Rebirth in a Courtyard: I Am a Little Hunter

As Jia Dongxu listened, he secretly grimaced, but his face still showed a distressed expression: "Master, your family is big and your business is well-established. No matter how difficult it is, you are better off than us! You have two people to feed and your whole family is not hungry, but I... I have to earn money for five mouths to feed! Next year... if I don't pass the Level 2 worker exam next year..." He revealed a look of despair at the right time.

Yi Zhonghai knew his apprentice was bad at speaking, but he had never seen anyone so bad at speaking. What did he mean by saying that the two of them were full and the whole family wasn't hungry? Wasn't that an insult to him for not having children? Yi Zhonghai suppressed his anger.

"Taking the technician certification exam can't be rushed." Yi Zhonghai pretended to be earnest and put on the airs of a master. "Skills are something that takes time to develop. You have the foundation, but you're not calm enough and your hands aren't steady enough."

After the New Year, get back to work, practice your basic skills, and focus on honing your technical abilities. Becoming a Level 2 technician isn't as difficult as it seems. Once you pass the exam, your salary will increase, and life will naturally become easier." He painted a rosy picture, but never mentioned any substantial help, such as private guidance or using his connections.

Jia Dongxu was furious! It was that same old empty talk again! He needed real help, not this vague encouragement! He looked at Yi Zhonghai with pleading eyes, his longing almost overflowing: "Master, I understand the道理 (principles/reasoning), but... but right now, with the year drawing to a close, my family is really... starving..." His implication was very clear.

Yi Zhonghai sneered inwardly, but outwardly feigned a troubled yet soft-hearted expression. He hesitated for a moment, as if making a great decision, and then lowered his voice, saying, "How about this, Dongxu? After all, you're my apprentice. I think I still have a few pounds of cornmeal at home, which your master's wife bought a while ago and hasn't been touched. I'll have your aunt deliver it to you later, just to tide you over. In this year, you have to fill your stomach first."

A few pounds of cornmeal? Jia Dongxu almost choked. He'd gone to so much trouble pleading poverty, and all he got was a few pounds of cornmeal? This was far from what he'd expected! He wanted refined grains, money, meat! At the very least, some wheat flour, right? Cornmeal… was this some kind of beggar's treat?

He cursed Yi Zhonghai a thousand times in his heart, calling him a "stingy old man" and a "hypocrite," but on his face he had to force a grateful smile and bow repeatedly: "Oh! Thank you, Master! Thank you so much! You are truly my benefactor! You have saved me from my urgent crisis! I... I thank you on behalf of Huai Ru and my mother!" His voice was exaggerated and affected, full of theatrics.

Yi Zhonghai nodded in satisfaction, as if he had done a great deed: "Alright, alright, no need to thank me. It's only right for master and disciple to help each other. Hurry up and put the meat away so people don't crowd around."

He patted Jia Dongxu on the shoulder, picked up his own thick piece of pork, straightened his back, and walked steadily toward the canteen, leaving Jia Dongxu standing there, clutching the flimsy pay slip and the "meager" piece of pork in comparison. The smile on his face instantly vanished, leaving only disappointment and resentment in his eyes.

At noon, the steel rolling mill canteen became the noisiest and most vibrant place in the entire factory. The huge space was bustling with voices, filled with steam, and the air was thick with the aroma of stewed cabbage with vermicelli, radish soup, steamed cornbread, and... that unforgettable smell of pork! Today, the canteen's large pot of food had slicks of oil floating on top, and you could even see some minced meat—thanks to the welfare meat allowance, the canteen had added a rare touch of meat.

Wei Chen carried his lunchbox, which contained two steamed buns made with a little bit of wheat flour, a box of stir-fried shredded potatoes, and a meat dish. He tried to eat like everyone else at the factory, so as not to stand out.

He found a relatively quiet corner to sit down. Just as he sat down, Old Zhang and Little Li came over with their lunchboxes. Old Zhang, with his sharp eyes, immediately spotted the shredded pig's ear in Wei Chen's lunchbox, his eyes lighting up: "Wow! Wei Chen, you've got some good stuff! It smells delicious!"

Xiao Li sniffed hard, looking envious. "Exactly! Wei Chen, you're living such a comfortable life!"

The three chatted as they ate, and the topic naturally returned to the factory's welfare benefits. "This year's meat distribution is really encouraging!" Old Zhang took a big bite of his cornbread, enjoying it with some oily cabbage soup. "When I was queuing up to get mine, I weighed it in my hand, and this piece of fat is at least a finger's thickness! I'll render the lard at home, and make dumplings with the cracklings—delicious!"

"That's right!" A middle-aged worker at the next table, whom I didn't recognize, chimed in, his face beaming with satisfaction. "My wife and kids have been craving meat for a year! This year we can finally satisfy their cravings! The factory did a great job!"

"I wonder what next year will bring..." another voice said with some worry. "I heard that harvests are poor in many places, and grain supplies are tight..."

"Hey! Why think so far ahead! Let's focus on having a good New Year!" Old Zhang waved his hand, interrupting the man's worries. "With this pound of meat on the table, I feel at ease! Besides, our steel rolling mill is a key plant; we won't let our workers down!"

