Rebirth in a Courtyard: I Am a Little Hunter

Tiger was taken aback again, then clicked his tongue in admiration: "Brother Iron Tower, I'm impressed. You're truly meticulous in your work." He paused, then seemed to remember something, "By the way, where did you get this thousand catties of apples? I don't mean anything by it, I'm just curious—in this day and age, is there still a place that can grow so many apples?"

Wei Chen did not answer the question, but only glanced at him with a calm look that carried an unspoken meaning.

Tiger immediately waved his hand knowingly: "Alright, I won't ask anymore. I know the rules. You have the goods, I have the channels, we each make our own money, everything else is nonsense."

He thought for a moment, then said, "How do you want to settle the payment? The usual cash? Or... do you want something else?"

This was precisely Wei Chen's other purpose in coming here tonight. He nodded slightly, his voice still unhurried: "Brother Tiger, you should have figured it out by now, I'm not short of money. Those bills are just worthless paper these days if they can't buy anything. What I want is something else."

Tiger narrowed his eyes: "An antique? A gold bar?"

"Yes." Wei Chen uttered two words. "The usual rules: porcelain, calligraphy and paintings, jade, goldware—old items, no restrictions, as long as they're genuine. You have wide connections and know many people, so you should be able to get these. It's a year of famine, and many families are starving. These ancestral items are just sitting at home, unusable for food or drink, so it's better to exchange them for grain. You help me collect these, and we'll use them to pay for the goods."

Tiger was stunned, then thoughtfully stroked his chin. Wei Chen's words surprised him. In these times, people had money they couldn't spend, and food coupons were more precious than life itself; who would think of antiques?

But then he realized—it was precisely because everyone was focused on food that those old items became unwanted "junk." Collecting antiques now was cheaper than picking up cabbages. Once the famine was over, the value of these things would probably increase tenfold or even a hundredfold.

"Brother Iron Tower, what's wrong with your head..." Tiger clicked his tongue in amazement. "I'm truly impressed. Others are focused on the food right in front of them, but you're thinking about things ten years from now. Fine, I'll take this on. I know a few old families, all of whom were once wealthy but are now starving. They do have some things—porcelain, calligraphy, paintings, jade—but they can't exchange them for grain. If you want some, I'll trade them grain and give you some other goods as payment."

He paused, then added, "But I have to make this clear first—although I, Brother Tiger, am a rough man, I know that doing business requires a conscience. We're aiming for long-term business! You trust me, so I won't cheat you. I'll have those old items appraised; they have to be genuine before I give them to you. It wouldn't be right to accept fakes. Of course, nobody in this business can guarantee anything; I can only say I'll try my best!"

A hint of satisfaction flashed in Wei Chen's eyes. He nodded: "I trust Brother Hu to handle things. That's fine! I have my own methods! As long as it's not a deliberate attempt to cheat me, I don't mind! Let's proceed this way. As for the money for the antiques—you can deduct it from the payment."

Tiger grinned: "Don't worry. I know an old scholar who used to appraise things in Liulichang. Now he's skin and bones from hunger. I'll give him a few pounds of grain, and he'll be willing to work for me. With him in charge, counterfeit goods won't get into my shop."

Wei Chen stood up: "Then it's settled. Delivery in three days. One thousand catties of apples, you can divide them then, one hundred baskets, willow baskets, wrapped in straw paper."

Tiger stood up and patted Wei Chen's shoulder forcefully (although it was a bit difficult for him to do so given their size difference): "Brother Iron Tower, I've met a lot of people in my life, but there aren't many like you who have both talent and brains. From now on, you'll be my lucky charm. As long as I have food to eat, you'll have a share too."

Wei Chen didn't respond, only nodding slightly in acknowledgment. He turned and walked out of the brick kiln, disappearing into the night. Behind him, Tiger stood at the kiln entrance, watching his departing figure, muttering to himself, "A thousand catties of apples... Goodness, to be able to get so many apples these days... Just who is this guy?"

Wei Chen walked back along the path he had come from, his steps still light and silent. The night wind blew with a chill, but his mind was already calculating his next steps.

Two pigs a month provide a stable supply and a guaranteed income. A thousand catties of apples are a trial, high-end product; if the market is good, other fruits—pears, persimmons, and even grapes and citrus—can be supplied later.

In the game world, he had already cultivated a sizable orchard, planting various fruit trees. With the help of planting techniques, it was like playing a farm game, with fruit frequently hanging from the branches. Fruits that were maddeningly scarce in the real world were simply readily available to him.

