did he let out a long, satisfying sigh, as if a thousand-pound burden had been lifted. Turning to his room full of men, his eyes gleamed with a wolfish green light, and he roared excitedly, "Don't you fucking stand there! Get the hell out of here! Get these gold nuggets sorted out! We're going to make a killing on this shipment! After the New Year, everyone's getting a big red envelope!"

At just past two in the morning, the chill in Beijing had penetrated to the bone, as if even the air itself was about to freeze. On the deserted streets, only Wei Chen's heavy, rhythmic footsteps echoed in the deathly silence, each step like a hammer blow to the frozen ground.

The dim streetlights cast his shadow long and distorted, like the projection of an ancient demon god, moving eerily across the cold, empty road.

Occasionally, militiamen would patrol on heavy-duty bicycles, their bells ringing out sharply in the silence, the dim beams of their flashlights sweeping across the street like searchlights.

Wei Chen deliberately chose to traverse the most secluded, winding, and deserted alleys, meandering like a night owl familiar with the terrain. His mental energy remained constantly alert, and after confirming there were no suspicious followers behind him, he stopped beside the ruins of a brick factory abandoned for many years, now only broken walls and the dark entrance to a massive brick kiln. His enormous figure vanished instantly into the cold air like a ghost.

The next second, he had reverted to his original slender figure as "Wei Chen," dressed in a thin cotton coat, appearing at the familiar doorway of the west wing of his family's courtyard house. He swiftly and silently opened the door, slipped inside, and locked the heavy wooden bolt behind him. His movements were fluid and graceful, so fast that he left only a blurry afterimage in the cold air, as if he had never left.

Inside, a heated wall provided warmth, like springtime. Wei Chen didn't light any lamps. He stood quietly in the darkness of the center of the room, like a stone statue blending into the shadows. The low hum of the flour mill, the roaring of the corn grinder, the terrified screams of the fat pig, Tiger's excited shouts, the clatter of counting banknotes—these extreme noises contrasted sharply with the now-returned, tomb-like silence, creating a dizzying and overwhelming effect.

The air still seemed to be filled with the fresh scent of flour, the rich aroma of corn, the pungent smell of pigsties, the ink of banknotes, and the dust of brick houses... a mixture of various odors assaulting the senses.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath of the cold, homey air, carrying a faint scent of soap. His thoughts drifted into his game inventory.

The thick stack of banknotes, totaling 2,756 yuan, was lying peacefully in its designated compartment in the backpack. Unbeknownst to me, the cash in my backpack had accumulated to more than 16,900 yuan.

Beside them were the savings from selling wild game in bits and pieces, as well as valuable grain coupons, oil coupons, and industrial vouchers... This family, without realizing it, had amassed a fortune that was astronomical in that era! An amount that an ordinary worker would have to save for more than ten years without eating or drinking!

Wei Chen silently curved the corners of his mouth into a smile, a relieved yet powerful smile spreading across his young face, only to vanish in an instant and disappear into the darkness.

A warm current dispelled the chill from his body, making him unusually clear-headed. He walked to the window and gently lifted a corner of the windowpane covered with Korean paper. The cool moonlight flowed in like mercury, casting a small patch of light on the ground.

In this dim light, the faint outline of the small chicken coop, built during the day, could be seen in the corner of the south wall of the courtyard. There seemed to be movement inside; the rooster, having adapted to its new environment, seemed to sense the approaching dawn and let out a low, yet remarkably clear, tentative crow.

"Gurgle—gurgle—!"

The sound was not loud, but it carried a sense of power that proclaimed a new life, crisply breaking the deep silence of the courtyard, like the first pebble thrown into a calm lake.

Deep within Wei Chen's consciousness, in the west wing of the mysterious hunter's cabin, two colossal steel behemoths slumber, awaiting their next roar. They represent a hidden yet powerful food production and processing chain, entirely under his control, leading to abundance and security. A continuous supply of wheat flour and golden corn will be the most solid foundation for this family's future.

Withdrawing his gaze, Wei Chen gently lowered the window. The chill in the room remained, but his heart burned like molten lava. He walked to the cold wooden bed, lay down fully clothed, and pulled the familiar scent of soap and sunshine over himself.

The night of the 25th of the twelfth lunar month finally reached its deepest point in the biting winds of Beijing. Outside the window, the sky remained as black as ink, but Wei Chen knew that dawn was not far off.