60s: I have a store

Chapter 599 Xu Xiangbei Comes to See Me Again

As dusk settled over the blue tiles of the Zhou family's mud-brick house, the old man, clutching a well-worn copper basin, paced back and forth at the entrance of the main room.

The rim of the basin tapped lightly against the threshold, startling the swallows' nest on the beam, causing dust to fall in a flurry.

"Can I really take a hot bath?" He turned to ask Zhou Yimin, who was squatting by the stove, for the third time. The embers in his pipe were flickering, but he forgot to put them in his mouth.

Zhou Yimin lifted the curtain, and a wave of warmth, carried by the steam, rushed towards him.

In the makeshift bathroom, faded towels hung on bamboo poles wrapped in plastic sheeting, and an old wooden stool was propped up in the corner.

"Grandpa, I've tested the water temperature, it's just right." He reached out and turned on the faucet of the solar water heater, the sound of water hitting the copper basin was particularly clear in the small space.

The old man took two steps closer, his cloudy eyes staring at the white mist rising from the water's surface—the mist looked exactly like the water boiling in the stove, but there was clearly no smoke from the firewood drifting from the roof beams.

"Take off your clothes!" Zhou Yimin handed over the enamel mug and turned to leave.

The old man suddenly grabbed his wrist, his rough palm calloused from years of wielding a hoe: "This water... really doesn't need to be boiled?"

Before he could answer, he had already shakily unbuttoned his cotton-padded jacket, revealing a faded coarse cloth undershirt.

When the first handful of hot water was poured onto his back, the old man's spine suddenly arched, and the copper basin almost slipped off his knees.

"Hot! Hot!" the old man cried out, but he didn't dodge.

Warm water flowed down his spine, soaking his waistband.

He reached out to touch the faucet; the metal pipe his fingertips touched was icy cold, but the warmth in his palm was surprisingly real.

"Good heavens!" he suddenly laughed, the sound so loud it made the phlegm in his throat rattle, "It's warmer than me squatting by the stove pit!"

Zhou Yimin heard the sound of water splashing outside the curtain, and the old man muttering indistinctly, "This lump of iron is more effective than ginger soup!"

When the old man pushed open the door with his hair still wet and wearing cotton pants, it was clear that he had just taken a hot shower, and his whole body was radiating "steam".

His eyes shone with an astonishing light, as if he had won a wrestling match in the village when he was young. "Yimin, quickly tell your grandma!"

Seeing how well it worked, Grandma Zhou Yimin couldn't miss the chance and grabbed the clothes to go inside.

The news that no more smoke was rising from Zhou Yimin's chimney spread faster than the northwest wind in December.

The next morning, the sounds of carrying water on shoulder poles all stopped outside the Zhou family's courtyard.

"Really, we don't need to burn firewood?" Granny Zhang clung to the courtyard gate, her apron still covered in unfinished dough, her cloudy eyes fixed on the row of gleaming heat collection tubes on the roof.

The crowd immediately erupted in chatter, with Aunt Li's voice drowning out the murmurs: "My stove burns half a bundle of wheat straw every day!"

Uncle Zhao banged his pipe against the sole of his shoe, the tobacco dust falling onto his newly sewn soles: "Yimin, how much did this thing cost?"

Grandpa Zhou shakily pushed open the door to the main room, tea leaves spilling from the enamel mug in his hand: "Come in and take a look!"

Before the words were even finished, the courtyard gate creaked open as the children squeezed through the adults' crotches like eels, rushing to the water heater faucet.

When Zhou Yimin turned on the water valve, and the warm water gushed into the copper basin, the yard suddenly became so quiet that you could hear sparrows pecking at grass seeds.

"It's burning hot! It's really burning hot!" The boy from Erzhu's family kept shaking his hand as he was burned by the hot water, but he couldn't help but bring it back.

Aunt Zhang reached out to test the water temperature, her sleeve slipping down to her elbow, revealing her wrinkled hand: "This water is the same temperature as the water heated by the stove!"

The crowd stirred; some tiptoed to touch the water tank, while others pulled out their pipes and tapped the support, the clanging of metal mingling with exclamations of amazement.

