60s: I have a store

Chapter 600 Junior high school classmates
The north wind whipped up sand and gravel that lashed against Zhou Dahu's goggles. He gripped his red-tasseled spear tightly, the bronze ornaments on the spearhead gleaming coldly in the sunlight.

The stranger in front of me was indeed a new face—his dark blue Zhongshan suit was washed until it was almost white, his trouser legs were stained with half-dried mud, the straps of his canvas backpack were worn and frayed, and he had a green military bag with "Serve the People" printed on it slung across his shoulder.

"Comrade, who are you?" Zhou Dahu's voice was wary. The other two security guards behind him had already spread out in a fan shape, and the wooden red armbands on their waists swayed in the wind.

The moment the cold wind rushed into his collar, he touched the whistle hidden in the inner pocket of his cotton-padded jacket, the icy touch making his palm tighten slightly.

With three red-tasseled spears pointed at his chest, Liang Jingguo swallowed his unease, his Adam's apple bobbing.

His raised hands were red from the cold, and his knuckles were white from the force he exerted: "Excuse me, is there a man named Zhou Yimin in your village?"

As he spoke, his breath instantly condensed into white mist on his goggles. He hurriedly wiped it with his sleeve, revealing bloodshot eyes.

Zhou Dahu's pupils contracted slightly. Very few outsiders had come to inquire about Uncle Sixteen this winter; the last one was Xu Chengshi from the city.

He stared at the corner of a half-drawn map peeking out of the other man's backpack pocket, then suddenly held his red-tasseled spear horizontally in front of his chest: "There is indeed a man named Zhou Yimin in our village!"

Before he could finish speaking, Liang Jingguo's tense shoulders suddenly relaxed, and he almost fell on the icy dirt road.

"Could you please ask him to come over and prove it?" Liang Jingguo took out a crumpled handkerchief to wipe his sweat. Despite the biting cold wind, fine beads of sweat appeared on his forehead.

Zhou Dahu noticed the crooked stitching on the second button of his Zhongshan suit, which was exactly the same as the mending technique on Uncle Sixteen's old work clothes.

"Wait here." Zhou Dahu shoved the rifle barrel into his companion's hand, and as he turned around, his military rubber boots slipped on the ice.

He jogged towards the village, his companions' questioning voices echoing behind him, along with Liang Jingguo's halting explanation: "I came from...from the provincial capital."

The cold wind whistled and faded into the gray sky. Zhou Dahu gripped the whistle at his waist tightly—hoping that this time, it would be Uncle Sixteen who could help again.

Zhou Yimin was warming his hands by the coal stove when he suddenly heard a rapid knocking at the door outside the courtyard.

He rubbed his stiff fingers, slowly opened the wooden door, and a gust of cold wind carrying snowflakes instantly rushed into his neck: "Big Tiger, what's up?"

Zhou Dahu took off his hat, which was soaked with snow water and still had icicles hanging from the brim, and said breathlessly, "Sixteenth Uncle, there's a man named Liang Jingguo outside looking for you!"

Zhou Yimin frowned, leaning against the door frame, lost in thought.

The name Liang Jingguo lingers in my memory, like a dandelion seed scattered by the wind—you can see its shadow but can't grasp its essence.

A spark suddenly burst from the coal in the stove, startling him back to his senses: "Let's go take a look."

The two walked along the dirt road covered with ice shards to the village entrance, where they saw Liang Jingguo being flanked by two team members from afar.

The hem of his Zhongshan suit fluttered in the wind, but he kept his arms crossed over his chest and occasionally breathed on his palms to warm them.

Zhou Yimin squinted, staring at the other person's red nose and slightly hunched shoulders, and the gears of memory suddenly began to turn.

"Are you a student at Lantian Middle School?" Zhou Yimin asked tentatively. Before he could finish speaking, Liang Jingguo suddenly looked up.

The surprise that shone in those eyes instantly reminded Zhou Yimin of the boy in the back row of the classroom twenty years ago who always loved to secretly draw mechanical diagrams.

“That’s right!” Liang Jingguo took half a step forward, but was stopped by the red-tasseled spear of his teammate.

His voice trembled with excitement: "Yimin, I'm your deskmate in the third year of junior high! Do you remember when we secretly modified the radio during physics class?"

These words were like a key, clicking open the floodgates of memory. Zhou Yimin quickly stepped forward and grasped the other's hand, the icy palm conveying a long-lost warmth.

After confirming his identity, Zhou Yimin turned around and waved to his teammates.

Zhou Dahu put away his red-tasseled spear and watched the two figures walking side by side into the village. Suddenly, he noticed that Liang Jingguo walked with a slight limp, leaving behind footprints that were uneven, winding into a zigzag line on the snow.

The village entrance wasn't far from Zhou Yimin's house, so the two of them arrived at Zhou Yimin's house in less than ten minutes.

Zhou Yimin pushed open the creaking wooden door and led Liang Jingguo into the small courtyard filled with the aroma of firewood.

