Rebirth in a Courtyard: I Am a Little Hunter

"Dried green beans, 8.3 jin... dried eggplant, 6.5 jin... daylily, 3.2 jin... eggs, 93... two dried wild rabbits, weighing 5.8 jin... one dried pheasant, weighing 1.9 jin..."

As Wu, the warehouse keeper, muttered to himself, the abacus beads clicked and clattered. Finally, he gave the abacus beads a sharp turn and announced a number: "Forty-five yuan and thirty-seven cents! Here, I'll give you the receipt!" He picked up a pen and quickly wrote down the product name, quantity, unit price, and amount in the blank space below the receipt. He then signed his name, stamped it, tore off the receipt copy, and handed it to Wei Chen. "Here, take this. Go to the finance department to report the advance payment. Just hand over the receipt."

"Okay, thank you, Master Wu!" Wei Chen took the receipt, looked at it carefully to make sure it was correct, and then carefully folded it and put it into his wallet. Forty-five yuan! This meant that he had completed ninety percent of this month's two hundred yuan purchase target! There was still nineteen yuan and twenty cents short on the books, and there were still nearly three weeks left.

Watching the storekeepers laboriously carry the large packages of supplies into the dark warehouse, Wei Chen's lips curled into a barely perceptible, relaxed smile. He put away his wallet and walked briskly out of the logistics warehouse. Outside, the early summer sun was already quite scorching, but Wei Chen's mood was like the clear mountain spring in the hunter's cabin.

For the next two weeks, he could finally break free from the constraints of the "mission" and enjoy being a "leisurely person in Beijing." He could familiarize himself with the city, observe the sights, understand the intricacies of this vast city, and, more importantly, explore the ghost market hidden deep in the night.

Tired or hot? He could always escape into that cool, game-like world. He pushed his bicycle, the wheels turning nimbly, the chain making a pleasant sound, carrying him into the flow of people going to work at the steel mill, yet with a completely different, leisurely goal, riding towards the wider, more mysterious world outside the factory gates. The panorama of Beijing was waiting for him to slowly unfold.

The bicycle glided nimbly through the two heavy iron gates of the Red Star Steel Rolling Mill. Wei Chen deliberately avoided the crowds and turned into a relatively quiet back street. The wheels rolled over the potholed asphalt, making a rhythmic, soft sound.

He took a deep breath, leaving behind the thick, unyielding industrial smell of rust, soot, and engine oil. What greeted him was the unique, more complex and vivid local flavor of Beijing in the early summer of 1958.

The sun began to show its power, scorching the streets. Near Jianguomen, beneath a section of dilapidated old city wall, the scene was shocking. Several small blast furnaces hastily built with red bricks and refractory clay were spewing thick black smoke, and the air was filled with the pungent smell of sulfur and cheap coke, almost suffocating.

A group of workers, dressed in various overalls, vests, or even shirtless, their faces and arms covered in soot, were chanting as they laboriously tossed baskets of scrap iron collected from various places—even rusty, still-usable old iron pots and door knockers—into the blazing furnace. The roaring fire illuminated their sweat-drenched faces, their expressions a mixture of excitement and numbness.

On the wall next to it, the newly painted white slogans were still glaringly obvious in the smoke and dust: "All people should make steel, catch up with and surpass Britain and the United States!" "Go all out and strive for the top!" The slogans, the clanging of iron, and the whooshing of the furnace fire merged into a hot and strange torrent.

Wei Chen instinctively held his breath, his pedaling quickening as he tried to escape the area shrouded in frenzy and smoke. A lump formed in his throat; those iron pot door knockers being tossed into the furnace—weren't they once indispensable household items for countless families? Was this really the steel the nation desperately needed?

I went back to my hometown in the countryside these past few days. Has the Great Leap Forward's steelmaking campaign already quietly begun in Beijing, and will it soon spread throughout the country? A phrase I used to only read in textbooks is now unfolding before my very eyes.

Passing through this bustling and scorching area, and turning onto the relatively wide Dongsi South Street, the atmosphere suddenly changes. On both sides of the road are mostly shops with signs that read "Joint Public-Private Enterprise".

A long queue formed outside the grain store, mostly housewives and elderly people carrying baskets and ration books. The queue moved slowly, and the air was filled with the faint fragrance of new wheat and the distinctive aroma of aged rice.

Wei Chen caught a glimpse of an elderly woman in a faded blue cotton shirt standing on tiptoe, anxiously peering into the counter and muttering under her breath, "Why is there another two ounces less of refined grain this month..." Someone next to her sighed, "Be content. I heard that in some places in the south, even coarse grains are scarce." An invisible anxiety about "eating" permeated the crowd in line.

The grocery store was more well-stocked, with large vats of pickled vegetables, piles of seasonal vegetables in rough porcelain basins, and bulk soy sauce, vinegar, and yellow soybean paste in glass jars. A sales clerk in a white apron stood behind the counter, and through the glass, customers would point out what they wanted, and he would quickly weigh and pack it.

Wei Chen watched as someone carefully counted out a few food coupons, exchanging them for a small piece of tofu or a few cucumbers. The air was filled with the salty aroma of pickles, the earthy smell of vegetables, and a faint scent of vinegar.