Similar conversations filled the canteen. The workers, their faces beaming with satisfaction, discussed how to use the precious pork: to make dumplings? To braise it? Or to render the fat and store it for later? Every plan was filled with hope for life and a deep appreciation for this rare delicacy. In an era of extreme scarcity, a pound of pork was enough to be the pillar of a family's spirit for the New Year and their most prized possession.

Wei Chen ate his meal quietly, listening to the surrounding noise and feeling the strong, working-class New Year's atmosphere. His gaze inadvertently swept across the entrance of the canteen.

Yi Zhonghai walked in carrying his lunchbox. He found a relatively quiet spot to sit down and ate slowly and methodically. His composure and the dignity befitting an eighth-grade worker were a sight to behold in the noisy canteen. The food in his lunchbox looked quite ordinary, but he ate with unhurried ease.

Immediately after, Jia Dongxu also came in, looking dejected. He clutched the one-pound piece of meat he was entitled to as a welfare gift tightly in his hand. He found a seat not too close to Yi Zhonghai and carefully placed the meat next to his lunchbox, as if afraid someone would touch it.

He looked at the bland stewed cabbage and two cornbread buns in his lunchbox, then glanced at the occasional splatter of oil in his coworker's lunchbox, and finally his gaze involuntarily drifted to Yi Zhonghai's piece of meat, which was wrapped squarely in oil paper and was obviously much fatter, placed at his feet.

His Adam's apple bobbed again, his eyes filled with complex emotions—envy, jealousy, and above all, a deep sense of powerlessness and resentment towards his master Yi Zhonghai's "few pounds of cornbread." He silently ate his cornbread, finding it utterly tasteless.

Wei Chen withdrew his gaze and picked up a mouthful of glistening shredded potatoes. A faint, warm sense of satisfaction flowed through his heart.

The hustle and bustle of the canteen continued, the aroma of food mingling with the laughter of the workers, creating a heartwarming symphony of life for ordinary people amidst the steel torrent of life during this difficult era.

Beneath this clamor lie the different plans, different circumstances, and the deep-seated, undying desire for "profit" and "abundance" of each household.

On the other side, a courtyard house.

After Wei Chen left for work on his bicycle, the hustle and bustle of the steel mill temporarily subsided in the courtyard. Under the crisp winter sun, this ancient courtyard quietly began to stir with a different kind of busyness, more down-to-earth and full of anticipation – the prelude to the end of the year was being drawn up by the housewives of each household.

In the front yard, the square table belonging to Uncle Yan Bugui had been moved early to the relatively flat open space in the center of the yard. On the table, an antique inkstone, an ink stick with mottled ink stains, several brushes of different sizes, and a stack of cut red paper were arranged neatly.

Yan Bugui wore a slightly worn dark blue cotton-padded jacket, the cuffs worn shiny, and a pair of his signature old-fashioned reading glasses with the legs taped to his nose. He paced back and forth by the table, his face displaying an expression that was a mixture of scholarly reserve and worldly shrewdness, as he sized up the neighbors who were gradually gathering around him.

"Uncle, you'll have to work hard again this year!" Aunt Zhao from the front yard greeted him with a smile, carrying a vegetable basket. "Yes, Teacher Yan, your calligraphy is the face of our neighborhood!" another neighbor flattered.

Yan Bugui adjusted his glasses with a reserved air, waved his hand, and said in a slightly melodious voice, "Well, we're neighbors, so don't worry about how hard it is. It's the New Year, everyone wants to have a festive and auspicious time! As usual, I write Spring Festival couplets and the character '福' (good fortune) for free!"

As soon as he finished speaking, someone chimed in, "Uncle San is so kind and righteous!" "That's right! With Uncle San in our courtyard, the New Year feels a bit more refined!"

Yan Bugui's smile deepened, but he quickly changed the subject, adding a touch of perfectly timed embarrassment: "However... these red paper and ink sticks also cost money. I don't expect everyone to spend money, it's just that in this freezing weather, my wrist gets sore from writing so much..."

"If any of you have extra peanuts, melon seeds, or other snacks at home, feel free to give me a small handful. Consider it a little treat to improve my calligraphy skills and add some food for the New Year. It'll also satisfy my little rascals' cravings. What do you all think?" He spoke these words flawlessly, both boasting of his selflessness and clarifying the essence of "improving calligraphy skills"—using the cheapest and most readily available snacks in exchange for his calligraphy, which was considered quite presentable in the courtyard.

Not charging money is calculating; charging a little snack is even more calculating. Too much seems greedy, too little isn't worth it, and without a ticket, you're nothing. These peanuts and melon seeds are just right, satisfying both appearance and pride.

"Of course! Of course!" Everyone smiled knowingly in agreement. Soon, people gathered around with pre-cut red paper, announcing the auspicious wishes they wanted.

Yan Bugui dipped his brush in ink, held his breath, and with his wrist suspended in the air, his brush moved like dragons and snakes. One after another, full and rounded "Fu" characters, carrying the fragrance of ink, and one after another, well-matched and auspicious Spring Festival couplets, flowed from his brush.