Suddenly, the deaf old man shouted at the top of his lungs, "If only this thing could be on our roof!"

Before he could finish speaking, he was drowned out by laughter.

Grandma Zhou brought out roasted melon seeds from the kitchen, but no one bothered to take them.

Uncle Zhao squatted against the wall, using a twig to draw calculations on the ground: "The firewood saved can be used to pickle two more vats of sauerkraut."

Aunt Li had already grabbed Zhou Yimin's sleeve: "Yimin, tell me, how do you put this thing on the roof?"

The crowd gradually dispersed as the sun began to set.

The walls of the Zhou family courtyard were covered in mud stains, and a few pipes lay scattered beside the water vat.

Zhou Yimin didn't pay much attention to this place; his focus was entirely on the solar water heater.

The next day, the north wind swept across the earthen walls of Zhoujiazhuang with fine snow, and Xu Xiangbei's bicycle chain creaked under the strain.

The aluminum lunchbox hanging on the handlebars jingled with each bump, and the last half of a hard-crusted bun inside was frozen solid in the cold wind.

On the branches of the old locust tree at the village entrance, the red armbands covered in ice fluttered in the wind, and several men wearing straw hats were stamping their feet to keep warm.

"Engineer Xu!" Zhou Dahu, with his sharp eyes, called out, his neck, exposed by the collar of his cotton-padded jacket, was red with cold. "What brings you here today?"

The wooden stakes blocking the road beside him were still wrapped with hemp rope used for flood control, and now they were swaying in the wind, producing tiny ice shards.

Xu Xiangbei slammed on the brakes, and the bicycle slid half a meter away on the icy dirt road.

He took off his earmuffs, which were soaked with snowmelt, and tiny ice crystals clung to his eyelashes: "Yimin, are you in the village?"

The white breath he exhaled as he spoke instantly condensed into frost, sticking to the brown paper bag in the bicycle basket—which contained the half-eaten piece of brown sugar that his daughter had eaten when she had a fever.

“Engineer Xu, Uncle Sixteen is in the village, he should be at home right now!” Zhou Dahu noticed the other man’s hands were purple from the cold and was about to say something when Xu Xiangbei pulled out a crumpled cigarette box.

The golden tin foil glittered in the snow. "Thank you!" As the cigarette was stuffed into the man's rough palm, he turned and pedaled his bicycle, the wheels making a crisp crunching sound as they rolled over the icicles.

In the alley leading to the Zhou family's house, shards of ice flew under the tires.

Xu Xiangbei recalled that when he opened the rice jar this morning, the bottom of the jar, which was empty, gleamed coldly.

The sound of the porcelain bowl colliding with the wooden table when his wife pushed the last half bowl of porridge to their daughter still echoes in his ears.

Three days ago, he used up half a year's worth of food coupons to help his comrade pay for medical expenses, but he did not expect that his daughter would suddenly develop a high fever, and he would have to use more food coupons to buy antipyretics at the pharmacy.

After turning the last bend, he saw the solar water heater on Zhou Yimin's roof shining silvery-white in the snow.

The moment the handlebars slammed into the wooden door, the speckled pheasant in the corner of the yard flapped its wings and flew away in fright, its feathers mixed with snowflakes landing on his shoulder.

"Yimin!" His knocking startled the icicles on the wall, causing them to fall. Zhou Yimin, who was wiping the solar water heater controller in the main room, suddenly heard a familiar shout from outside the courtyard.

The north wind whipped the words "Yimin" against the window frame, causing his hand holding the rag to tremble slightly.

He put down his tools, pressed his ear against the mottled wooden door, and heard that panting call again through the wind and snow—it was indeed Xu Xiangbei!
The moment the door latch was pulled open, a blast of cold wind, carrying snowflakes, stung his neck. Xu Xiangbei stood at the courtyard gate, the moonlight and snow mingling, leaning on his bicycle. The crooked brown paper bag in the basket was still covered with ice crystals, and his trouser legs were crusted with thick snow.

"Brother Xu, come in and sit down!" Zhou Yimin hurriedly reached out and touched the hard icicles on the other man's sleeve, his heart sinking.

