Rebirth in a Courtyard: I Am a Little Hunter

Banggeng held his younger sister Xiaodang's hand tightly. The two children stared with wide, terrified eyes at their wailing grandmother and their swaying mother. Although they couldn't fully understand the meaning of those numbers, they truly felt the terrifying atmosphere of "no food to eat" and "starving to death."

Xiao Dang's lips trembled, on the verge of tears, but Bang Geng squeezed his hand hard, forcing him to hold back. Deep in the boy's eyes, besides fear, lay a trace of premature, cold resentment—resentment towards everything.

In the backyard, Xu Damao's face was ashen, his teeth grinding together. He wasn't worried about his family; he was worried about himself! When had Xu Damao ever suffered like this? Only one and a half percent of refined grains remained? Meat and eggs were completely cut off? What kind of life was this?

His mind raced. Stricter crackdowns on the black market... that meant greater risks and higher prices! Could his shady little trinkets still buy him enough food?

Sha Zhu stood leaning against the frame of the moon gate, head bowed, his expression unreadable. But his clenched fists and slightly trembling shoulders betrayed the immense turmoil within him. He was a cook, and knew better than anyone the preciousness of food and the horror of its scarcity.

The canteen was already struggling to keep up with the demand, and now with further reductions in rations, the workers were eating even worse, their resentment only growing stronger, making his job as cook even more difficult. He was hungry himself, and so was Yushui. Grandpa Yi, who had occasionally saved a little to help him before, would likely find it harder in the future. A deep sense of powerlessness and anger surged within him, yet he could find no outlet.

Yi Zhonghai watched Jia Zhangshi wailing, and saw the desperate faces in the courtyard. His heart felt like it was being cut by a dull knife. He opened his mouth, wanting to say something like, "Everyone should understand the country's difficulties," or "Unite and help each other," but found these words so pale and powerless at this moment. Understand? How could one understand when they were starving? Help each other? Who had the resources to help each other? Even with his own meager ration, it was uncertain whether he could spare any to help Sha Zhu in the future.

Listening to Jia Zhangshi's wailing, Liu Haizhong felt more annoyed than sympathetic. He thought this old woman was being incredibly irresponsible, her wailing was demoralizing! He wanted to reprimand her and assert his authority as the second uncle, but seeing the ashen faces of everyone, he swallowed his words. His own ration had also been drastically reduced, and he had no idea whether he could maintain his "level six worker" status and his family's basic needs in the future.

Yan Bugui, however, experienced a different kind of panic. His mind raced with calculations, but the more he did, the colder his heart grew. The deficit was enormous! Saving money alone wouldn't be enough to survive. Wild vegetables? Those had long been dug up. In some places, they were even eating tree bark; would they really have to eat clay in the future? He dared not think further.

Other families faced their own unique misery. Families with two working parents fared slightly better, but only "slightly," as the burden of financial reductions still fell. Families with only elderly people and children were even more shrouded in gloom.

Jia Zhangshi's wailing gradually turned into intermittent, weak sobs, until finally she slumped to the ground, staring blankly into the void, muttering, "It's over...it's all over...there's no way out..."

Her appearance seemed to be a reflection of the feelings of everyone in the hospital at that moment.

Yi Zhonghai knew he couldn't let this emotion continue, even though he himself was on the verge of collapse. He slammed his hand on the table, making a dull thud, and raised his voice, though it was hoarse and weary:

"Quiet down! Quiet down!" He looked around at everyone, his gaze heavy. "Crying and shouting won't solve anything! This is the situation now, the whole country is the same! It's not just targeting our hospital! Director Wang from the neighborhood committee said we should trust the country, that the difficulties are temporary! Our hospital has always been a united and advanced hospital! Especially in times like these, we must not panic! We must understand each other and get through this together!"

He paused, struggling to organize his thoughts: "Starting tomorrow, everyone should carefully review their food ration books and calculate the new quotas. Every bit saved counts... Coarse grains are fine, substitutes will keep you full... Wild vegetables... everyone should keep an eye out for them. As for those whose household registration isn't in the city..." He glanced in the direction of the Jia family's house, his tone becoming even more strained, "The neighborhood committee knows about the situation of those in need and will... will consider it on a case-by-case basis. Everyone, go home now, save your energy, tomorrow... tomorrow you have to go to work, and you still have to think of ways to help..."

His words offered no comfort, but only added an even more despairing end to this declaration of despair.

The meeting ended. People, like a group of ghosts, silently and slowly carried their benches back to their dark rooms. There was no conversation, no discussion, and even the exchange of glances conveyed a deathly indifference. A huge, real existential crisis, like an airtight iron net, tightly enveloped the entire courtyard, suffocating everyone and rendering them speechless.

The courtyard quickly returned to its empty state, with only the kerosene lamp burning lonely on the table, its weak flame illuminating the equally weary and bewildered figures of the three old men. Autumn wind swept through the deserted courtyard, swirling up a few withered yellow leaves, making a soft rustling sound, adding to the infinite desolation.

That night, the lights in the courtyard were turned off earlier than usual. But behind almost every window, there were eyes that could not be closed, eyes filled with fear and despair.