The strings of corn hanging under the eaves swayed gently in the wind, brushing against Liang Jingguo's shoulder, and a few golden grains fell in a flurry.

"Grandma, we have guests!" Zhou Yimin shouted towards the kitchen. Before he finished speaking, the sound of a spatula hitting a wok came from the stove.

Grandma, her back hunched, peeked out, her blue apron still smeared with flour. Her cloudy eyes immediately narrowed into slits with laughter: "Quickly, let the child in to warm up!"

The coal stove in the kitchen was burning brightly, and cabbage was simmering in an iron pot. The rising steam caused fine water droplets to form on the plastic sheeting covering the windows.

Zhou Yimin lifted the pot lid, picked up half a block of frozen tofu and threw it into the pot. He turned his head and saw his grandmother taking salted duck eggs out of the jar: "We have guests. Cut two pieces of our cured pork as well."

The old woman wiped her age-spotted hands on her apron, saying, "I can't let the guests suffer."

Zhou Yimin didn't say much; he believed his grandmother knew exactly what to do.

In the living room, Zhou Yimin pushed the enamel mug across the mottled wooden table, and the boiling water stirred up a few wisps of tea leaves at the bottom of the mug.

Liang Jingguo held the cup, watching the water vapor condense into white mist on his glasses, and suddenly remembered that Zhou Yimin always shared half of his meal tickets with him when they were students.

The flames of the coal stove licked the bottom of the kettle, making a soft crackling sound. The shadows of the two people swayed on the wall, much like the chalk writing that used to flicker on the classroom wall.

"Are you doing well working in the city?" Zhou Yimin added a new piece of coal to the stove, and the sparks that flew up illuminated Liang Jingguo's hesitant expression.

Liang Jingguo stared at the tea leaves swirling in his cup, his Adam's apple bobbing, but he swallowed back the words that were on the tip of his tongue: "It's fine, I just... I just wanted to come and see my old classmate."

Seeing this, Zhou Yimin knew that things probably weren't going well at work, and walking here in such cold weather would take quite a while.

He didn't quite believe that the person had come just to catch up; he must need help with something.

Since Liang Jingguo didn't bring it up, Zhou Yimin pretended not to know.

Just then, Grandma's voice came from the kitchen: "Dinner's ready." Dispelling the faint heaviness in the air, Zhou Yimin got up to help, bringing out the food.

On the octagonal table, in the dim yellow light of the kerosene lamp, the steaming heat from the food rose gently, mingling with the warmth of the room.

In the casserole, the cured pork stew with glass noodles was bubbling away, with thick chunks of meat peeking out from the thick broth, and the glass noodles soaking up the aroma of the meat, glistening and tempting.

The hot and sour shredded potatoes are bright red and oily, the stir-fried green peppers and eggs are golden and fluffy, and the salted duck eggs, when cut open, have bright orange-red yolks that are oozing oil. Each dish gleams with an enticing sheen under the lights.

Liang Jingguo stared at the sumptuous dishes on the table, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down. He gripped his chopsticks tightly, his knuckles turning white from the force, his eyes filled with longing and disbelief.

In those years of scarcity, such food was like a feast for him.

"Hurry up and eat! Don't be shy!" Zhou Yimin's cheerful voice broke the brief silence. As he spoke, he picked up a large piece of trembling cured meat and put it into Liang Jingguo's bowl. The oil dripped down the edge of the cured meat, spreading an enticing sheen on the rice.

The old man wasn't idle either. His calloused hands trembled as he picked up a piece of pork belly with alternating layers of fat and lean meat and gently placed it into Liang Jingguo's bowl: "Try this cured pork. It's homemade and very fragrant!"

Grandma Zhou lovingly added a chopstickful of bok choy to Liang Jingguo's bowl, the leaves still dripping with broth piled up in the bowl. "Child, eat more vegetables. You're so thin, you need to eat more to make up for it!"

Liang Jingguo opened his mouth as if to say something, but Zhou Yimin stopped him with another large spoonful of stewed cabbage and tofu.

Liang Jingguo's hand holding the chopsticks trembled slightly as he looked at the mountain of food piled up in his bowl. His nostrils were filled with the rich, salty aroma of cured meat, the fluffy, caramelized scent of eggs, and the fresh, smoky sweetness of green vegetables. All the flavors mingled together, almost overwhelming him.

My throat bobbed uncontrollably, and a sharp hunger pang shot through my stomach—it felt like ages since I'd last eaten such a sumptuous meal.

During his time at the agricultural machinery factory, he often ate cold steamed buns with pickled vegetables; being able to fill his stomach was already a luxury.

When the first bite of rice coated in meat juices entered his mouth, the soft, sticky rice grains mixed with the fatty and lean cured meat, and the oil melting on his tongue, he felt his eyes suddenly burn.

It's not just the satisfaction that food brings, but also the feeling of being cared for and valued.

