Rebirth in a Courtyard: I Am a Little Hunter

Late autumn of 1959.

The sky over Beiping was always overcast, with leaden clouds hanging low over the bare locust tree branches in the alleyways. When the wind blew, it swept up withered yellow leaves and dust from the ground, carrying a biting chill.

The grain store had already hung up a wooden sign that read "Sold Out Today," and the price of grain on the black market street corner was like a kite with a broken string, rising every day. A silent anxiety permeated the air, like a taut string tightening in the hearts of every housewife.

Yi Zhonghai dragged his leaden legs out of the dusty door of the police station once again. The cold autumn wind blew into the collar of his faded old cotton-padded jacket, making him shiver, but it was nothing compared to the chill that had long since frozen in his heart.

He subconsciously pulled his coat tighter around himself, which offered little protection from the cold, and glanced back at the door—for more than two months, more than sixty days and nights, he had come here like a devout pilgrim, rain or shine, seeking a slim hope.

Now, even that slim hope has turned into Liu Fuguo's last, almost perfunctory sigh from inside the door: "Old Yi, go back. We'll let you know if there's any news."

Hope, like the last withered leaf of late autumn, has finally fallen completely. Five thousand three hundred yuan—Yi Zhonghai's life's work, dignity, and financial security for retirement—vanished silently in that cold night in the courtyard, leaving not even a ripple.

Yi Zhonghai has been having a tough time lately. He feels like he's no longer the respected Master Yi, the seventh-grade craftsman, or the authoritative old man. He's just a laughingstock in the courtyard of No. 95 Nanluoguxiang, who has lost all his possessions and become the subject of gossip.

Walking through the alley, he could feel those seemingly insignificant gazes—sympathy? pity? or schadenfreude? He didn't want to discern, so he simply lowered his head even further, his spine seemingly bent even more by that invisible weight.

As he passed the Jia family's door, the commotion inside made his already heavy steps falter. Jia Zhangshi's distinctive, sharp, and shrill voice, like a blunt instrument scraping the bottom of a pot, pierced through the thin door: "...Are you a reincarnated starving ghost! All you know is eating! Where do you think you'll find enough food to fill your bottomless pit! You worthless thing, if you cry again, I'll tear your mouth apart!"

And you, Qin Huairu! A jinx! You didn't even produce enough breast milk, what good are you all grown up! And you gave birth to a money-losing child, what good is she!

Then came Bang Geng's wailing, Xiao Dang's weak sobs, Qin Huairu's low, tearful attempts to comfort her, and Jia Dongxu's feeble mutterings: "Mom, please say less... Xiao Dang is still so young..."

Yi Zhonghai's brows furrowed into a tight knot. The Jia family—just thinking about those two words made his heart ache. They were the "elders" he had carefully selected and invested countless hours and a small amount of money in.

But now, this "investment" is on the verge of being completely lost. After the more than 1,000 yuan in Jia Zhangshi's pillow was exposed, she became even more protective of her money bag, as if she wanted to hug it even when she slept.

With Jia Dongxu's meager salary, supporting five mouths was simply a pipe dream in a year when food was more expensive than gold. After giving birth to Xiao Dang, Qin Huairu's health never recovered; her complexion was sallow, she was emaciated, and her breast milk was so thin you could see your reflection in it.

Xiao Dang was a few months old, his arms and legs as thin as sticks, and his big eyes looked even bigger and emptier. Bang Geng was at the age where a half-grown boy could eat his father alive, and he was always complaining about being hungry. Jia Dongxu had been coming to him more and more often to "complain" and "seek advice," and that mournful look in his eyes had almost become another form of nightmare for Yi Zhonghai.

Help? What can he offer? He himself is already mired in trouble and can barely save himself. But if he doesn't help... Yi Zhonghai's turbid eyes darted around, flashing with a cold light of resentment and calculation.

Jia Dongxu is his hope for retirement, Qin Huairu is the person to take care of him at his bedside, and Banggeng, Xiaodang... are the future continuation of the family line, even if it's just in name.

If they can't get over this hurdle now, they might suffer from hunger or become disaffected. If Yi Zhonghai is bedridden in the future, who will he rely on?

He dragged his heavy steps home, closed the door, shutting out the noise in the yard and the chill of late autumn, but also shutting out the deathly silence and despair that filled the house.

An elderly woman was mending an old garment under the dim light of a kerosene lamp. Seeing him return, she raised her weary face, her lips moved, but no sound came out. For the past two months, this home seemed to have lost its soul; even sighing felt superfluous.

Yi Zhonghai slumped into the creaking, dilapidated chair, closed his eyes, and unconsciously tapped his knees with his fingers. Money gone. Prestige vanished. What was left of his retirement savings? Suddenly, the scene of Jia Dongxu arriving yesterday evening vividly flashed before his eyes—

Jia Dongxu rubbed his hands, his face revealing undisguised anxiety and paleness: "Master...we're almost starving again. Banggeng is crying from hunger, Huairu has no breast milk, and Xiaodang is unsteady on his feet...My mother...you know, she's incredibly frugal, and with grain prices so high, she simply can't afford to spend her meager savings on expensive grain. My salary...Master, could you...lend me some more? Or perhaps share some of your grain? I...I promise I'll definitely..."

