Rebirth in a Courtyard: I Am a Little Hunter

Wei Chen nodded in satisfaction, pulled an old felt hat from under the wardrobe and put it on, pulling the brim down. He then picked up a piece of coarse black cloth and covered the lower half of his face. In this way, even the scar was mostly concealed. He put on his black cloth shoes with thick soles, the soles already covered in mud and dust, making them look like new shoes.

Once everything was ready, Wei Chen gently pushed open the door, stepped out, and left the door slightly ajar. He stood in the small courtyard of the east wing, took a deep breath of the cool night air, and felt a slight weight lift off his shoulders.

With a push from the toes, the whole person, like a feather lifted by the wind, silently swept towards the wall.

He didn't climb over the wall—climbing over a wall would involve a brief moment of airtime and the sound of landing. He clung to the wall, using both hands and feet in a manner almost like a gecko, and within a few breaths, he had scaled the top. The top of the wall was narrow, but he moved as if on flat ground, lowering himself and sliding smoothly down to the other side, landing on his feet without making a sound louder than the night wind rustling through the leaves.

Wei Chen stood in the alley and glanced back at the sleeping courtyard house. It was pitch black and completely silent. No one had noticed his departure. He turned and strode deeper into the alley.

Under the moonlight, the streets of Beijing were empty and quiet. Occasionally, the footsteps of night watchmen or security guards could be heard from afar, but they would soon disappear into the night.

Wei Chen walked along secluded alleys and lanes, avoiding any main roads where people might pass by. His pace was neither fast nor slow, but every step was silent. He knew the "pulse" of the city at night like the back of his hand, knowing where there would be patrols and where it was safe to pass.

After walking for about half an hour, he left the city and headed south along a dirt road half-covered by weeds. About half an hour later, an abandoned brick kiln appeared ahead.

The brick kiln was nestled against a low hill, surrounded by waist-high weeds and shrubs, appearing eerie in the night. It was a relatively secluded meeting point on the outskirts of the ghost market, the place where Wei Chen and Tiger had agreed to meet.

There were no lights in the brick kiln, but Wei Chen's night vision allowed him to clearly see a person sitting deep inside the kiln entrance. It was a middle-aged man, not tall, but broad-shouldered and thick-backed, wearing an old cotton-padded jacket and a dog-skin hat, with an unlit pipe dangling from his mouth, idly poking at a pile of burnt-out ashes in front of him. Hearing footsteps, he looked up and squinted at the kiln entrance.

Wei Chen walked in, stopped a few steps away from him, and lifted the brim of his felt hat.

The man recognized his face, grinned, revealing a set of teeth stained yellow by smoking: "Iron Tower, you're here. I thought you weren't coming tonight." His voice was hoarse, with a heavy Beijing accent.

This man was Tiger—few knew his real name, but in this ghost market, mentioning "Tiger" commanded respect from vendors of all sizes. He acted as a middleman, gathering supplies from various channels and reselling them at high prices. Anyone who could still hold onto food and meat during such a famine was definitely no ordinary person.

Wei Chen—or rather, "Iron Tower"—nodded slightly and sat down on a broken brick opposite him. Big Yellow hadn't come; he'd left it in a secluded spot outside the city to await orders. He lowered his voice, speaking in a slightly hoarse tone, completely different from his usual one: "Brother Tiger, things are getting tense lately."

"It's very tight." Tiger took a drag of his cigarette, exhaling a wisp of smoke. "The city's management team is like madmen, sweeping the streets every day. Last week, several stalls on the east side were raided, everyone was arrested, and all the goods were confiscated. There was also a middleman who was dragged out and paraded through the streets; he lost all face." He glanced at Wei Chen, "Your side... hasn't been affected, has it?"

"No," Wei Chen said succinctly. "I've always taken the road outside the city, not inside."

"That's good, that's good." Tiger breathed a sigh of relief, tapping his pipe. "These days, keeping a stable job is more precious than anything else. By the way—I sold those five pigs you had last month cleanly. In this climate, pork is worth more than life itself. Not just ordinary citizens, even factory managers and government officials are secretly asking around to see if they can get their hands on meat. Do you know what the market price for pork is right now?"

Wei Chen didn't reply, but simply tilted his head slightly, waiting for him to answer his own question.

"Three yuan a pound? That's a dream!" Tiger held up two fingers. "Five yuan, ten yuan! At least five yuan a pound, and there's no market for it! I can make that much profit just by reselling your five pigs." He gestured and grinned. "Brother Iron Tower, you're my god of wealth."

Wei Chen was silent for a moment before speaking, "Brother Tiger, the important thing today is to discuss future supply with you."

Tiger's smile faltered, and he sat up straight: "What do you mean?"

"You're aware of the current situation," Wei Chen said calmly, yet with an undeniable weight. "The whole country is suffering from a severe drought, crops have failed, and grain is more expensive than gold. What will the pigs eat? We don't even have enough to eat for ourselves, so where will we get the grain to feed the pigs? The number of pigs I can raise is also shrinking. Before, I raised five a month, but in the future... I can only reduce it to two."

