Flip the table and divide the family property! Take his wife and daughter into the mountains and eat

The dugout was deathly silent.

Only the flame of the kerosene lamp occasionally flickered, emitting a slight "crackling" sound.

The two sable pelts lay quietly on the wine-stained kang table.

In the dim light, the deep brown with hints of dark purple and a strange golden sheen seemed to be slowly flowing, as if it were alive.

"Bozhe moy... (My God...)"

Ivanov’s large, hairy hand hung in mid-air, his fingertips still trembling slightly.

He wanted to touch it, but stopped abruptly half an inch away from the fur, as if afraid that the mutton fat on his hands would soil the work of art.

As a long-time trader operating along the border, he knew all too well what this meant.

Sables are already rare, and this kind of exquisite sable with its "needle hidden in ink and purple aura coming from the east" is a "crown jewel" that is rarely seen, even in the forest areas of the Soviet Far East.

But he is, after all, a businessman.

Less than half a minute later, the almost pious shock on his face was abruptly wiped away, as if by magic.

He took a deep breath, picked up the large, chipped teacup again, tilted his head back, and gulped down a mouthful of strong liquor, using the pungent alcohol to suppress the fervor in his heart.

"cough……"

Ivanov wiped the wine stains from his mouth, his eyes beginning to wander and flicker.

He glanced sideways at Zhao Shanhe, his expression shifting to that of a slick businessman:

"Comrade, the item... is indeed nice. But as you know, the economy in our area has been sluggish these past few years, and nobody can afford such an expensive thing."

He held out a hand and waved it in front of Zhao Shanhe, his tone carrying a sense of condescension, as if to say, "I've been very generous."

"At most...at most 500 RMB. That's only because of Lao Sun."

500 yuan.

In the rural areas of that era, this was indeed a huge sum of money, enough to build half a house.

If it were an ordinary hunter, he would probably be overjoyed and accept the money with profuse thanks.

But Zhao Shanhe didn't move.

The expression on his face didn't even change.

He slowly pulled a box of "Botou" matches from his cotton-padded jacket pocket and struck one with a sizzle.

The flames illuminated his young yet overly composed face.

He lit a half-smoked cigarette, took a deep drag, let the pungent smoke swirl in his lungs, and then slowly exhaled a column of bluish-gray smoke.

Amidst the swirling smoke, Zhao Shanhe peered through the smoke rings at Ivanov with a half-smile.

"Comrade Ivanov."

Zhao Shanhe's voice wasn't loud, as calm as if he were chatting casually, but every word was like a nail striking the ground:

"500 yuan? Are you buying rabbit pelts?"

Ivanov's face stiffened: "Comrade, you must be joking..."

"No joke."

Zhao Shanhe leaned forward slightly, his eyes, like those of a hawk, locked onto Ivanov across the kang table.

"If this kind of 'needle hidden in ink' quality were to go through proper channels and enter an auction house in Leningrad, the starting price would be 2000 rubles."

Upon hearing the word "Leningrad," Ivanov's hand visibly trembled.

Zhao Shanhe didn't give him a chance to catch his breath and continued:

"If we go through your 'internal channels,' we can turn it into a scarf and send it to the wives of those generals in Moscow who like collecting things..."

Zhao Shanhe stretched out his finger and tapped it lightly on the table:

"Switching a permit for a Lada car, or securing a whole train carload of steel quotas, shouldn't be more than enough, right?"

Clang!

Ivanov slammed the large teacup in his hand heavily onto the table. A large amount of wine spilled out, soaking his cuffs, but he was completely unaware.

He was genuinely shocked this time.

In that instant, he even forgot to hide it; his gray-blue eyes widened like copper bells, staring intently at Zhao Shanhe.

"Who...who are you? You've been to Moscow? How do you know the rules of the Leningrad auction house?!"

This is not just a matter of price.

This is an information gap.

In this isolated mountain village in Northeast China, how could a young farmer wearing a tattered sheepskin coat possibly know the operating logic of the Soviet Union's high-level black market thousands of miles away?

Ivanov's expression changed.

The initial disdain and greed instantly transformed into deep apprehension and suspicion.

His hand instinctively reached for his waist, and his body tensed up.

He began to suspect that the young man in front of him might be a sting operation sent by some "special department," or perhaps a KGB informant in China.

In this sensitive era, once such suspicion arises, business becomes impossible, and it may even lead to bloodshed.

The atmosphere in the room instantly turned freezing cold.

The air seemed to freeze, and even breathing could be heard clearly.

Just as Zhao Shanhe and Ivanov locked eyes, and the situation was about to collapse.

"Plop, plop."

The silence was broken by a slow, deliberate puff of smoking.

Old Sun, who had been sitting quietly to the side eating meat without saying a word, finally moved.

He casually tossed the cleaned lamb leg bone into the basin, then wiped his greasy hand on his fur coat.

Then, he picked up his pipe and tapped it twice on the sole of his shoe.

The sound wasn't loud, but it was like an exclamation mark, abruptly shattering the tense atmosphere.

"Ivan."

Old Sun didn't even look at the Soviet man; he just kept his head down, slowly filling his pipe with tobacco. His voice was hoarse, yet it carried an undeniable air of authority.

"You've been doing business with me for two or three years now, haven't you? In these past few years, have there been any problems with the goods I, Lao Sun, have supplied to you?"

Ivanov paused for a moment, his tense muscles relaxing slightly. He quickly shook his head and said in broken Chinese:

"No! Absolutely not! Sun, you're such a good person! You're the most trustworthy!"

That's it.

Old Sun struck a match, lit his pipe, and took a deep drag.

