I, Yan Jiefang, will live to 2025 in this courtyard house.

The wind, carrying with it the soft sounds of people, drifted out from the courtyard through the cracks in the wall.

Yan Jiefang followed behind Yan Bugui and Yan Jiecheng, carefully walking slowly into the courtyard through the collapsed gap in the wall.

This is a long-abandoned three-courtyard house with dilapidated buildings and collapsed walls, and it has been uninhabited for a long time.

In several relatively intact side rooms, kerosene lamps were scattered on wooden frames.

The lamp is wrapped in a thick layer of coarse cloth to filter out the light and prevent it from leaking out and attracting street patrols and plainclothes officers.

The air smelled very sour and pungent, with a heavy dusty smell mixed with the astringent smell of cornbread and dry rations, the sweaty smell of farmers' clothes, and the pungent smell of burning tobacco.

Water often accumulates in the corner of the wall, emanating a damp and musty smell that is somewhat suffocating when inhaled.

There were forty or fifty people in the courtyard at that time.

Apart from a few buyers who were walking around, the rest of the sellers were all sitting quietly by the wall or leaning against the broken brick wall, and no one was talking loudly.

Almost all transactions here don't rely on hawking; instead, people use tokens in their hands to indicate the source of the goods, which is easily understood by anyone who comes here.

A dry chicken feather in the palm of your hand = an egg in your hand;

bulging pockets and a cloth grain bag slung over his shoulder = selling both coarse and fine grains;

Clamping old cloth under one's armpits = reselling fabrics and cotton.

The transaction followed established rules. The buyer approached slowly, lowered his voice, and asked a question just loud enough for both of them to hear:

"Do you have it in stock?"

The seller won't reply immediately. They'll look up and sized up the person's clothes, demeanor, and gait to determine if they are plainclothes officers. Only after confirming their safety will they whisper and negotiate the price.

Only a very few daring merchants would spread out a tattered sack or old newspaper on the ground and display a small amount of dried sweet potatoes, vegetable leaves, and crushed cornmeal.

No one dared to display scarce and valuable commodities such as flour, soybean oil, and eggs in public.

In these days of scarcity, openly selling valuable goods isn't just bold, it's downright foolish.

Yan Bugui knew the way well and led the Yan brothers, Yan Jiefang and Yan Bugui, slowly making their way along the narrow path that had been specially left open.

His purpose for this trip was very specific: to exchange all the grain coupons he had accumulated at home for cornmeal that was both filling and satiating.

Upon finding a middle-aged stall owner with whom he had done business a few times before, Yan Bugui immediately stopped.

He started using his special skill, tirelessly haggling with the stall owner, trying to exchange as many items as possible.

The two rarely spoke, using black market slang and finger gestures to negotiate prices almost entirely, in order to prevent bystanders from overhearing the price.

Yan Bugui kept gesturing, determined to get every last penny, repeatedly pushing down the exchange rate, wanting to exchange the same amount of fine grain coupons for an extra pound and a half of coarse grain.

Yan Jiecheng stood behind him, finding the scene uninteresting, and kept turning his head to look around.

The main purpose of bringing him here was to keep watch and prevent any accidents.

Yan Jiefang also lost interest in listening to the price negotiations, his gaze sweeping across every corner of the room.

He had ulterior motives for this trip; he wanted to try his luck and find a military-made shotgun or two through black market channels for self-defense.

But when he looked around, no one in the room showed any coded markings such as iron pipes or gun parts.

These days, gun control is extremely strict. Not to mention finished guns and pistols, even disassembled parts are not something anyone dares to resell casually.

As for displaying actual weapons like rifles or pistols, that's just asking for trouble.

With his mission unfulfilled, Yan Jiefang was inevitably disappointed.

He withdrew his gaze and began to pay attention to his surroundings to avoid any accidents.

While waiting for Yan Bugui's transaction to finish.

After a full fifteen minutes of arguing, the stall owner clearly lost patience and repeatedly waved his hand to indicate that he was no longer willing to discuss the matter.

Yan Bugui then reluctantly agreed to the exchange rate.

The two then whispered and agreed on the terms of the transaction.

Since the two had done business together before, they quickly decided on a meeting place after dawn.

In another abandoned courtyard not far from here

After finishing this matter, the father and his two sons did not linger.

They exited the abandoned black market via the same route, quietly returned to their courtyard house, and rested briefly at home.

As dawn broke, the three of them went out again and headed to the agreed-upon place.

The stall owner was already there.

Yan Bugui carefully examined the bag handed to him; it contained less than twenty pounds of yellow cornmeal.

Only after confirming that there were no problems did they hand over the grain coupons to the other party.

The man also checked the stamps and dates on the grain coupons, and only after finding that there were no problems did he breathe a sigh of relief and put the grain coupons into his pocket.

The transaction was completed, and both parties went their separate ways without further conversation.

Yan Bugui clutched the grain bag tightly, a satisfied look on his face, and led his two sons home in the morning sunlight.

After returning home, Yan Jiefang did not rest, but instead picked up his schoolbag and headed to the city library.

Having made no progress at the city's small black market, Yan Jiefang could only temporarily suppress his distracting thoughts.

The city is under strict control; no one dares to trade not only finished firearms, but even spare parts.

The matter of guns can only be put on hold for now, and we'll make plans again when school lets out for winter break.

He had previously learned some information about the black market outside the city from Yan Bugui.

There are generally four large black markets outside the city.

These areas are far from urban police patrol points, and the level of control is much weaker than in the city. The probability of contraband circulating privately is extremely high, and there is a high chance of finding homemade shotguns or other self-defense weapons.

However, the potential gains come with risks. The black market outside the city is a mixed bag, teeming with vagrants and habitual criminals, making it several times more dangerous.

During a transaction, you are very likely to be monitored.

Then he was knocked unconscious.

Yan Jiefang was wavering in his mind.

On one hand, there's the man's deep-seated obsession: holding the power of equality for all beings, he loves no one.

On one hand, the current peaceful life is quite good, so is it really worth taking the risk for a gun?

Two conflicting thoughts tugged at each other.

He walked along, lost in thought.

The sudden wailing that erupted near the gatehouse nearly startled him:

"My poor Dongxu! You died young, leaving us orphans and widows to be bullied!"

"God, have pity on our Jia family!"

Looking in the direction of the sound, they saw Jia Zhangshi sitting on the threshold, slapping her fat, short thighs and howling.

Qin Huairu had a mournful face and was even wearing a pale white mourning dress. She was heavily pregnant and pulling at her from the side.

Jia Zhangshi was quite stout, and given her size, how could Qin Huairu, who looked rather frail, possibly pull her? She could only whisper, "..."

"Mom, stop making a scene here, let's go back inside."

Madam Jia ignored him completely and cried even louder.

At the gatehouse entrance, Sha Zhu squatted in front of his own door, a cigarette between his fingers.

He gasped for breath, his face full of helplessness.

This cigarette is of extremely low quality, even cheaper than the already low-quality economy cigarettes on the market, costing only six or seven cents a pack.

It is definitely the lowest-end brand of cigarettes in 49 cities.

It's in the same class as those cigarettes with plain white cardboard boxes, no prints, and no brand, commonly known as white-packaged mixed cigarettes!

Sha Zhu has really fallen on hard times!

Seeing that there was something to see, Yan Jiefang immediately stopped and stood in a good spot that was sheltered from the wind and could be exposed to the sun.

Jia Zhangshi's wailing was extremely penetrating, and before long, many beasts in the courtyard gathered around to watch the spectacle.

Even the residents in the neighboring courtyard came running when they heard the noise.