60s: I have a store

Chapter 601 Liang Family Village

When Liang Jingguo's buttocks finally touched the back of the motorcycle, the rough canvas pants rubbed against the leather seat, making a slight sound, but it was completely swallowed up by the roar of the engine.

He subconsciously gripped Zhou Yimin's work clothes belt, his fingertips touching the firm muscle lines beneath the other's cotton-padded jacket, while his other hand gripped the back rack tightly—the cold metal rod still retained the warmth of the daytime sunlight, but now it quickly cooled in the night wind.

The moment the motorcycle sped out of the village, its wheels crunched over the frosty dirt road.

Liang Jingguo's back suddenly pressed against the metal box. The clanging sound of the tools inside came through the thin fabric of his clothes, reminding him of the parts piled up in the warehouse of the agricultural machinery factory.

But what was even more shocking at that moment was the wind rushing towards him—the cold wind carrying snow particles was like countless fine needles, pricking his cheeks painfully, yet also inexplicably exciting him.

"Hold on tight!" Zhou Yimin's voice was broken by the wind, but it shot into Liang Jingguo's ears like an electric current.

He watched as the headlights cleaved the two beams of light, within which snowflakes danced like startled fireflies, tracing silvery trails in the darkness.

This scene suddenly reminded him of watching open-air movies in his village when he was a child. The heroes on the screen rode their horses at breakneck speed, while the steel beast beneath him was more majestic than any horse.

When passing by the Hongxing Supply and Marketing Cooperative, Liang Jingguo made a point of straightening his back.

He imagined that if Aunt Zhang, who bought salt here during the day, saw this now, she would be so shocked that she would drop the enamel mug in her hand.

And what about Fatty Wang from the farm machinery factory, who always mocks him for wearing patched pants? If he knew he was sitting on a motorcycle, how envious he would be.

The moment the wind rushed into his collar, he had already planned out his opening line when he got back to the village: "Hey, it's nothing special, Yimin just insisted on taking me for a drive."

If Zhou Yimin knew Liang Jingguo's thoughts, I wonder what he would think?

As the motorcycle climbed the dirt slope, Liang Jingguo's buttocks briefly left the seat, and the feeling of weightlessness made him involuntarily groan.

But he quickly swallowed the words back—he caught a glimpse of scattered lights in the distant mountain valley, the lights of Liangjiazhuang, where he had lived for thirty years.

The scene of the villagers gathering around him became clearer in his mind: children would touch the motorcycle tires and scream, and the old people would puff on their pipes and ask all sorts of questions, while he simply waved his hand dismissively and said that it was just his old classmate's means of transportation.

The engine suddenly let out a low roar, and the motorcycle surged to its highest point.

Liang Jingguo looked down and saw his shadow stretched long by the car headlights, leaping and running on the undulating dirt road, just like those majestic knights in the movies.

He loosened his grip on the shelf and tentatively raised his arm—the cold wind immediately filled his sleeves, but it gave him an unprecedented sense of freedom and exhilaration.

The motorcycle drove over the icy ruts at the entrance of Liangjiazhuang Village.

Liang Jingguo's hands were still numb from the bumpy ride, but when he caught sight of his own crooked fence, he instinctively straightened his back.

The roofs of the three dilapidated mud houses were covered with a thin layer of snow, and frozen mud blocks were falling off the base of the walls. Compared with Zhou Yimin's brick house with a solar water heater, this place seemed more like a corner forgotten by time.

"Come inside and warm up!" Liang Jingguo tugged at Zhou Yimin's sleeve and pulled him into the house, the door hinges creaking as if they were dying.

It was colder inside than outside. The newspaper pasted on the window frame was torn by the wind, and sunlight filtered through the cracks, casting spiderweb-like spots of light on the stove.

His mother rose shakily from behind the stove, her apron still stained with bits of wild vegetables. Her cloudy eyes suddenly lit up when she saw the guest: "Please sit down, please sit down!"

A few withered wild chrysanthemums floated on the tea in the rough porcelain bowl. Zhou Yimin held the bowl and gently blew on it. In the rising steam, he caught a glimpse of the drafty straw hat hanging on the wall and Liang Jingguo's faded Zhongshan suit.