The new food shortage policy, like an even sharper guillotine, hung over the heads of every family. Those already struggling on the brink of starvation were now sentenced to death. The future was no longer about simply getting by, but about... struggling to fall into an endless, deeper darkness.

Inside the Jia family's house, faint, suppressed, intermittent sobs could be heard, along with Qin Huairu's barely audible, choked humming as she tried to lull a child to sleep. The humming was out of tune, more like an unconscious, desperate lament.

Grain coupons were like knives, each cut drawing blood, slashing at everyone's lifeline. That late autumn night, the chill of the courtyard house seeped into the very bones.

The leaves of the old locust tree in the courtyard had all fallen in the autumn wind, leaving only bare, gnarled branches, like pairs of thin, bony hands reaching desperately towards the gray sky. The entire courtyard seemed to have entered a long, lifeless winter along with the old tree.

Ever since that night when the entire hospital convened to announce the further tightening of food rations, the passage of time seemed to become viscous and heavy. Days were no longer about "passing" them, but about "enduring" them—using their last breath to push forward, bit by bit.

The Jia family's life became the most tragic microcosm of the entire courtyard, especially compared to their previous quality of life.

At the beginning of the month, Jia Dongxu received his meager wages and food coupons. He gave three yuan to Jia Zhangshi for her retirement, kept two yuan for himself, and gave the rest to Qin Huairu for the family's food. Qin Huairu, like a miser, carefully locked it into the old wooden box. The family looked at those few things, their eyes filled with a mixture of greed, worry, and fear. They all knew that no matter how carefully they budgeted, these things would definitely not last more than a month.

In the first ten days of the month, she could barely manage to eat "half full"—meaning the cornmeal porridge at each meal was only slightly thicker, and the cornbread was slightly less firm and couldn't be shaped properly. But Qin Huairu had to strictly control it, with the daily food intake precisely measured in ounces.

Like a ghost, Jia Zhangshi would stand hunched over by the stove, her bloodshot, triangular eyes fixed on Qin Huairu's hands, as if afraid she would add even a fingernail's worth of extra grain. Qin Huairu, with her back to her, would tremble slightly with each addition of water to the pot. The two children, five-year-old Banggeng and one-year-old Xiaodang, would squat by the stove, watching the thin broth bubbling in the pot, their mouths watering.

"Mom...when can we eat?" Banggeng asked softly, his voice filled with a suppressed urgency that shouldn't be there for someone his age.

"Almost there, almost there." Qin Huairu said without turning her head, her voice choked with emotion. She didn't dare turn around, didn't dare look into her son's eyes, which appeared unusually large due to hunger. Banggeng wasn't like this before.

Before the food shortage, Bang Geng was fed until he was plump and healthy, with a round face, big eyes, and a speed like a small cannonball. He was the well-known "fat boy" in the yard.

But in just a few days, her round face had sunken in, her chin had become pointed, and her chubby little hands had become thin. However, because she was thin, her eyes appeared larger and darker, filled with a longing for food that was inappropriate for her age.

Little Dang was still young and didn't understand much; she just instinctively felt hungry. She leaned against her brother, her little mouth pouting, occasionally letting out a few weak, kitten-like whimpers: "Brother... hungry..." She could barely cry properly; her throat was dry and hoarse, and her tears were almost all gone.

By mid-month, the grain bins were emptying much faster than expected. Cornmeal had been turned into a watery "volume porridge"—a large pot of water with a small handful of cornmeal, then filled with vegetable leaves, bran, and even crushed corn cob powder. It made your stomach feel bloated, but a moment later, an even stronger, empty feeling of hunger would set in.

When has the Jia family ever lived like this! Madam Jia began to curse incessantly, cursing Qin Huairu for being poor at managing money, cursing Jia Dongxu for being incompetent, and cursing God for being blind. But her cursing gradually subsided, because cursing also required energy.

By the end of the month, everything edible had been scavenged. The grain bins were empty; even the cornmeal had been rinsed countless times with water, tasting only of cloudy rice water. The Jia family was facing starvation. A complete, utter, and utterly hopeless starvation.

Qin Huairu could no longer conjure any food from the empty jar. She sat before the stove, staring at the cold, empty iron pot, tears silently streaming down her face, each drop falling into the endless darkness. She dared not cry out loud, afraid of provoking even more pitiful wails from her children. She could only bite her lip, swallowing all her sobs and despair.

As night fell, the Jia family did not light any lamps. The five people lay or sat in the darkness, listening to the unpleasant rumbling of their stomachs, one after another. It was the cry of hunger from within their bodies.

Banggeng lay curled up on the kang (a heated brick bed), covered by the thin cotton quilt with countless patches, motionless. He was so hungry that he didn't even have the strength to turn over. He vaguely remembered the old days—his grandmother would boil eggs for him every few days, he had plenty of white flour steamed buns, and although braised pork wasn't a regular occurrence, he could at least have some oil and fat a few times a month.

Back then, he was a picky eater, complaining that the cabbage stalks were too tough and that the cornbread was too hard on his throat. But now… he licked his chapped lips and realized that even the hard, crumbly cornbread he used to hate would be something he would swallow without hesitation if it were in front of him now.

"Mom... I want to eat white flour steamed buns..." Banggeng said in a dreamlike voice, so soft that it was almost inaudible.