But he wouldn't invest too much at once. A thousand jin (500 kg) was enough. This quantity would earn a considerable profit without attracting too much attention. In an era where everyone was starving and emaciated, if a large quantity of fruit suddenly appeared on the market, it would inevitably attract the attention of those who wanted to investigate its source. He didn't want to take that risk.

As for antiques and gold—that's a longer-term strategy for him. Money depreciates, and ration coupons expire, but antiques that carry history and culture, and gold that is eternal and indestructible, can transcend time and maintain or increase their value in turbulent times.

His accumulation of wealth in this era couldn't consist solely of food and supplies; he needed a more stable form of wealth. Tiger was a suitable middleman; he had connections and resources, capable of both acquiring antiques and reselling goods. As long as he was given sufficient profit margins, Tiger would loyally work for him.

Wei Chen landed, stood still, and listened for a while—the courtyard remained deathly silent, with nothing unusual. He quickly went into the house, closed the door, took off his coarse cloth short jacket and trousers, and put on his original clothes.

He circulated his inner energy, and his bones and muscles slowly returned to their proper positions, his face regaining its handsome youthful appearance. He glanced at the sky outside the window—the moon had already set in the west, and dawn would break in two hours.

He lay back on the bed, closed his eyes, and his breathing quickly became steady and long, as if he had never left the room. Only the trace of mud from the wilderness outside the city on the edge of the soles of the pair of cloth shoes placed in the corner proved that he had been out. But tomorrow morning, he would wash that mud away without leaving a trace.

Outside the window, the cold wind still howled. The courtyard remained asleep. No one knew that on this seemingly ordinary night, the young man in the east wing had once transformed into a burly man called "Iron Tower," and in a brick kiln outside the city, he had made a new deal with a black market boss.

No one would know that he possessed an inexhaustible treasure trove, containing enough resources to feed all the hungry people in the courtyard in an instant.

He wouldn't let anyone know. In these hungry and difficult times, he chose to conceal his true intentions in the most discreet and inconspicuous way. Discreetness, and even more discreetness. This was his rule for survival.

Moonlight filtered through the gaps in the curtains, casting a soft shadow on his face. His breathing was steady and long, as if nothing had happened. And the sleeping courtyard house awaited the dawn.

The next morning, Wei Chen went to work at the factory as usual.

As dawn broke, some people in the courtyard were already up. The door to Yan Bugui's house in the front yard opened a crack, and the third aunt came out carrying a basin of water, poured it into the ditch in the corner of the wall, and then went back inside.

A cough or two came from the middle courtyard; it was Yi Zhonghai's voice. Wei Chen pushed his bicycle out of the east wing, crossed the middle courtyard, and as he passed the Jia family's gate, the curtain was lifted slightly, and Qin Huairu peeked out, holding an empty bowl. Seeing him, she forced a tired and strained smile: "Wei Chen, going to work?"

"Yes, Sister-in-law Jia!" Wei Chen nodded without pausing.

Qin Huairu watched his retreating figure, her gaze lingering on his worn-out bicycle for a moment before she looked down at the empty bowl in her hand—it was completely empty, not a single drop of porridge remained. She sighed, turned, and retreated back into the house.

Wei Chen rode his bicycle out of the alley and merged into the sparse crowd on the streets in the early morning. There weren't many pedestrians on the road, and most of them were in a hurry, their faces tired. Occasionally, you could see a few other people riding bicycles like him, heads down, silently hurrying on their way.

The entire city seemed shrouded in a thin, gray fog, and even the air carried an indescribable sluggishness. Most of the leaves on the roadside trees had fallen, and the bare branches stretched towards the gray sky like withered, dry hands.

Upon arriving at the steel rolling mill gate, he parked his car in the shed as usual, locked it, and headed straight for the security department. The security department's logistics office was a small, single-story building with several desks, regulations, and a factory map hanging on the walls. When he pushed open the door, Li Zhijun was already there, squatting on the ground, a row of disassembled rifle parts in front of him, and a basin of kerosene and a wad of cotton yarn beside him.

"You're here?" Li Zhijun looked up at him. "I've brought out all the guns that need maintenance today. Yours is on that table over there."

Wei Chen nodded, walked to his workstation, and took out tools from the drawer—a clean cotton cloth, a small bottle of gun oil, and several cleaning rods. He picked up a rifle, skillfully disassembled the bolt, immersed each part in the kerosene basin, and carefully wiped them with cotton yarn.

His movements were clean and efficient, with a mechanical precision and skill. This was part of his daily work—responsible for the routine maintenance of firearms for the factory's militia and security department. In those days, not many people could handle a gun, and those who could do this job in the security department were trusted and reliable members of the organization.