In this kind of weather, who would ride a 20-mile dirt road unless absolutely necessary?

The coal stove in the main room was burning brightly, flames licking the bottom of the kettle and making a soft crackling sound.
Zhou Yimin pushed the enamel mug across the mottled wooden table. The steaming jasmine tea blurred Xu Xiangbei's face, which was red from the cold.

"Brother Xu, is something wrong?" He noticed the other man's hesitant expression and deliberately added a piece of new coal to the stove. The sparks that flew up illuminated the dark circles under Xu Xiangbei's eyes.

"To be honest," Xu Xiangbei's hands trembled slightly as he held the teacup, condensation forming a white mist on his glasses, "I used up all my food coupons to help my old comrade through this difficult time. Who knew that my daughter would suddenly develop a high fever, and we'd run out of rice even for making porridge."

At this point, his Adam's apple bobbed violently, and his voice trembled with a barely perceptible sob, "I went to the courtyard house to look for you but found no one there, so I had no choice but to swallow my pride and chase after you all the way to the village."

The coal stove suddenly exploded with a sharp crack, startling the swallows' nest on the beam, causing ash to fall in a flurry.

Looking at the unmelted snow on the other man's shoulder, Zhou Yimin recalled their struggle together at the reservoir on the back mountain last year. He got up, opened the rice jar in the corner, and the wooden ladle used to scoop rice made a clear sound as it struck the jar wall: "Brother Xu, leave this to me."

Xu Xiangbei stared at the corner of Zhou Yimin's clothes that tugged as he turned away, his throat tightening as if it were blocked by coal dust.

The old clock on the wall of the main room ticked away, and the flames from the coal stove cast the shadows of the two people onto the mottled wall, flickering between light and shadow.

He stared at the enamel mug in his hand; the tea leaves floating on the surface of the tea trembled slightly with his breath, as if they were also feeling uneasy for him.

A moment later, Zhou Yimin returned with hurried footsteps, the thing he was carrying wrapped in a blue cloth, but the enticing aroma of meat was still unmistakable.

Before Xu Xiangbei could even speak, several pieces of glistening cured meat and a lively old hen were placed on the table. The hen flapped its wings, and the feathers it kicked up landed on Xu Xiangbei's shoulder.

"Brother Xu, take these things back to nourish Nannan!" Zhou Yimin's voice carried an undeniable force. He reached out and pressed down on the struggling chicken, oblivious to the red marks left on his palm by the chicken's claws.

Xu Xiangbei looked at the pieces of cured meat, which were marbled with fat and lean meat. In the years when supplies were rationed, these were rare items that were more precious than gold.

"Yimin, no, it's too valuable, I can't accept it!" Xu Xiangbei hurriedly stood up, the patch on the knee of his work pants brushing against the edge of the wooden table.

He knew perfectly well that if this meat were on the black market, it would cost as much as half a year's salary for him, and even if he had the money, he would have to pull strings to buy it.

But Zhou Yimin took it out as casually as if it were an ordinary object, which made him both touched and apprehensive.

Zhou Yimin suddenly frowned, his brows furrowing into a knot: "Brother Xu, don't you consider me a friend?"

His gaze was intense, sharp in the firelight. "If it weren't for your help last year, Zhoujiazhuang wouldn't have been able to get electricity so smoothly."

Xu Xiangbei's throat bobbed a few times, and finally he reached out his hand, trembling.

The warmth of the old hen seeped through the fabric, and the aroma of cured meat mixed with the smell of firewood wafted into my nostrils, reminding me of how my daughter had been clamoring for meat before she got sick.

"Yimin, thank you!" His voice trembled, his eyes welled up with tears, and a single tear quietly fell onto the blue handkerchief, spreading out as a small watermark.

Xu Xiangbei gripped the heavy blue cloth bag tightly, his knuckles turning white from the force.

The coal stove in the main room emitted warmth, but it couldn't dispel the unease churning in his heart—his daughter still had a fever, the rice jar was empty, and he desperately wanted to pedal his bicycle back immediately. "Yimin, I really have to go, or we'll miss the supply and marketing cooperative opening."