He desperately tried to suppress the urge to wolf down his food, but couldn't help but chew faster, afraid that the food in his bowl would suddenly disappear.

Seeing Liang Jingguo wolfing down his food, Zhou Yimin smiled and added more food to his bowl: "Eat slowly, there's plenty for you!"

The old man and Grandma Zhou kept reminding him, "Don't rush, don't choke!"

Liang Jingguo mumbled incoherently as he ate faster, but the elders fed him even faster.

Tears finally fell uncontrollably into the bowl, mingling with the food as I swallowed them, transforming into a heart full of emotion and warmth.

The cold wind outside the window beat against the windowpane, but the room was filled with the aroma of food and the warmth of affection. At this moment, all the hardships and difficulties quietly disappeared in front of this sumptuous meal.

The leftovers on the table gradually cooled down. Liang Jingguo rubbed his slightly bulging belly, and the remaining half cup of cold tea in the enamel mug was slick with oil.

Zhou Yimin added a new piece of charcoal to the stove, sparks crackling and popping against the wire mesh cover in the silence. Liang Jingguo, watching the leaping flames, finally mustered the courage to speak: "Yimin, could you please come and take a look at our village?"

These words caused the air to freeze.

Zhou Yimin paused, his hand holding the charcoal tongs. He turned and saw Liang Jingguo's clenched fist—his knuckles were white, and there were still scabs from pushing the cart on the ground.

“Our village has had a poor harvest for three consecutive years; the corn that grows in the fields isn’t even as thick as a finger.” Liang Jingguo’s voice was hoarse, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down in the dim kerosene lamplight. “The money for buying grain was long gone; the old folks can only eat tree bark mixed with wild vegetables.”

Zhou Yimin silently added a spoonful of cold tea to Liang Jingguo's bowl, the water reflecting Liang Jingguo's haggard face.

A sudden north wind howled outside the window, rattling the plastic sheeting on the windowpane. "I saw your inventions in the newspaper, like the solar cooker."

Liang Jingguo suddenly grabbed Zhou Yimin's wrist, "You're quick-witted, maybe you can figure something out on the barren mountains in our village!"

The charcoal in the stove suddenly exploded, startling Liang Jingguo so much that he quickly withdrew his hand.

Looking at the flickering flames, Zhou Yimin recalled the time when the two of them secretly drew mechanical diagrams under their desks during their school days.

"Alright!" He patted Liang Jingguo heavily on the shoulder, causing dust to fall from the man's Zhongshan suit. "We'll go take a look in a bit!"

Liang Jingguo rubbed his frozen hands, staring at the empty dirt road with a worried expression: "I was thinking of borrowing a bicycle."

Before he could finish speaking, Zhou Yimin had already pulled him into the woodshed. Liang Jingguo's steps abruptly stopped at the door of the woodshed, as if he had been nailed to the frozen ground.

Soon, a not-so-new motorcycle caught Liang Jingguo's eye.

His Adam's apple bobbed violently, making a dry sound. As a technician at the agricultural machinery factory, the most advanced parts he had ever touched were the gears of the Dongfanghong tractor, but now he felt as if he were facing some mysterious mechanical behemoth.

His tentatively extended finger stopped five centimeters from the fuel tank. He could feel the faint chill emanating from the metal, mixed with a faint smell of gasoline and the sweet, metallic scent of chain oil. The unfamiliar smell made his heart pound.

"This, this is..." Liang Jingguo's voice was cut off by the sudden sputtering of the engine.

The moment Zhou Yimin twisted the accelerator, the white mist from the exhaust pipe grazed his trouser leg, startling him so much that he staggered back half a step, his lower back hitting a pile of honeycomb briquettes, and several briquettes rolled under the wheels.

Amid the crisp sound of metal colliding with coal, he saw the headlights suddenly illuminate—two ghastly white beams pierced the dimness of the woodshed, casting distorted shadows on the wall. The dust floating in the beams seemed to come alive, swirling and rising wildly.

"Get in the car!" Zhou Yimin's voice came from the roar, with a metallic quality.

Liang Jingguo stared at his distorted reflection on the fuel tank—the man in the patched Zhongshan suit, his hair disheveled by the wind, his eyes filled with unbelievable shock.

He recalled the only motorcycle he had seen in the county town last year, which was the post office director's vehicle. Back then, the children chased after it for three blocks. But now, this steel beast was right next to him, and he could even hear the hissing sound of fuel burning in the carburetor.

When Zhou Yimin put the helmet on his head, the cold plastic touching his forehead brought him back to his senses.

Unconsciously, his fingers picked at a tiny scratch on the fuel tank, a mark left by a bumpy ride, which gave this mechanical behemoth a more realistic tactile feel.

The moment he stepped onto the back seat, his thigh touched the exhaust pipe. He jumped back with a start, eliciting laughter from Zhou Yimin: "Hold on tight!"

(End of this chapter)