Yi Zhonghai felt a lump in his throat, a feeling of suffocation. He was barely scraping by with the meager food rations from the factory and his previous savings; how could he possibly have the resources to help others? Fortunately, he hadn't lost his savings book and still had some savings; otherwise, he wouldn't have been able to support himself.

But seeing Jia Dongxu almost in tears, and thinking about his "retirement plan," he finally softened, or rather, his calculations prevailed.

He silently got up, took an old cloth bag from the rice jar under the bed, weighed it in his hand, and finally gritted his teeth, scooped out about five pounds of cornmeal, put it into a small cloth bag, and handed it to Jia Dongxu, his voice dry: "Dongxu, this is all the power your master can muster. Take this for now, it'll help in a pinch. Life... has to keep going."

Jia Dongxu thanked him profusely and left with the bag of cornmeal. Yi Zhonghai, however, stared blankly at the half-empty rice jar for a long time.

Five pounds of cornmeal were more precious than five yuan at this time. But how many days could that last? Giving a man a fish is not as good as teaching him how to fish; relying solely on his meager remaining "fish," he would eventually run out of resources. He needed to find a stable way to "fish" (find fish).

His gaze once again fell through the window onto that familiar house in the courtyard—Sha Zhu's house. The pungent smell of alcohol seemed to still linger in his dulled sense of smell, but a thought even more burning than the alcohol suddenly surged up!

Sha Zhu! He Yuzhu! The head chef of the steel mill canteen! In this era where even a single grain of rice can save a life, what does the head chef of the canteen mean? It means being in a privileged position! It means that even a little bit of rice leaking from between his fingers is enough to satisfy the cravings of an ordinary family in an emergency!

Yi Zhonghai knew the canteen's rules—it was an unspoken "perk" for the chefs who cooked in large batches to take home some leftover, less appealing dishes. Now, in this year of famine, although there weren't many good dishes, they were still chefs from a large factory, so they could still take some of the leftovers home.

Sha Zhu is a cook, and a master chef with the skills to cook on the stove! Every day after get off work, his bulging canvas bag contains two aluminum lunchboxes that clink together. Everyone in the yard can guess what's inside!

Previously, Yi Zhonghai, mindful of his status, knew about it but never considered it. Firstly, he wasn't short of food, and secondly, he was afraid of gossip that would damage his image as an upright and just old man.

But now, what does he have left to lose? His image? It's already shattered! What he needs is a real bond, a "resource" that can maintain the Jia family and, consequently, his future retirement!

Sha Zhu is straightforward, easily influenced, loyal, and grateful, and... he seems to have a somewhat ambiguous pity for Qin Huairu. Most importantly, he's single; in his own words, "one person eats their fill, the whole family isn't hungry!"

A plan, like a poisonous bubble emerging from a dark swamp, slowly took shape and expanded in Yi Zhonghai's cold heart.

By using Sha Zhu's remaining supplies to help the Jia family, he not only solved the Jia family's immediate crisis and stabilized Yi Zhonghai's "retirement base," but also tied Sha Zhu, a hothead with decent fighting skills and some influence in the compound, even closer to his precarious and broken ship! Killing two birds with one stone!

Having figured things out, Yi Zhonghai's long-dormant heart suddenly pounded a few times in his withered chest, bringing a throbbing sensation mixed with pain and twisted excitement. From the depths of despair's ashes, a dark flame flickered up again, this time with even greater ruthlessness and unscrupulousness.

He suddenly opened his eyes, his gaze sharp and somewhat frightening in the dim light. "Cook two dishes for dinner, and take out that bottle of 'Lotus White' from under the cupboard," he ordered the middle-aged woman, his voice hoarse but carrying an undeniable determination.

An elderly woman's hand trembled as she threaded a needle, the needle piercing her fingertip and drawing a bead of blood. She looked up at her husband in astonishment. Since that night, there had been no smell of alcohol in the house, and they wouldn't use an extra drop of oil when cooking. Was this... a sudden change of scenery? "Husband, you... you were saving that wine..." she stammered.

"Just take it!" Yi Zhonghai interrupted impatiently, a hint of annoyance flashing across his face, before he forced a smile. "I've been living in a daze all this time, and I doubt I'll ever get that money back! But life goes on, and we have to keep looking forward. If I work hard, I'll pass the eighth-grade worker exam next year, and the five thousand yuan will be just a matter of three or four years! ... Zhu Zi is a good kid. I've neglected him a bit before. We've helped him before, and he's helped us a lot too. Sigh, let's treat him to a meal and have a chat."

The older woman's heart skipped a beat when she saw the mixture of exhaustion, calculation, and a strange excitement on her husband's face. She vaguely guessed what was going on, her lips moved a few times, but in the end she just silently lowered her head and replied, "...Sigh, I'll go see if there's anything else I can do." What else was there at home? She sighed and got up to rummage through the meager supplies.

Yi Zhonghai stopped looking at her, got up, pushed open the door, and walked straight to Sha Zhu's house. The late autumn evening wind was even colder, but he felt the burning desire in his heart making him feel hot.