As he exhaled the smoke, he slowly raised his cloudy yet sharp eagle eyes and pointed at Zhao Shanhe beside him:

"This kid's name is Zhao Shanhe, and I watched him grow up."

"He was the one who made that leopard skin, and he also made these two sable skins."

Old Sun paused, his tone carrying a hint of "handing over the reins," and said in a deep voice:

"I'm getting old, and my rheumatism is acting up again. I won't be able to go into the deep forests of the Greater Khingan Mountains anymore."

"But as long as this kid is around, the good stuff in this forest will never run out."

As he spoke, Old Sun turned his head, gave Zhao Shanhe a deep look, then pointed a finger at Zhao Shanhe's nose and said to Ivanov, word by word:

"From now on, he'll be the one collecting goods in this area."

Old Sun gave a thumbs-up.

"To believe in him is to believe in me."

These words carried immense weight.

This is the old-generation "Mountain God," who personally endorsed Zhao Shanhe in front of this foreign trader.

It could even be said that he passed on all the "status" and "reputation" he had accumulated in this area over the decades to Zhao Shanhe.

The apprehension and suspicion in Ivanov's eyes vanished in that instant.

Instead, there was ecstasy.

With Old Sun's words, it means that Zhao Shanhe is not a dangerous person, but the new "gatekeeper" of this treasure trove of resources!

A knowledgeable, capable supplier, and with Old Sun's guarantee, is more valuable than anything else!

"Hara-sho! Hara-sho!"

Ivanov completely lowered his guard, and the smile on his face became sincere and eager.

He stopped pretending, stood up abruptly, grabbed Zhao Shanhe's hand across the table, and shook it so hard that he almost broke Zhao Shanhe's body.

"Zhao! Since Sun has said so, then you're my best friend! You're an expert! A true expert!"

"I was wrong just now. I shouldn't have insulted this precious animal by using its price as a Rex rabbit!"

Zhao Shanhe felt a surge of warmth in his heart.

He turned and glanced at Old Sun, who was still puffing on his cigarette.

The old man remained expressionless, not even looking at him, as if he hadn't said those words.

But Zhao Shanhe knew he owed this favor a huge debt.

He silently made a vow in his heart: he must take care of the old man in his old age and see him off when he dies.

"Comrade Ivanov, please sit down."

Zhao Shanhe withdrew his hand, remaining calm despite not being blinded by the other party's enthusiasm.

"Now that the misunderstanding is cleared up, let's talk business. You want these two hides, and I'm willing to sell them to you."

"Yes! Definitely!"

Ivanov patted his chest proudly, pulled out the leather wallet, and slammed it on the table:

"Zhao, name your price! Rubles? US dollars? Or do you want to exchange it for a car permit? I can even get you gold!"

In this day and age, any one of these items could drive someone crazy.

But Zhao Shanhe shook his head.

He stubbed out his cigarette, held up three fingers, and spoke with a moving firmness—a promise he made to his family.

"I don't want US dollars, and I don't want gold."

"I only need three things."

"First, a ticket for a Butterfly brand sewing machine."

"Second, a ticket for a Phoenix brand bicycle."

"Third, a ticket for a transistor radio."

He paused for a moment, then added:

"Plus 300 yuan. This is for my wife and kids to buy New Year's goods."

Ivanov was stunned.

He opened his mouth wide, hardly believing his ears.

He originally thought that since Zhao Shanhe knew the market in Moscow, he would definitely ask for an exorbitant price and rip him off.

result……

This shrewd hunter actually wanted all these everyday household ration coupons.

"That's...that's all?" Ivanov asked tentatively.

These two sable pelts would be worth more than ten times their value in the Soviet Union. If they were these ration coupons, he could resell them for an exorbitant profit.

That's all.

Zhao Shanhe pushed the two pieces of leather towards Ivanov, his eyes gentle:

"I'm not some big-time speculator, I'm just a farmer who wants his wife and kids to have a good New Year."

"You make your big money, I'll live my quiet life. That's called mutual benefit."

"Great! That felt good!"

Fearing that Zhao Shanhe might change his mind, Ivanov opened his leather wallet without saying a word.

He had been engaged in trade in China for many years, and what he had in abundance was these scarce industrial vouchers used to smooth things over with various parties.

Pop, pop, pop.

Three brightly colored tickets, stamped with red seals, were slammed heavily onto the table.

Immediately afterwards, another stack of brand-new "big unity" bills was thrown over without even being counted.

"Zhao! Here's 500 yuan! Keep the change! Consider it my treat for drinks! This is also for Old Sun's drinks!"

Ivanov eagerly and carefully picked up the two sable pelts, as if they were his own father, afraid of damaging them, and quickly tucked them into his bosom.

Zhao Shanhe didn't stand on ceremony either.

He picked up the three tickets and examined them carefully.

Sewing machine, bicycle, radio.

This is exactly what Lin Xiu has been talking about for years and has been dreaming of.

He tucked the ticket and the thick stack of ten-yuan notes into his pocket, pressing them against his chest.

That heavy feeling finally put his reborn heart at ease.

He stood up, ignoring Ivanov who was still grinning foolishly, and instead bowed deeply and respectfully to Old Sun, who was still smoking on the kang (heated brick bed).

"Uncle Sun, I can't thank you enough."

"After I finish preparing for the New Year, Xiu'er and I will bring you some good wine and food to celebrate the New Year with you."

Old Sun waved his pipe, not turning his head, and snorted out a single word:

"roll."

Although it was a curse, there was a clear hint of laughter in the voice that drifted out with the smoke.