Rebirth in a Courtyard: I Am a Little Hunter

After washing up, the three of them went their separate ways. The morning mist gradually dissipated, and the outlines of the courtyard became clearer, but the oppressive, deathly atmosphere still lingered in every corner.

Occasionally, the faint clatter of pots and pans could be heard from one or two houses, but it was a very quiet sound, saving energy. No one spoke, no one visited each other, as if every word and every step required precious energy.

Yan Bugui returned to his house in the front yard, where his third aunt was cooking a pot of thick, translucent wild vegetable porridge on the stove. Seeing him enter, she lowered her voice and asked, "Old Yan, what were you talking about with Old Yi and the others?"

"It's nothing, just some things from the courtyard." Yan Bugui sat down at the table, picked up an old textbook, and pretended to flip through it. "The higher-ups have issued another notice. We need to figure out how to help those in need."

The third aunt curled her lip: "Help others? We're barely making ends meet ourselves, and you're helping others?" She carried the pot over and ladled a bowl of thin, almost transparent porridge into Yan Bugui's bowl. "Eat first, then you have to go to work."

Yan Bugui took the bowl, lowered his head and took a sip. The taste was as bland as plain water, with only a faint aroma of grain reminding him that this was indeed "food." He didn't complain, but just silently sipped it, as if trying to retain every bit of warmth in his body.

As evening approached, the sky gradually darkened. The light in the courtyard became dim and soft, and every household lit their lamps, but the lights were faint, revealing a sense of thrift and caution. Yan Bugui pondered for a while at home, and only when the courtyard was almost silent did he stand up, straighten his collar, and walk towards the east wing.

The door to the east courtyard was ajar. Yan Bugui stood at the door, cleared his throat, and knocked: "Is Wei Chen home?"

A soft footstep came from inside, the door opened, and Wei Chen stood behind it, wearing a faded blue work uniform with the sleeves rolled up to his forearms. His hands were still damp, as if he had just been washing something. Seeing that it was Yan Bugui, he nodded slightly, his tone calm but polite: "Third Uncle, you've arrived. Please come in and have a seat."

"Oh, good, good. The yard is so well tidied up, the vegetables are growing..." Yan Bugui smiled as he stepped over the threshold. Wei Chen's courtyard had a lot of open space, so Wang Xiulan had created a small vegetable garden, which made everyone in the compound extremely envious, especially the calculating Third Uncle! He was always green with envy whenever he saw it!

After ushering the Third Uncle into the main room, he glanced around Wei Chen's room and sighed inwardly. The room was so well-maintained; Yan Bugui always envied it for being so clean and tidy.

Wei Chen pulled a chair out from under the table and sat down next to it, pouring Yan Bugui a cup of hot water: "Third Uncle, have some water."

"Okay, okay." Yan Bugui took the enamel mug, warmed his hands, considered his words carefully, and then spoke, "Wei Chen, I'm bothering you so late because there's something I want to discuss with you."

Wei Chen didn't reply, but simply looked at him quietly, waiting for him to continue. That gaze was calm and steady, making Yan Bugui feel a strange pressure. He composed himself, lowered his voice, and briefly recounted to Wei Chen the secret meeting of the three old men last night, as well as the plan to purchase grain at the ghost market.

He specifically emphasized several key points: this is a unified action of the entire hospital, and participation is voluntary; it must be kept absolutely confidential, and no one is allowed to disclose it; there are also two joint actions every month, and each person makes purchases based on their own abilities when they arrive at the location. People with good relationships can help each other, but they bear the risks themselves, and if they are caught, they will bear the consequences themselves and cannot implicate others.

"Wei Chen," Yan Bugui said, looking at Wei Chen's face with a sincere tone, "every household in our entire compound is struggling. Although your family is small, in a year of great disaster, no one dares to say they have any surplus food."

"I'm in charge of the front yard and the east wing, so I came here specifically to ask if you'd like to join in. Don't worry, more people means more options. With more people, we can avoid being robbed and go to the ghost market together to buy some food to make up for the shortfall. You're part of our household too, so it wouldn't be right not to tell you. You see…"

After he finished speaking, he picked up the jar and took a sip of water, actually observing Wei Chen's reaction.

After listening, Wei Chen showed no surprise or hesitation. He simply listened quietly, then nodded slightly, his tone casual and natural: "Third Uncle, you're right. In years of great disaster, everyone is struggling. My family is no exception; our rations have been reduced, and we're barely making ends meet. It's a good thing that the whole compound is taking action together; I'll definitely go. Many hands make light work, and it's better than blindly searching on our own."

