60s: I have a store

Chapter 602 Director Li, who was captivated
As dusk completely swallowed the last rays of light, a large crowd had already gathered under the old locust tree in Liangjiazhuang.

The cold wind, carrying snowflakes, lashed against the villagers' patched-up cotton-padded coats, but it couldn't compare to the glow of the lantern in Village Chief Liang's hand—the dim yellow light swayed in the snow curtain, turning everyone's frozen, red faces amber in color.

"Quiet down!" Village Chief Liang knocked on the broken plowshare hanging on a tree branch, and rust mixed with ice shards fell down.

The commotion in the crowd abruptly ceased, with only a few sporadic barks of dogs echoing in the distance.

He gripped the enamel mug, still warm from Zhou Yimin's body, his Adam's apple bobbing beneath his coarse scarf: "Today, a distinguished guest arrived and showed our village a way to survive!"

Before the words were even finished, the crowd erupted in chaos.

Aunt Wang, clutching her chapped, frozen hands, squeezed to the front, shaking the snowflakes from her hair onto her patched apron: "Village chief, don't try to fool us! The grain in the granary is almost gone; there's no hope left."

Her words were drowned out by the murmurs of the crowd. Li the Cripple's hand, which was holding a cane, trembled slightly. Old Zhao puffed on his pipe, the embers flickering in the cold wind.

"It's true!" Liang Jingguo suddenly emerged from behind a tree, his Zhongshan suit shoulders covered in snow. "My old classmate Zhou Yimin, the inventor featured in the newspaper! He said the neighborhood office's processing plant needs a lot of bamboo weaving."

These words were like a fire, igniting the deathly silence of the cold night.

A gasp rose from the crowd, and children jumped excitedly, shaking the snow off the branches above their heads.

Village Chief Liang raised his lantern, its beam sweeping across the villagers' faces, a mixture of surprise and delight: "Those who can weave bamboo crafts, come to the team headquarters to register tomorrow morning! Those who can weave baskets, weave baskets; those who can weave mats, weave mats. As long as your skills are good, you won't have to worry about finding work!"

He deliberately shook the bamboo basket in his hand, the fine texture gleaming warmly under the light: "Show me all the craftsmanship like this!"

The crowd began to disperse in a commotion, with scattered whispers drifting through the snowy night.

Zhang Er's wife gripped her husband's arm, her voice trembling with tears, "Dad, our lantern-making skills are finally coming in handy!"

Under the old locust tree, Village Chief Liang watched the villagers' retreating figures. Suddenly, the flame of the kerosene lamp shot up, illuminating the tear stains still wet on his eyes—this meeting, held in the dead of winter, had finally brought back the long-dormant village to life.

As the moonlight climbed the branches of the old locust tree, the dim light of a kerosene lamp still shone in the mud-brick house of Village Chief Liang.

A crumpled piece of kraft paper was spread out on the octagonal table. Liang Jingguo held a pencil with his hands red from the cold and made scribbling notes on the paper.

"The Zhao couple can weave bamboo sieves, and Old Sun is good at weaving fish baskets," Village Chief Liang said as he filled his pipe with homemade tobacco, counting on his rough fingers as ash occasionally fell onto the densely packed list.

Suddenly, hurried footsteps came from outside the window. Aunt Wang, wearing a faded blue headscarf, rushed in, her white hair at the temples still covered with ice shards: "Village Chief! My husband used to be an apprentice at the bamboo ware cooperative when he was young. He can weave patterns!"

She pulled a palm-sized bamboo grasshopper from her bosom. The emerald green bamboo strips gleamed under the light, and the patterns on its antennae and wings were lifelike.

Liang Jingguo's eyes lit up, and the tip of his pencil drew a long ink mark on the paper: "This skill is definitely good!"

As night deepened and the cold wind intensified, it couldn't dispel the warm atmosphere inside the house.

As the last villager left, the speckled pheasants in the coop began to crow.

Looking at the three pages filled with writing, Village Chief Liang suddenly got up, opened the cabinet, and took out an object wrapped in layers of oil paper.