Liang Jingguo squatted by the coal stove adding firewood, sparks splashing onto his patched-up trouser legs, but he didn't notice: "My home is simple, don't mind it."

After finishing his tea, Zhou Yimin put the enamel bowl on the edge of the kang (a heated brick bed) and said, "Let's go for a walk."

Before the words were even finished, the person had already lifted the curtain.

Liang Jingguo hurriedly grabbed a tattered cotton hat from the corner of the wall and chased after him. The cold wind swirled snowflakes and pelted him. He saw Zhou Yimin looking up at the row of crooked jujube trees at the entrance of the village—the withered branches were whistling in the wind, and last year's shriveled jujube pits were still hanging among the branches.

The two walked through the snow toward the back of the village, the frozen ground beneath their feet making a cracking sound.

Liang Jingguo pointed to the barren hillside: "Nothing will grow on this land."

Zhou Yimin didn't reply. He bent down, picked up a clod of frozen soil, and crushed it into ice shards in his palm. Suddenly, his gaze was drawn to a clump of bushes at the foot of the cliff—the gray branches were covered with a layer of translucent ice, which refracted tiny sparkles of light in the sunlight.

"What is this?" Zhou Yimin tore off a branch and took a closer look.

Liang Jingguo scratched his head: "The villagers call it ice willow. It's like this every winter, it's useless."

Zhou Yimin examined it carefully, trying to find something unique about it, but it was obvious that Zhou Yimin was overthinking it; there was nothing unique about it at all.

The sun cast long shadows of the two men. As Liang Jingguo watched Zhou Yimin stride away, he suddenly felt that the ice shells hanging on the branches were no longer useless waste.

Zhou Yimin was not discouraged. He knew that this was not a small project, and it was normal for it to take a few days to complete.

The two then headed towards the back of the mountain, where the wind was stronger than at the village entrance. The swirling snowflakes hit Zhou Yimin's goggles, making a crackling sound.

Liang Jingguo followed behind, his neck hunched, the crisp sound of his cotton shoes crushing the ice echoing in the empty valley.

The two walked into the bamboo forest, their steps uneven. The withered yellow grass shivered in the wind, but the dark green bamboo stood out starkly against the gray and white snow scene.

"This bamboo," Zhou Yimin's voice was torn apart by the wind. He squatted down and parted the snow-covered bamboo branches, his fingertips touching the cold bamboo joints.

The bamboo poles, as thick as a bowl, swayed gently in the cold wind, and the icicles hanging from the tips of the bamboo reflected a scattering of light, like someone had scattered a handful of diamonds.

Liang Jingguo breathed out white puffs of air as he leaned closer, the ice crystals clinging to his eyebrows falling in a flurry: "The older generation said that this bamboo grove wouldn't grow any crops, so they could only cut it down to weave baskets."

Zhou Yimin didn't reply, his fingers tracing the bamboo grain.

Snowflakes seeped into his sleeves, but he was oblivious, his gaze sweeping over the bamboo whips spreading along the edge of the bamboo grove—those roots exposed on the frozen soil, like lurking green snakes.

"Jingguo, are there always this many bamboos here all year round?" he suddenly asked, his eyes behind his goggles shining brightly.

Liang Jingguo was stunned; his breath condensed into frost in front of his eyes.

He looked at Zhou Yimin's back as he squatted in the snow, the patches on the knees of his work pants blackened by the snowmelt: "There are fewer bamboos now that it's winter, but there will be more in the spring."

Before he finished speaking, Zhou Yimin suddenly stood up, brushed the snow off his trousers, and the movement startled the sparrows on the bamboo tips.

"I've got a good idea, let's go back first!" Zhou Yimin's voice was filled with barely suppressed excitement, and he almost slipped on the icy bamboo stubble as he turned around.

Looking into his suddenly bright eyes, Liang Jingguo recalled how he looked the same way when he solved a physics problem during his student days.

The cold wind rushed into his collar, but he no longer felt cold. The hot meal he had just eaten at Zhou Yimin's house now felt warm, spreading from his stomach all the way to his fingertips.