Before he could finish speaking, Zhou Yimin grabbed him by the back of his collar with such force that he staggered half a step.

"You want to leave without even having eaten? Do you think my home is an inn?" Zhou Yimin said sternly, pulling the man toward the octagonal table.

Bowls and chopsticks were already laid out on the table. Steaming sweet potato porridge was still in the rough porcelain bowls, accompanied by several dishes of pickled vegetables, glistening enticingly in the winter heat.

Xu Xiangbei was pressed down on the bench and watched as Zhou Yimin's wife, wearing a patched apron, placed freshly baked cornbread into a bamboo tray. The aroma of the wood-fired stove mixed with the salty fragrance of cured meat wafted into his nose.

"Brother Xu, listen to me."

Zhou Yimin squatted by the coal stove, using tongs to pick up a few pieces of red-hot coal and add them to the firebox, sparks crackling and popping. "If you ride your bike back now, it'll be windy on the way, and the food will be cold by the time you get home. Nannan needs to eat more, how can you take care of her on an empty stomach?"

He didn't turn around as he spoke, but precisely pushed the enamel mug to Xu Xiangbei's side, causing the scalding jasmine tea to ripple in the cup.

Xu Xiangbei stared at the cabbage and tofu soup floating with oil in the bowl, his Adam's apple bobbing.

Suddenly, the flapping of an old hen came from outside the yard. It turned out that Zhou Yimin's speckled hen had broken free of its rope.

Zhou Yimin chased after him, cursing. Xu Xiangbei watched as Zhou Yimin's trousers flew up as he ran—patches upon patches on the trousers, still stained with mud from the water heater installation that morning.

The wind swirled fine snow through the cracks in the door, but it dissipated the moment it touched the heat of the coal stove. The aroma of steaming food on the octagonal table had already transformed the restlessness of longing to return home into a long-lasting warmth.

The rising steam from the octagonal table blurred the frost flowers on the window frame. Grandma Zhou Yimin carried the last dish, a clay pot of stewed cured pork with sweet potato noodles, which was bubbling away. Thick slices of cured pork were faintly visible in the thick broth, and the sweet potato noodles, soaked in the aroma of the meat, glistened with an enticing sheen.

Xu Xiangbei looked at the sumptuous dishes on the table, and his Adam's apple bobbed involuntarily.

"Brother Xu, hurry up and pick up your chopsticks!" Zhou Yimin was the first to pick up a trembling piece of cured meat, the grease dripping down his chopsticks into the rough porcelain bowl. "Try my grandma's cooking. This cured meat was made for the New Year, and she specially saved a few pieces."

As he spoke, he added another large spoonful of stewed cabbage and tofu to Xu Xiangbei's bowl. The tender white tofu was soaked with broth, and golden egg strips were sprinkled on top.

Xu Xiangbei held the bowl, somewhat at a loss. Besides the main dish, there was also hot and sour shredded potatoes on the table, the bright red chili threads and golden potato strips complementing each other perfectly.

A plate of glistening salted duck eggs, their bright orange-red yolks glistening when cut open, is mouthwatering. There are also freshly baked cornbreads, their edges slightly charred and exuding the sweet aroma of grains.

In an era of scarcity, each of these was a rare delicacy.

"Eat!"

Zhou Yimin stuffed a cornbread into his bowl, took a big bite himself, and puffed out his cheeks. "This cornbread with cured meat soup is absolutely amazing!"

His words made Zhou Yimin's wife smile and then she added half a bowl of sweet potato porridge to Xu Xiangbei's bowl. The rice grains floated in the amber-colored broth.

Xu Xiangbei finally picked up a piece of vermicelli with his chopsticks. The soft, chewy texture combined with the salty aroma of cured meat made him let out a satisfied sigh.

He couldn't remember the last time he had eaten such a sumptuous meal. Since his daughter fell ill, the food at home had become increasingly meager. The taste that was now bursting on his tongue brought tears to his eyes.

At the dinner table, Zhou Yimin ate heartily while telling stories of interesting things in the village. When he got to the funny parts, he laughed so hard he almost fell over.

(End of this chapter)