It turned out to be an exquisite bamboo woven food box, with auspicious patterns woven on the body and polished pebbles inlaid on the handle.

"This is a craft passed down from my father."

Village Chief Liang stroked the patterns on the food box, his voice filled with reminiscence: "Back then, wealthy families would scramble to get it for their weddings. If it weren't for these past few years..."

He didn't say anything more, and carefully put the food box into the wicker basket: "Let Yimin take a look tomorrow. If this can be sold, our village's craftsmanship will definitely become famous!"

Before the morning mist had even dissipated, a long queue had already formed in front of Village Chief Liang's house.

The women carried half-finished bamboo baskets, the old men carried carefully selected bamboo strips, and the children weaved through the crowd, holding up small birds woven from thin bamboo branches.

Standing under the portrait of Chairman Mao hanging on the earthen wall, Liang Jingguo shouted at the top of his lungs, "Register in order! Those who brought finished products, step forward!"

Sunlight pierced through the clouds and shone on the villagers' expectant faces, making the bamboo utensils shine even brighter.

At that moment, Zhou Yimin was straddling his motorcycle and speeding towards the street office.

The frost that had formed on the fuel tank fell softly in the wind. His mind kept replaying the lush bamboo forest behind Liangjiazhuang and the renewed flame of hope in the eyes of the villagers.

The roar of motorcycles broke the silence of the early morning, carrying the future of two villages into a new day.

Zhou Yimin stamped the snow off his cotton shoes, and the metal door knocker made a clear sound in the cold wind.

The gatekeeper, wearing a Lei Feng hat, was warming himself by a fire in a tin bucket, the flames licking the frosty bottom of the bucket.

"Grandpa, has Director Li arrived at his post?" He exhaled white breath and pulled out half a pack of Daqianmen cigarettes from the inner pocket of his Zhongshan suit. The edges of the cigarette pack were damp from his body heat.

Old Chen's eyes lit up, a cigarette dangling from his lips, which were turning purple from the cold: "I just saw her at the bicycle parking shed."

Zhou Yimin lit the fire for him. As the flames flickered in the wind, he caught a glimpse of the oil stains remaining on the patch of the other man's cotton-padded coat—just like the patches on the coats of the villagers in Liangjiazhuang, they all carried the texture of life's hardships.

The glass in Director Li's office was covered with a layer of white fog. When Zhou Yimin knocked on the door, he heard the sound of a pen nib scratching across the report.

Pushing open the door, the aroma of ink mixed with jasmine tea wafted out. Director Li, wearing gold-rimmed glasses, was circling data with a red pen: "Section Chief Zhou, what brings you here!"

Her smiling gaze carried the teasing characteristic of an elder.

Zhou Yimin touched his burning ear tips; the old-fashioned cast iron radiator behind him was radiating a scorching heat.

"Aunt Li, haven't you been busy lately?" He took the enamel cup handed to him, with a few goji berries at the bottom.

"I need your help with something."

Director Li leaned back in his chair, his knitted hand warmer sliding down to his forearm: "Yimin, what is it that you can't even handle?"

She twirled the red and blue pencils, the light reflecting off the metal clips shimmering on Zhou Yimin's face.

Zhou Yimin took out a bamboo bookmark woven by Village Chief Liang from his canvas bag; the bamboo leaf pattern was clearly visible in the sunlight.

As the plight of Liangjiazhuang, the bamboo forest behind the mountain, and the villagers' craftsmanship were slowly recounted, Director Li's neatly trimmed eyebrows gradually furrowed into a knot.

When she mentioned the children eating cornbread mixed with wild vegetables, she suddenly stood up, causing the cork of the thermos to pop up with a "thud": "Let's go see them now!"

Zhou Yimin had not expected Director Li to react so strongly, and had no choice but to go out with Director Li.

Since riding a bicycle would be too slow, Zhou Yimin's motorcycle was used instead.

The vibrations from the motorcycle engine traveled up the frame, and Director Li's leather gloves turned white from gripping the cold iron frame so tightly.

