Rebirth in a Courtyard: I Am a Little Hunter

Wei Chen responded and pushed out his well-maintained, gleaming Forever 28-inch heavy-duty bicycle, its chain even oiled. He headed straight for the Wangfujing Department Store.

This place was the "holy land" in Beijing with the most abundant resources. Even in those difficult years, it was still bustling with people. The air was filled with the smells of sweat, dust, and a unique atmosphere of longing and anxiety characteristic of an era of scarcity.

The fishing tackle counter was tucked away in an inconspicuous corner on the second floor, its glass surface covered with a thin layer of dust, giving it a cold and deserted feel. The saleswoman was a middle-aged woman in her forties with a somewhat mean face, who was idly knitting an old sweater whose color was indistinguishable, the knitting needles moving rapidly.

"Comrade, buying fishing gear?" The woman didn't even lift her eyelids, her hands moving without stopping, her voice lazy.

"Hmm, could you please take a look at the fishing rod, as well as the fishing line, hooks, floats, and other accessories?" Wei Chen said calmly.

The woman then slowly put down her knitting needles and groped under the counter to pull out several long, thin objects wrapped in old newspapers.

"Here, that's all. Fiberglass? We don't have that foreign stuff here. Old bamboo poles, real stuff, they're a bit heavy, but they're sturdy and durable! They're handcrafted by an old master. Twenty cents each." She unwrapped the old newspaper, revealing several bamboo poles of varying shades and with distinct joints.

In those days, almost no one bought bamboo poles; they all bought fishing lines and cut bamboo poles themselves! Wei Chen was too lazy to cut bamboo poles himself, and they weren't expensive! On the other hand, this pole was really well made; it was clearly crafted by a skilled artisan.

Wei Chen picked up a bamboo stick and weighed it in his hand. It was quite heavy, with a yellowish-green skin and a natural resilience. He flicked the stick with his finger, and the sound was fairly crisp.

"Okay, I'll take two. What about fishing line? Do you have the best kind?"

"The best?" The woman curled her lip, as if she'd heard a joke. "Nylon thread, sold by the meter. Fifteen cents a meter. Tensile strength? More than enough to deal with the little fish in this Shichahai Sea!"

She bent down and pulled out several dusty cardboard boxes from under the counter. Inside were various sizes of sheet metal fishhooks, some of which had turned black at the tips, and a few crude white plastic floats.

"Fishing hooks are one cent each, you can choose the size. Floats are five cents each. Sinking weights? Figure it out yourself, just use a small screw cap or a toothpaste tube roll!"

Wei Chen wasn't too picky; these days, it's good enough to have something like this. He carefully selected two bamboo stalks with even joints and no cracks or scars.

"Nylon thread, could you please cut me... fifty meters?" He estimated the amount needed. The woman looked up at him with some surprise, seemingly astonished by the young man's "generosity," but without asking any questions, she quickly measured the length from a large spool of grayish-white nylon thread and cut it with a "snip."

I counted another twenty fishhooks of different sizes and five plastic floats.

"Two rods for 24 cents, 50 meters of line for 7.5 yuan, hooks for 20 cents, floats for 25 cents... totaling 8.19 yuan." She fiddled with the greasy wooden abacus beads.

Wei Chen readily counted out the money and corresponding receipts and handed them over. The salesperson carefully wrapped and tied the rod, line, hook, and float securely with old newspapers.

Wei Chen took the heavy bundle and stuffed it into his military green canvas satchel. After thinking for a moment, he got back on his bicycle and headed straight for the Friendship Store on East Chang'an Street.

The environment here is completely different from that of the department store. It is quiet, bright, with marble floors that are so shiny they reflect light, and the shelves are neat and orderly. The goods all exude an air of "special supply" luxury.

Standing in front of the sporting goods counter, his eyes lit up—several slender, straight fishing rods with a cold, metallic sheen stood quietly on the shelf! Next to them were exquisite spinning reels.

"Comrade, how much is this surf rod?" Wei Chen asked, pointing to one of the silver-gray surf rods with foreign letters printed on its body.

The sales clerk was a young man in a crisp blue-gray uniform with his hair neatly combed. His attitude was noticeably more enthusiastic and attentive than the one at the department store.

"Hello comrade, you have excellent taste!" The young man smiled as he took down the surf rod, his movements carrying the solemnity of displaying a work of art. "This is a 'Wolf King' brand surf rod imported from West Germany, equipped with an original 1000-type enclosed spinning reel. Made of carbon composite material, it's lightweight and tough, with excellent backbone, long casting distance, and smooth, silent reeling! Absolutely top-of-the-line equipment!"

He handed the pole to Wei Chen, "It's just... a bit pricey, a set costs thirty-five foreign exchange certificates. Or... the equivalent in national industrial coupons plus cash will also work." He added, observing Wei Chen's reaction.

Wei Chen took the fishing rod and found it indeed light and easy to hold, the carbon fiber feeling cool and smooth to the touch. He tried casting it lightly and found the balance to be excellent. He then picked up the small spinning reel and cranked the handle; the gears meshed tightly and smoothly, almost silently.

Good stuff! Although fishing for crucian carp in Shichahai is a bit like using a cannon to kill a mosquito, there's plenty of space in my space, so it's always good to have some on hand. You never know when you might need it. He readily pulled out a stack of brand-new national industrial coupons and a thick wad of cash: "I'll take a set. Please pack it carefully."

The young man's eyes lit up instantly, and his attitude became even more attentive: "No problem! I guarantee I'll pack it perfectly for you!" He quickly wrote the invoice, picked up the goods, and carefully packed them with thick kraft paper and thin string.

