60s: I have a store

Chapter 603 Zhou Dahu Comes Knocking
The charcoal in the stove glowed red-hot, softening Zhou Yimin's canvas gloves.

He lazily added a spoonful of hot water to the enamel mug, and the tea leaves unfurled on the boiling water, the rising steam blurring the frost patterns on the glass window.

The house was filled with a faint aroma of charcoal, mixed with the smell of cured pork that Grandma had made, which contrasted sharply with the howling cold wind outside.

Such warmth is truly rare in other households—after all, coal briquettes, which are rationed, are very precious, and most families only dare to light a small stove when cooking, let alone keep the fire burning day and night like the Zhou family.

Just as he was dozing off, a sharp shout pierced through the tightly closed wooden door: "Sixteenth Uncle! Is Sixteenth Uncle home?"

Zhou Yimin shuddered, and the tea in the enamel mug rippled.

He gazed at the swirling snow outside the window, hastily slipped on his cotton shoes, and rushed out without even buttoning up his thick cotton coat, lifting the heavy cotton curtain.

A cold wind, carrying snowflakes, rushed towards him, instantly penetrating his collar and making him shiver.

Pushing open the mottled wooden door, Zhou Dahu was stamping his feet and breathing out warm air. His eyebrows and hat brim were covered in white frost, and his dark blue cotton-padded coat was covered in snow, making him look like a snowman.

His hands were tucked into his sleeves, and the tip of his nose was red from the cold. When he saw Zhou Yimin come out, he quickly stepped forward and said, "I've finally found you!"

Seeing the other man's anxious expression, Zhou Yimin's heart jumped: "Dahu, what's wrong? Is there a problem in the village?"

If the village hadn't discovered something wrong, Zhou Dahu wouldn't have been in such a hurry to come over.

Zhou Dahu's hands, red from the cold, waved frantically in the air, the pom-poms on his cotton hat shaking violently: "Sixteenth Uncle, it's not that something happened in the village, it's just that I have something I want to ask you for help with."

These words made Zhou Yimin's heart, which had been in his throat, sink heavily, and the cold sweat on his back was slowly dried by the residual heat from the coal stove.

He stomped his numb feet, and the icicles hanging from the eaves suddenly broke, making a crisp sound as they hit the snow.

"Da Hu, tell me what's wrong? I'll see if I can help." Zhou Yimin shrank his neck further into his cotton-padded coat, and the metal door knocker made a faint hum in the cold wind.

He glanced at Zhou Dahu's lips, which were purple from the cold, and suddenly remembered how the boy used to follow him around to raid bird nests when they were kids. But now, the tension in the boy's eyes seemed as unfamiliar as a layer of mist.

Zhou Dahu looked around warily, his shoes scraping against the icy stone pavement with a screeching sound.

The dog in the neighboring yard suddenly barked wildly, startling him so much that he trembled all over.

After confirming that no one was around, he shivered as he unbuttoned the innermost button of his cotton-padded coat and pulled out an oilcloth bag from the chest area—the edges of the cloth were damp from his body heat and still covered with fresh dirt.

"Sixteenth Uncle, this is a ginseng I just found. I wonder if you would like to buy it?" Zhou Dahu's voice was very low, and his breath was trembling.

The moment the layers of tarpaulin were unfolded, Zhou Yimin's pupils contracted sharply: the dark red ginseng whiskers curled like coral, the dense stem scars at the rhizome were clearly visible, the main root was plump and full, and the skin was covered with fine spiral patterns.

Despite the chilly wind of two or three degrees Celsius, he felt a thin layer of sweat seeping from his palms, and the warmth inside his cotton-padded coat suddenly became scalding.

Zhou Yimin's heart was pounding violently in his chest, as if it were about to break free of the restraints of his ribs.

He stared at the ginseng, his throat tightening, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down several times.

This is a rare and precious item. In times of scarcity, ginseng was not only a valuable medicinal herb, but also a "hard currency" that could be exchanged for a large sum of money.