Tiger didn't reply immediately. He narrowed his eyes, seemingly weighing the veracity of the information. After a moment, he slowly nodded: "You're right. These days, raising pigs is harder than raising people. If the feed runs out, the pigs will starve; if the pigs die, you have nothing to sell. Reducing to two pigs at least preserves this supply line." He paused, then asked, "Can it be stabilized? Two pigs, a stable supply?"

"Stable." Wei Chen said succinctly, "As long as the situation remains unchanged, it will be twice a month."

"Okay." Tiger slapped his thigh. "Twice a month, I'll give you this price." He quoted a price that was 10% higher than Wei Chen had expected. Wei Chen didn't haggle—he trusted Tiger, and Tiger knew his goods were worth this much. Transactions between the two never needed much talk.

Tiger exhaled a breath of stale air, rubbed his hands together, and was about to say some polite closing words when he saw that Wei Chen didn't intend to get up. Instead, he leaned forward slightly, and his eyes, still sharp as an eagle's in the dim light, seemed to be hiding something. Tiger's heart skipped a beat, and his pipe stopped in mid-air.

"Brother Tiger," Wei Chen said, his voice low and steady, "the pork deal is settled. However—I have another batch of goods on hand, I don't know if you'd like to buy them."

Tiger raised an eyebrow: "What kind of goods? Grain? Cloth? Oil?"

"fruit."

Tiger didn't react for a moment, blinking, "What?"

"Apples," Wei Chen said calmly. "I have a batch of apples, about a thousand pounds. They're uniformly sized, look good, are very sweet, and juicy. I'm thinking of trying your method to test the market."

Tiger was stunned. He had been a middleman for so many years, and he had seen people deal in grain, meat, and industrial coupons. He had even seen people secretly sell medicine and opium, but fruit... at this critical juncture, fruit was even rarer than dragon liver and phoenix marrow.

Throughout Beijing, not to mention apples, even rotten vegetable scraps had been looted. The fruit trees outside the city had long been stripped of their leaves; those that could bear fruit were either cut down for firewood or kept under close watch by forest rangers. In this era of widespread hunger, fruit had completely disappeared. Apples—he hadn't seen one in two years.

"You mean... apples?" Tiger's voice lowered unconsciously, tinged with disbelief. "How many kilograms? A thousand kilograms? Where did you get so many apples?"

Wei Chen didn't explain the source of the goods, but simply said, "You don't need to worry about that. Just tell me, can this shipment be shipped?"

Tiger was silent for a moment, then slowly broke into a smile. The smile spread from the corners of his mouth to his entire face, carrying the ecstatic joy of finding a gold mine: "He can walk! He can walk so fast! Brother Iron Tower, do you know what those big shots in those compounds, those rich guys, want to eat most these days? It's not meat, they can get meat occasionally; what they want is fruit! Fruit! That stuff is rarer than ginseng these days!"

He rubbed his hands excitedly, forgetting even to put on his pipe. "You wouldn't believe it! Last month, a department head from some government agency asked me to get him some fresh fruit. He said his old lady was sick and had no taste in her mouth, so she wanted something sweet. I searched the entire ghost market, but I couldn't find a single apple! In the end, I ended up buying half a basket of wilted crabapples from an old fruit farmer outside the city for a hefty price. That old man acted like he'd struck gold!"

He became more and more excited as he spoke, his voice trembling slightly: "If you can really produce a thousand catties of apples—a thousand catties! Good heavens, I don't even need to leave the ghost market; I can sell them all in the south of the city! Those cadres' families, those old-timers, they can afford the price, so they'll run out!" He suddenly slapped his thigh, "Brother Iron Tower, you're not just giving me meat, you're giving me gold bars!"

Wei Chen waved his hand, signaling him to calm down: "Brother Tiger, I have the stuff, but I have requirements regarding the price."

Tiger immediately straightened up and said, "Go on."

"First, this batch of apples won't be sold in bulk," Wei Chen said, emphasizing each word. "You're going for the high-end market. Sell them by the case, not individually. Ten pounds per bag, and the price... based on the market you mentioned, I'll give you a reference price: fifty yuan per case."

Tiger gasped. Fifty yuan for ten pounds of apples—two years ago, that price would have been outrageous. But in this year of famine, it seemed reasonable. He did the math: fifty yuan for a box, ten pounds, that's five yuan per pound. That's about the same price as pork. But apples are indeed a rare commodity now; those who can afford it won't care about a difference of one or two yuan.

"This price..." Tiger hesitated for a moment, "Okay. But I have to be clear with you, I can offer this price, but I need to keep at least 30% profit. That means, for a bag of apples, you get 35, I get 15. 55 for a bag! How does that sound?"

Wei Chen didn't answer immediately, but remained silent for a moment, as if calculating. After a while, he nodded: "Okay. Let's go with this ratio. We'll start with 100 bags, 1000 jin. If the market is good, we'll order more later."

"Great!" Tiger grinned, then, as if remembering something, lowered his voice and said, "But Brother Iron Tower, there's something I have to say upfront. When do you plan to deliver this batch of apples? And how? These days, let alone apples, it's hard to even find baskets to put them in. If you use regular sacks, they'll get crushed, and you won't get a good price."

"Three days later, same place," Wei Chen said. "Find some wicker baskets, and wrap each apple individually in straw paper so they won't get damaged. The packaging is up to you."