Zhou Yimin deliberately slowed down, but when the wheels rolled over the cracks in the frozen soil, the back seat still jolted violently, startling her so much that she instinctively grabbed the back of the other person's cotton-padded coat—the coarse fabric texture seeped through her palm, carrying the smoky aroma of firewood.

Before long, they left Beijing.

"Liangjiazhuang is just three miles ahead!" Zhou Yimin's shout was torn apart by the wind. Director Li listened intently, the edge of her scarf brushing against the frostbite on her neck, burning with pain. She shrank her neck, tucking her numb hands into the inside pocket of her military overcoat, touching the hard steamed bun she hadn't finished that morning. The icy touch reminded her of the deficit figures on the reports.

As the mountain road wound its way up, the motorcycle suddenly skidded.

Director Li instinctively wrapped his arms around Zhou Yimin's waist, his fingertips able to feel the other's taut muscles even through three layers of cotton clothing.

Pebbles flew under the tires as she gazed at the frosty, withered grass on the edge of the cliff, her heart pounding almost louder than the engine's roar.

“This road collapsed last year,” Zhou Yimin said calmly.

"But the bamboo forest on the back mountain is accessed from this slope."

“These bamboos are evergreen all year round.” Zhou Yimin parked the car, took off his goggles, and saw tiny ice crystals clinging to his eyelashes.

"When bamboo shoots sprout in spring, they can grow to be half a person tall in just three days." Director Li walked closer, stepping on the snow. The white frost on the bamboo joints fell softly onto the back of his hand, and the coolness crept up his sleeves.

As we got back on the road, there was a rustling sound coming from the back of the motorcycle.

Zhou Yimin turned around and saw Director Li using his frozen fingers to tear a wool glove in two, revealing half of his bright red fingers as he wrote and drew in a notebook.

The sun cast long shadows of the two men, which snaked along the icy dirt road like a path of hope. Amid the roar of the engine, intermittent questions drifted by from time to time.

The roar of motorcycles shattered the silence of Liangjiazhuang, and the snow on the old locust tree at the village entrance fell in a soft rustling sound.

Village Chief Liang, wrapped in a black cotton-padded coat with patches upon patches, had been waiting in the cold wind for half an hour, his nose red from the cold with tiny ice crystals still clinging to it.

When he saw the stranger sitting behind Zhou Yimin, he immediately went up to him, wiping his rough hands repeatedly on his trouser leg: "Director Li! You must be tired from your journey!"

Before he finished speaking, his breath condensed into frost in the cold air.

Walking through the stone path covered with icicles, Village Chief Liang pushed open the creaking wooden door.

In the courtyard, bamboo woven items were neatly stacked on straw mats, bamboo baskets were piled up like small mountains, bamboo sieves were spread out like silver plates, and cricket cages woven from thin bamboo branches swayed gently in the wind.

Director Li stopped the moment he stepped across the threshold. The hem of his dark blue wool coat was still swaying in the wind, but his eyes were already captivated by the world of bamboo art before him.

She crouched down, her fingertips brushing against the intertwined branches on the bamboo food box, the cool bamboo strips gleaming warmly in the sunlight.

On the edge of the box lid, three thin bamboo strips intertwine to form a double lotus pattern, with a texture as delicate as the brushstrokes in a traditional Chinese ink painting.

"This is..." she murmured to herself, her breath swirling and disappearing across the delicate patterns.

Village Chief Liang nervously rubbed his hands together, the loose threads peeking out from the cuffs of his cotton-padded jacket trembling slightly with the movement.

Zhou Yimin and Village Chief Liang exchanged a glance and tacitly retreated to the eaves.

A cold wind swept past their shoulders, lifting the corner of Village Chief Liang's faded scarf.

They watched as Director Li held a bamboo cricket cage close to the sunlight, the hollowed-out "福" (good fortune) character on the cage casting dappled light and shadow on her face.

Then she turned the bamboo fruit plate over and carefully examined the auspicious cloud pattern hidden on the bottom. She quickly wrote down notes in her notebook with a metal pen. The rustling sound of the pen tip rubbing against the paper mixed with the crisp sound of the bamboo strips lightly touching, creating a unique rhythm in the quiet courtyard.