A well-dressed man, resembling a cadre, exchanged several special "special supply coupons" for a pig's rump wrapped in oil paper, attracting many envious glances. Wei Chen touched the thick wallet in his pocket, feeling a sense of relief mixed with a complex emotion.

This is what a real era was like.

He pushed his cart and strolled into a narrower alley. This was the true fabric of old Beijing. The courtyards of gray-brick and gray-tiled bungalows were closely connected, and the mottled walls told stories of bygone years.

Clotheslines, like spider webs, stretched haphazardly across the alley, laden with faded work clothes, patched undershirts, open-crotch pants, and children's floral shirts, swaying gently in the breeze and casting swaying shadows.

The air was filled with the mixed smells of soapberries, coal stoves, and the faint or strong aromas of food wafting from each household.

Several elderly men with gray hair sat on their doorsteps, fanning themselves with palm-leaf fans, listening to the Peking Opera playing on a radio placed on the stone steps. Occasionally, they would sip some baijiu from their enamel mugs, their eyes half-closed, as if savoring something.

At a mobile barber stall with a jingling copper bell, a boy with his eyes closed lets the barber shave the back of his head with a shiny razor, the shavings falling onto the apron.

"Sharpening scissors and knives!" A drawn-out, distinctive cry rang out from afar. An old man carrying a long bench and a whetstone slowly walked into the alley, the bench legs making a soft clattering sound against the stone pavement. Immediately, several housewives came out of their courtyards with dull scissors and knives to greet him.

Wei Chen slowed his pace, like a silent observer, feeling the slow yet resilient pulse of life in this alley. This was completely different from the roar of the steel mill and the frenzy beside the blast furnace; it was a different kind of breath belonging to this ancient city.

He saw several women sitting together at the entrance of a large courtyard, their hands flying across matchboxes or cardboard boxes. While their hands worked, they chatted about everyday matters, including children's school fees, grain supplies, and the patriotic health campaign recently announced by the neighborhood committee. Their faces showed the weariness of life, but also the warmth of mutual support among neighbors.

The sun rose higher, and the sunlight grew increasingly scorching. Fine beads of sweat appeared on Wei Chen's forehead, and his clothes felt sticky on the back. He pushed his cart to a small park in the middle of the street, where a few half-grown locust trees offered only sparse shade.

The bench was already occupied by several old men playing chess. He leaned against the trunk of a locust tree, dappled shadows falling on him. The air was hot and dry, mixed with the smell of dust and car exhaust, making him feel a little stuffy.

He licked his slightly chapped lips, his gaze sweeping over a vendor pushing an ice cream cart not far away. The wooden box had "Ice Cream 3 Cents, 5 Cents" written in red paint. Several children were gathered around, looking on longingly.

"Tsk, time to take a break," Wei Chen thought to himself. He bought ten popsicles for five cents, pushed his cart to a secluded corner behind the garden, a place where miscellaneous items were piled up and few people went, where several denser trees blocked his view. After confirming that no one was paying attention, he subtly put the popsicles into his backpack and then slipped into the game world.

In an instant, the noise, heat, and mixed smells vanished. Inside the hunter's cabin, a comfortable and cool atmosphere filled the air with a natural coolness and the fresh scent of dry pine. Outside the window, a perpetually tranquil and lush green forest stretched out, sunlight filtering softly through the canopy, and the air was as crisp and clear as a mountain spring.

"Whoosh—" Wei Chen took a long, greedy breath of the pure air, as if trying to expel all the remaining soot and dust from his lungs. He walked to the magical sink and turned on the tap.

Cool, sweet mountain spring water gurgled out. He scooped up the water, washed his face thoroughly, and then drank several large mouthfuls. The cool and refreshing sensation from his throat to his stomach instantly dispelled the heat and thirst from the outside world.

He even took off his sweat-soaked work shirt and wiped his upper body briefly in the sink. The coolness of the mountain spring washed away the sweat, and his skin felt instantly refreshed.

He walked to the storage shelf and picked up an apple with a slightly wrinkled skin that he had bought in town a few days ago. Then he noticed a small pile of dark purple berries wrapped in broad leaves in the corner—these were the ones he had found at the edge of the forest last time; they tasted sweet and sour, similar to blueberries.

He picked a few and put them into a wooden bowl filled with spring water to chill them. Then he walked to the sturdy wooden table by the window, sat down, picked up the wrinkled apple, and took a big bite. The sweet juice burst in his mouth, still warm from the sunshine. He then picked up a chilled berry and put it in his mouth; the unique sweet and sour taste and the cool sensation exploded on his tongue, more refreshing than any popsicle in the city.

Here, there was no smoke, no slogans, no anxiety about queuing, only nature's bounty and complete relaxation. He slowly ate apples and berries, enjoying this rare tranquility and coolness. Time seemed to lose its meaning here.

He didn't know how much time had passed, but as the last bite of the cool berry melted on his tongue, Wei Chen felt refreshed, as if all the fatigue of the past few days and the heat from earlier had been washed away. He stood up, stretched, and his bones cracked slightly.