Upon hearing this, Yan Bugui finally relaxed. He had been worried that Wei Chen would refuse—after all, this young man had connections and abilities in the factory and might not be interested in such a risky business. Unexpectedly, Wei Chen agreed so readily, without the slightest hint of reluctance in his tone, as if he had been waiting for someone to arrange this for him.

"Good! Good!" Yan Bugui's smile became more sincere. "Wei Chen, I'm relieved that you think this way. Don't worry, I've explained the rules to you clearly—secrecy is paramount, don't spread it; there won't be many people going each time, just a few will be enough, we're just sticking together for warmth. If you have any ideas, feel free to tell me anytime."

Wei Chen nodded: "Alright, Third Uncle. I have no other ideas, just one thing—since the rules are set, let's follow them. When to go, how to go, I'll follow your arrangements."

Yan Bugui nodded repeatedly, "Of course, of course. I'll discuss it with Lao Yi and Lao Liu, set a date, and then let you know." He stood up, preparing to take his leave.

He couldn't help but ask another question, "By the way, Wei Chen, are you... short on cash? Things at the Ghost Market aren't cheap; they're several times more expensive than at the grain store. If you're short on cash, talk to Uncle San first." He wasn't being kind; he'd just been observing Wei Chen's character for a year and found him reliable, so he wanted to borrow some money to earn some profits.

Wei Chen smiled and said, "Don't worry, Uncle, I still have some savings. I'll ask you for help when things really come to that."

"That's good, that's good." Yan Bugui was completely relieved. He gave a few more polite instructions such as "take care of yourself" before turning around and leaving.

Walking into the courtyard, he glanced back at the two rooms in the east wing whose lights were already off, and silently thought to himself: This Wei Chen is quite a shrewd man. He knows when to stand out and when to play it safe. No wonder he's so successful in the factory.

Little did he know, in the room behind him, Wei Chen closed the door and stood quietly in the darkness for a moment. He walked to the cellar entrance, which was covered by blue bricks, squatted down, and lifted a corner of the wooden plank. A cool breeze, mixed with the aroma of earth and food, wafted out of the cellar.

By the faint moonlight filtering through the window, one could see a dozen or so large, rough earthenware jars neatly stacked in the cellar, their openings sealed tightly with oilcloth. Inside were piles of white rice, golden millet, finely ground cornmeal, and winter-stored vegetables such as potatoes, sweet potatoes, radishes, and cabbage.

On the wooden shelf against the wall hung several strings of dried bacon and sausages, and in the corner were piles of large pumpkins and even a small jar of pickled salted duck eggs. These supplies would be more than enough to last until next spring, or even for another year or two. In the 1960s, when famine was rampant, this cellar was practically a gold mine that drove people crazy.

But Wei Chen looked at these things without a trace of pride or satisfaction on his face. His gaze was calm to the point of being indifferent, as if the food in front of him, which could drive anyone crazy, was just a pile of ordinary objects.

He put the wooden planks back on, pressed down the blue bricks, and walked to the table to sit down. He didn't light a lamp, just sat there in the dark, his mind racing.

When Yan Bugui invited him to participate in the ghost market grain purchasing plan, he was already prepared. This plan was utterly meaningless to him—he didn't need anything from the ghost market. But he agreed almost without hesitation.

The reason is simple: he needs this identity of "participation".

In years of great famine, everyone is starving, and everyone is worried about having enough to eat. If he appears too relaxed and not lacking in food, it will only attract attention.

Although everyone in the courtyard was just getting by, there were always a few pairs of eyes that would inadvertently sweep over other people's stoves and rice bins. Wei Chen didn't want to become the focus of those eyes.

Participating in the black market scheme meant that he, like everyone else, faced food shortages and needed to risk going to the black market to find food. This put him in the same boat as all his neighbors, sharing a common secret, common risks, and a common "legal" status of food shortage. This camouflage was more important than anything else.

More importantly, by participating in this matter, he reassured the people in the compound that he was doing well; the three old men would have been even more worried if he hadn't gone!

The three elderly men were the core of power in the courtyard. Their operation was essentially a trust screening process across the entire compound. Those willing to participate were considered "one of us"; those unwilling, or excluded, were implicitly excluded from the circle. Wei Chen didn't want to be watched by them every day; he needed to maintain the image of an ordinary, sociable, and unremarkable neighbor.

He stood up, walked to the window, and looked through the glass at the pitch-black courtyard outside. In the distance, from the direction of the central courtyard, he could faintly hear one or two low coughs—it was Yi Zhonghai's voice. Then silence fell again.

Wei Chen returned to the bedside, took off his work clothes, folded them neatly, placed them next to his pillow, and lay down. In the darkness, his eyes were open, staring at the ceiling, silently planning each step forward.

Then he flashed into the game world and began a day of harvesting...