Chapter 15: Truly Cunning

"Don't be disgruntled. Can't you see how young our grandaunt is? She's at the age she needs to grow. What did our family give her to eat last time? Was there even a morsel of meat? If you can't manage to bring home any meat, how can you expect the grandaunt to provide it herself?"

"I..." How was he supposed to respond to that? True, there wasn't any meat, but there were eggs, weren't there? It’s not like it was a festival, and no pigs had been slaughtered in the village—where would the meat have come from?

"In any case, the grandaunt is the most important person in our village. She’s all alone now, with no one to rely on. We can’t even afford to pamper her with good food and drink—how can we let her worry about such things? Have you forgotten what our ancestors taught us?"

"Father, I haven’t forgotten. I was just... just saying, can’t I even talk about it?"

"No, you can't!"

"Useless! All you know is eating. Enough, it's about time, go to the fields and get to work. You're not a child anymore, asking for food like one. Have some shame."

"......"

Li Laohai never expected that what he’d said casually to the children at home would actually come true—though that’s a matter for later.

No one knew exactly what the village chief had said to Chen Zhaodi, but in the end, no one in the village questioned why Baixi’s household had meat to eat. She was, after all, the grandaunt. If they couldn’t honor her themselves, who could begrudge her having a little meat of her own?

Bai Anan didn’t go to Baixi’s place to fetch meat at noon; in the end, it was only when she was passing by in the evening that Baixi called her up to take some.

By then, Baixi had already eaten supper, so Bai Anan naturally tidied up the dishes and table.

"By the way, you might as well bring a bowl of meat to Little Liu’s house; he went to the county town and hasn’t come back yet."

In this village, only those older than the village chief called him Little Liu. Baixi could, because of her seniority.

Hearing Baixi call the village chief by name, Bai Anan’s lips twitched, but she nodded obediently.

"Grandaunt, the county town isn’t close by. I don’t think the chief will be back so soon."

"Alright, I know. Once you’ve cleaned up, you can go home." Baixi waved her hand dismissively.

She’d had millet congee with dried sweet potatoes for supper again. Fortunately, there was some wild goose meat, which made things just barely tolerable.

She wondered if that Little Liu would be able to bring back any fine grains.

Ah!

In the county town—

Low, squat houses and narrow streets, with only three three-story buildings standing as the tallest structures in Baizhou County. Pedestrians mostly walked; it was rare to see a bicycle pass by all afternoon. The streets were cloaked in gray, and most people wore clothes in shades of blue, gray, or black.

If Baixi saw this, she would certainly complain about how poor this world was.

At this moment, Chen Daliu was driving his ox cart out of town.

Nowadays, anything you wanted to buy had to be acquired from the supply and marketing cooperative or the general store.

Rumor had it that there was a department store in the city with even more goods inside.

Chen Daliu had a sackful of wild rabbits, but he had no idea where to sell them. He certainly couldn’t take them to the supply and marketing cooperative—people would just see him as a profiteer and report him.

So he wandered around the streets, making inquiries, and eventually set off toward the meat processing plant.

The meat plant was a long way from Baizhou County—almost as far as An City.

As he steered the ox cart along, Chen Daliu grumbled inwardly. City folks sure had it good: they ate commercial grain, had jobs, and could just buy whatever they needed at the cooperative. But there was something to be said for country life—it was roomier, less cramped than the city.

Then again, the rations each month were so meager that sometimes even villagers ate better.

Times had been tough these past two years—especially this year. Just now, he’d noticed that some of the people on the street were so hungry they were swollen from malnutrition. Sallow, thin faces were everywhere.

He dared not admit to carrying a sack of wild rabbits, worried that desperate, hungry people might snatch them.

He picked out an elderly man, someone who looked honest and mild-mannered, and asked a few questions before hurrying on toward the meat plant.

Most of the meat at the processing plant came from farms and the countryside—chickens, ducks, pigs, cattle, and sheep—purchased, slaughtered, and then distributed to supply and marketing cooperatives and food shops.

But Chen Daliu didn’t want to sell to the plant; the price was low, and if there was any trouble, he’d have no way to explain himself.

Moreover, he’d checked the cooperative in Baizhou County and asked around—there hadn’t been any meat for sale for three months. The meat plant probably hadn’t received much, either.

So, he set his sights on the factories near the meat plant.

On the outskirts of An City, there was a mine. The miners there, it was said, received forty-two catties of grain a month, and their wages were decent. Heavy laborers needed plenty to eat, and couldn’t get by without some meat.

Those workers were usually willing to spend on food—descending into the mines every day, a man could hardly survive without a bit of meat.

When Chen Daliu reached the mine, it was just at the shift change.

Along the way, he saw workers in their uniforms, chatting and laughing in small groups. Though they, too, looked sallow and thin, their spirits seemed better than those of the townsfolk.

Naturally—if you were too hungry, you couldn’t go down the shafts at all.

He looked at their blue work jackets and black trousers, then glanced at his own patched clothes, feeling the curious, mocking looks of passersby. He felt somewhat embarrassed.

But then he thought: so what? Hardship and plain living were the virtue of the peasant class, weren’t they? And anyway, patches didn’t matter. He hadn’t eaten a bite of these city people’s meat; in fact, if they wanted to eat meat, they had to buy it from country folk like him.

He parked the ox cart in a corner at a crossroads and watched the crowds for a while, finally picking out someone who looked like a likely customer and approached him in a low voice.

"Big brother—no, comrade, comrade, would you like to buy some rabbit meat?"

The man was about fifty, a bit stooped, his hair graying. His clothes were faded from frequent washing, but a fountain pen was clipped to his shirt pocket. Chen Daliu had been to the county town before; such attire usually marked a teacher or a cadre—someone with means.

Moreover, he’d overheard the man mention to a companion that he was heading to the hospital to see his wife, who had just given birth.

The man was walking with his head down, not expecting someone to approach him and offer rabbit meat. He was momentarily stunned.

Sizing up Chen Daliu—who was dressed unmistakably as a peasant, with patched knees and seat, and an honest, simple look—the man relaxed a little.

He wasn’t foolish. After his initial surprise, he asked quickly, "Rabbit meat? Where can I buy some?"

"Comrade, just say if you want it. If not, I’ll ask someone else," Chen Daliu replied, pretending to leave. When he’d set out, the grandaunt had told him: sell if you can, but don’t force it if you can’t; city folk are tricky.

If Baixi knew what was going on in his mind, she would have been furious enough to smash the table. What she’d actually said was for him to sell as he saw fit, and if he couldn’t, to bring it back—just be careful on the road and don’t get swindled.