Tie it up. Watching Wei Chen leave carrying this expensive "foreign goods," the young man clicked his tongue in amazement: This young man is really generous! This price is equivalent to three months' salary for an ordinary level-two worker without eating or drinking!

Fully equipped, Wei Chen straddled his bicycle, a bulging canvas bag hanging from the handlebars and a fishing rod wrapped in kraft paper strapped to the back seat. He rode briskly towards...

Shichahai Lake. In the afternoon, the surface of Shichahai Lake shimmered with tiny sparkles in the breeze, and the weeping willows along the shore cascaded like green waterfalls over the water, creating a scene that should have been tranquil.

The scene was supposed to be a picturesque view. However, the reality was that the shoreline was overcrowded, like dumplings being dropped into a pot. From Yinding Bridge to the north bank of Houhai Lake, it was packed with people! Simple bamboo poles, homemade reels, dilapidated stools, empty buckets... there were one or more people squatting there almost every meter or two.

Fishermen. The air was thick with the stench of fish, sweat, and cheap tobacco, along with a lingering, anxious aura born of hunger—every gaze cast towards the water was filled with an almost devout focus and a deep-seated...

The desire for fish. Here, fish means precious oil, life-saving protein, and even hard currency to exchange for other supplies.

Wei Chen pushed the cart slowly along the dirt road on the west bank of Houhai Lake, the wheels making a soft, crunching sound as they rolled over gravel and withered branches. His eyes, sharp as a hawk's, scanned the area, searching for places that were relatively sparsely populated and preferably sheltered by some trees.

A place to settle down. After much difficulty, about a hundred meters west of Yinding Bridge, next to an old, gnarled willow tree with lush branches, we finally found a spot large enough to barely support the car.

In the gap. Just as I parked the car and took out the newly bought bamboo pole to start assembling it, an old man next to me, wearing a tattered straw hat, with skin as black as charcoal and a face full of deep wrinkles, started talking to me while smoking a pipe, the fire in the pipe flickering.

"Young man, new here, huh?" The old man took a puff of his pipe, his eyes still fixed on his fishing float, which remained motionless as if welded to the water's surface. His tone carried a hint of old Beijing's "commanding the world," "This place... the water's shallow, the silt's thick, the fish are few and far between, and they're all as clever as monkeys! It's hard to catch anything! If you want to make a living, you'll have to squeeze into the deeper waters!" He gestured with his chin toward a crowd of people in the distance.

"Yeah, first time here, just looking for some peace and quiet, and maybe I'll try my luck." Wei Chen smiled, said nothing more, squatted down, and deftly started...

He began by unscrewing the metal band at the rod tip, threading the nylon line through the guide ring, and skillfully tying a secure figure-eight knot at the rod tip.

Next, take out a small board and wrap the line around it a few times. Then take out a small fishhook and use your nimble fingers to tie a sturdy, secure "improved external knot" at the hook shank that is not easy to come off.

He attached a white plastic float and adjusted its position. Finally, he took out a small roll of lead from his canvas bag, tore off a narrow strip, and carefully wrapped it around the fishing line about twenty centimeters from the hook, securing it with his fingernail. The whole process was fluid and rhythmic, so much so that the old man next to him forgot to smoke, a hint of surprise flashing in his small eyes.

After doing all that, Wei Chen solemnly took out a palm-sized, well-sealed aluminum lunchbox from the inside pocket of his canvas bag.

The moment the lid was opened, a strange aroma, a mixture of rich sweet grain fragrance, fermented wine aroma, and a unique meaty smell, suddenly spread out! This was a special fish bait that Wei Chen had bought from the Game World General Store.

The aroma was overpowering and alluring, instantly overpowering the surrounding smells of sweat and smoke. The old man's nose twitched violently several times like a hunting dog, and his cloudy eyes widened in disbelief as he looked over.

"Wow?!" The old man couldn't help but exclaim in surprise, almost dropping his pipe. "Young man, your bait... is amazing! The smell... is really strong! Where did you find such a rare find?" He craned his neck, wishing he could stick his head into the lunchbox to see what it was all about.

"It's a folk remedy I just cobbled together myself, I don't even know if it'll work," Wei Chen replied vaguely, avoiding the old man's probing gaze.

He extended three fingers and pinched out a large clump of dark brown, oily bait from the lunchbox, exuding a deadly allure. He kneaded it vigorously with both hands a few times, then squeezed it into three fist-sized, firm, and smooth bait balls.

With a swing of his arm and a burst of power from his waist and abdomen, three muffled thuds echoed as the three bait balls traced beautiful parabolas and landed precisely in the same body of water seven or eight meters ahead.

As the bait ball enters the water, its peculiar aroma spreads rapidly underwater, like a bomb dropped into the water.

While waiting for the fish to start feeding, Wei Chen also put a small amount of bait on the hook, stretched out his arm, flicked his wrist, and with a "whoosh," the fishing line, with a slight whooshing sound, accurately sent the baited hook into the center of the feeding area.

The float stood steadily on the water. He sat cross-legged, closed his eyes, as if resting, or perhaps feeling the pulse of the water.

In reality, his mental energy, like countless invisible and extremely sensitive tentacles, had already silently sunk underwater. The murky water, the swaying seaweed, the insects searching for food in the mud... the underwater world was presented to him in exquisite detail.

Several crucian carp and common carp, about half a foot long, attracted by the strange and rich aroma, cautiously circled the three slowly spreading, deadly bait balls like sharks smelling blood, tentatively pecking at the scattered small particles. Deep in the water plants, there seemed to be a few slightly larger shadows lurking and watching.