The two walked back, their steps uneven, Zhou Yimin glancing back at the bamboo grove every now and then, his pace so fast that Liang Jingguo could hardly keep up. The setting sun cast long shadows of bamboo, outlining mottled lines on the snow.

Looking at the snowflakes covering Zhou Yimin's shoulders, Liang Jingguo suddenly felt that the bamboo swaying in the wind was no longer just useless material for basket weaving, but rather like countless green swords about to cleave through the silent winter of Liangjiazhuang.

As Zhou Yimin passed a frozen stream, he suddenly stopped, bent down and picked up a piece of bamboo covered in snow. He breathed on it and saw that the pale blue patterns on it looked just like some kind of undeciphered code.

The coal stove in the main room made a slight crackling sound. Liang Jingguo paced back and forth in front of the octagonal table, the hem of his Zhongshan suit brushing against the wooden chair with a rustling sound.

When he looked towards the door for the third time, he finally couldn't hold back any longer: "Yimin, stop keeping me in suspense and tell me what your idea is."

Before he finished speaking, Zhou Yimin had already added a handful of dried chrysanthemums to the enamel mug, watching the tea leaves unfurl into a translucent shape in the boiling water.

“Jingguo, go and invite your village chief over. I’ll say it to your faces directly, so you don’t have to repeat it several times later!” Zhou Yimin picked up his teacup and took a sip. The steam blurred his glasses, revealing only a sly smile in his eyes.

Liang Jingguo opened his mouth, then grabbed the tattered cotton hat by the door and rushed out, the wooden door slamming against him with a dull thud.

The snowflakes tapped on the windowpane more and more rapidly, and after about half an incense stick's time, hurried footsteps came from outside the courtyard.

Village Chief Liang, wrapped in a patched black cotton-padded coat, stepped across the threshold. The snow that had fallen on his shoulders melted into watermarks before he could shake it off, dripping onto his faded Zhongshan suit.

He glanced at Zhou Yimin sitting at the octagonal table, wiped his calloused hands on his trouser leg, and strode forward: "Comrade, thank you so much for coming to help in such cold weather!"

“No, Jingguo and I have been friends for so many years. He asked me to come, so I had no choice but to come!” Zhou Yimin stood up and grasped the other’s hand, feeling the thick calluses on his palm almost digging into his skin.

Behind Village Chief Liang, Liang Jingguo was rubbing his hands, which were red from the cold, and staring intently at Zhou Yimin, as if trying to extract the answer from the other man's eyes.

As the three sat down, the octagonal table creaked and groaned.

Liang Jingguo's mother, with her back hunched, brought over three steaming, coarse porcelain bowls, the rims of which were covered with years of tea stains.

The old man's hands, covered with age spots, trembled slightly. Hot water splashed onto the table, meandering into tiny streams between the wood grain.

She opened her mouth as if to say something, but in the end she just gently closed the door, and the sound of her cotton shoes stepping on the snow gradually disappeared in the howling north wind.

A spark suddenly burst from the charcoal in the stove, startling the village chief Liang so much that the teacup in his hand shook.

A brief silence fell over the room, with only the rising steam from the teapot casting ethereal lines under the dim kerosene lamp.

Liang Jingguo unconsciously kicked the table leg with his toes, while Village Chief Liang held the teacup to his lips but hesitated to drink.

All eyes were on Zhou Yimin, awaiting the answer that would change the fate of Liangjiazhuang.

Zhou Yimin put down his teacup, the bottom of which made a soft sound as it collided with the wooden table, startling Liang Jingguo so much that the snow on his knees fell off in a flurry.

"Village Chief Liang, I'd like to ask if there are any skilled bamboo weavers in your village?"

Before he could finish speaking, Liang Jingguo had already sprung up from the bench, his cotton-padded jacket sleeve brushing against the kerosene lamp, causing the flame to flicker violently: "Yimin, you don't know this, but the village chief's bamboo weaving is quite impressive!"

Village Chief Liang's dark face suddenly flushed red, and his cracked hands hurriedly rubbed against his trouser legs, as if trying to wipe away the bamboo shavings from his palms.