Village Chief Liang couldn't help but stroke the bamboo knife at his waist; the bamboo strips on the scabbard gleamed from years of hand sweat.

As Zhou Yimin watched Director Li's focused back, he recalled the furrowed brows she had when she was reviewing reports in her office this morning; now, that seriousness had transformed into a bright light in her eyes.

The unmelted snow on the bamboo sieve suddenly fell in a flurry, startling Director Li, who was immersed in the world of bamboo art. When she straightened up, the white fog on her glasses blended into the cold air in the courtyard.

Director Li looked intently at Village Chief Liang: "These skills are exactly what our subdistrict office urgently needs!"

Her voice was filled with barely suppressed excitement, and the pen in her hand drew a powerful arc in the air.
“But practical items alone are not enough; we need to develop them into handicrafts.” As she spoke, she picked up the bamboo cricket cage.

“Like this one, if you can weave more auspicious patterns and apply a layer of varnish, then it can be considered a qualified handicraft.”

Because many of the processing plants run by the neighborhood committee now export their orders overseas, it's essential to maintain strict quality control.

A blush crept onto Village Chief Liang's dark face as he awkwardly scratched his head: "Director Li, as long as there are orders, our village's craftsmen can weave any pattern!"

He turned to look at the villagers in the courtyard who were arranging bamboo strips, and his voice unconsciously rose, "Did you all hear that? Our bamboo weaving is going to the city!"

"However, we still need to solve the problems of transportation and storage." Zhou Yimin squatted down and picked up a bamboo strip that was soaked by snow water.

"Bamboo is prone to mold when it gets damp, so we need to build a well-ventilated warehouse." His words made Director Li nod repeatedly.

Zhou Yimin was surrounded by several young villagers who held up newly made bamboo dragonflies and small fish lanterns, chattering about suggestions for improvement.

The cold wind lashed at the withered grass on the courtyard wall, but inside the house it was warm and cozy. The clinking of abacus beads, the weaving of bamboo strips, and the laughter of the people mingled together, echoing for a long time in the air above Liangjiazhuang.

In the distance, on the back mountain, groves of bamboo rustled in the moonlight, as if whispering for this night that was about to change their destiny.

Director Li was still admiring the bamboo weaving in the courtyard.

The village chief's hand holding the pipe trembled slightly, and the embers in the pipe flickered.

"Yimin, where do you think would be a suitable place to build this warehouse?" He looked at the old locust tree at the entrance of the village covered with icicles. The cold wind swirled snowflakes and pelted the two of them, but it couldn't hide the anxiety in his eyes.

Zhou Yimin rubbed his hands, which were red from the cold, and his cotton shoes left two deep marks on the snow.

Last night, as he wandered around the village with a flashlight, the image of that abandoned courtyard was etched into his mind: the blue brick wall, though covered in moss, still stood straight.

The beams of the three mud-brick houses are intact, but the doors and windows are dilapidated due to wind and rain erosion.

At that moment, he pointed to the east side of the main road: "Right there."

Village Chief Liang looked in the direction he was pointing, and his eyes suddenly widened.

The abandoned courtyard is only a hundred meters from the village entrance, and the dirt road in front of the door leads directly to the main road, where trucks can pass freely after the ground thaws in the spring.

"But this place..."

He scratched his stiff ears: "It's been abandoned for years, mushrooms have even grown at the base of the walls."

“It’s precisely because it’s been abandoned that it’s easier to clean up!” Zhou Yimin walked closer through the snow, his canvas gloves wiping the mottled brick wall.

"The walls are thick and can block out moisture; the yard is big enough to store bamboo materials and finished products."

The village chief's pipe made a crisp sound as it tapped against the sole of his shoe, and the gloom in his eyes gradually dissipated.

He gazed at the swaying bamboo grove in the distance, imagining trucks loaded with bamboo products driving out of the village, and his throat tightened: "Okay! This is it!"

(End of this chapter)