A glint flashed in Zhou Yimin's eyes, and the gust of wind he created as he leaned forward stirred up the teacups on the table: "Village Chief Liang, do you have any finished products that I can take a look at?"

These words made Liang Jingguo rush out the door immediately, the sound of his cotton shoes slipping on the snow growing louder as it faded into the distance.

Village Chief Liang rubbed his hands together as he got up and pulled a bamboo basket from the wooden cabinet by the kang (heated brick bed).

The fine texture of the basket gleamed with a warm luster under the light, and the handle was tied with a lucky knot with red rope, but it could not hide the traces of repair on the bottom of the basket—it was patched up with even finer bamboo strips.

"They're all clumsy junk." Village Chief Liang chuckled self-deprecatingly, his Adam's apple bobbing in his worn-out collar.

"It can hold vegetables and grains, but it's not exactly aesthetically pleasing."

When Liang Jingguo rushed back carrying bamboo baskets and sieves, a small mountain quickly piled up on the wooden table.

Zhou Yimin carefully examined the finished products, his fingertips tracing the bamboo weaving pattern, and suddenly stopped at a joint—three bamboo strips as thin as hair were woven into a vine-like pattern.

"Excellent craftsmanship!" He looked up abruptly, his eyes behind his glasses shining brightly.

“I know that the subdistrict office has a processing plant that needs a lot of bamboo weaving right now, and there should be quite a few people in your village with good skills?”

The pipe in Village Chief Liang's hand clattered to the ground, and the ashes spilled onto his patched-up cotton shoes.

His lips trembled, and he wanted to say something, but Liang Jingguo's shout drowned out his words: "Really? Yimin!"

Zhou Yimin didn't answer. Instead, he picked up a bamboo sieve and held it up to the kerosene lamp. The light and shadow, filtering through the crisscrossing bamboo strips, cast fine diamond-shaped spots of light on the wall.

Suddenly, Village Chief Liang squatted down, covering his eyes with his calloused hands. Water droplets seeping through his fingers fell onto the frozen ground and instantly froze into tiny ice crystals.

Looking at the hopeful light shining in Village Chief Liang's eyes, Zhou Yimin said firmly, "Of course it's true. I wouldn't joke about something like this!"

Liang Jingguo's tense shoulders finally relaxed, and he slumped onto the bench, causing the bamboo woven objects on the kang (a heated brick bed) to tremble slightly.

Village Chief Liang picked up his pipe again, trembling, but forgot to put tobacco in the bowl. He just rubbed the bamboo stick repeatedly with his cracked fingers: "Comrade, could you please help me make an introduction?"

His voice was hoarse, carrying the simplicity and sincerity unique to farmers, as if he had used up all his strength to say those words.

Zhou Yimin looked out the window at the darkening sky. Dusk had already spread over the eaves of the mud-brick house, and the snow in the corner of the wall shimmered with a faint blue in the shadows.

"Of course, no problem. But it's a bit late now, I'll ask again tomorrow!"

He pointed to the old wall clock, the hour hand slowly approaching five. "The street office is closed for the day, there's no rush to talk to Director Li at his house."

Village Chief Liang then seemed to wake from a dream, his cloudy eyes glistening with moisture.

He suddenly stood up, his rough hands gripping Zhou Yimin's hand tightly, the calluses on his palms almost digging into the other's skin: "Comrade, thank you. If it weren't for you, we wouldn't know what to do!"

As he spoke, a suppressed sob escaped his throat, as if he wanted to pour out all the hardships and difficulties the village had endured over the past few years with these words.

Liang Jingguo, his eyes also red, leaned closer, wanting to say something, but Zhou Yimin raised his hand to interrupt him: "We're all old classmates, it's too formal to say such things."

He patted Liang Jingguo on the shoulder, then turned to look at Village Chief Liang, "I'll go to the subdistrict office first thing tomorrow morning. Tonight, you guys should count how many people in the village know how to weave bamboo, how much work they can do, and make a list."

Village Chief Liang readily agreed, after all, he would have done this even if Zhou Yimin hadn't asked him to.

(End of this chapter)