Countless thoughts flashed through his mind in an instant: This ginseng is of excellent quality. If it were sold, how many urgently needed supplies could it be exchanged for?
But then, worry and vigilance also welled up in my mind.

In the current policy environment, will buying and selling ginseng privately cause trouble?

How did Zhou Dahu manage to dig up this ginseng? Did he steal some treasure from the collective forest?
If it gets discovered, not only will the ginseng be lost, but Zhou Dahu and he himself will also suffer.

He looked up at Zhou Dahu, his face full of expectation and unease, his eyes revealing his trust in him.

This made Zhou Yimin even more conflicted. He didn't want to betray this trust, but he was also afraid of falling into trouble because of momentary greed.

His fingers unconsciously rubbed the hem of his clothes as he struggled to weigh the benefits against the risks. Every thought felt like a heavy hammer, pounding against his taut nerves.

Zhou Yimin squatted down, and the white mist he exhaled condensed into tiny ice crystals above the ginseng. He held his fingertips above the ginseng roots but dared not touch them, for fear of damaging this precious gift from heaven.

"Da Hu, where did you dig this ginseng?" He lowered his voice unconsciously as he asked, his eyes scanning the empty alley warily. The withered branches of the old locust tree overhead seemed to be wailing, as if waiting for his answer.

Zhou Dahu's lips, which were purple from the cold, trembled, and his cotton shoes left messy footprints on the snow: "I found this by chance on the back mountain, and there are two more there. If you want them, Uncle Sixteen, I'll go and dig them up too!"

The excitement shining in his eyes put Zhou Yimin's mind at ease. The back mountain was undeveloped wasteland, and finding treasure there would at least not involve the issue of collective property.

The residual heat from the coal stove still lingered inside his cotton-padded coat. Zhou Yimin rubbed his frozen fingers and asked, "Dahu, do you want to exchange it for money? Or something else?"

Zhou Dahu's gaze suddenly darted away, his toes tracing crooked circles in the snow, his Adam's apple bobbing against his faded collar: "I...I..."

The stammering words were torn to pieces by the north wind.

Seeing the other person's embarrassed appearance, Zhou Yimin felt impatient and suddenly stood up as if to leave: "Dahu, are you going to talk or not? If you don't, I'm leaving."

As he turned around, he deliberately flung the cotton curtain around, making a crackling sound, revealing the warm yellow light from inside.

"Uncle Sixteen!"

Zhou Dahu's urgent shout made him stop in his tracks, his face flushed red like a ripe persimmon: "I'd like to exchange it for some meat, is that alright?"

These words carried the courage of a do-or-die spirit, yet their tone weakened to the point of being as faint as a mosquito's buzz at the end.

Zhou Yimin then noticed the patch peeking out from the cuff of Zhou Dahu's cotton-padded jacket and suddenly remembered that the cured meat he had asked someone to bring from the city was still hanging on the roof beam.

The chill suddenly turned warm; he patted Zhou Dahu's shoulder, the thin touch of his palm making his eyes well up with tears: "No problem! How many do you want?"

The firelight from the coal stove shone through the crack in the door onto the snow, casting long shadows of the two people that seemed to stretch into the depths of the dense forest behind the mountain, where treasures were hidden.

This question stumped Zhou Dahu. He didn't know the value of ginseng, even though he knew it was a treasure, but grain was more precious now.

With people struggling to even get enough to eat, who has time to think about medicinal herbs?

Zhou Dahu said cautiously, "Could you exchange it for two jin of meat, or even less?"

After they finished speaking, they all looked at Zhou Yimin with a bit of embarrassment.

Fearing that he would ask for too much, Zhou Yimin refused to agree to the deal.

If future generations knew that such a precious wild ginseng was exchanged for just two pounds of meat, what would Zhou Yimin think?
"Two pounds of meat is still a bit too little! How about one ginseng root for four pounds of meat? You can have any kind of meat you want!"

At this price, Zhou Yimin is definitely making a profit. If it were a ginseng of good quality, it could easily sell for a considerable amount of money.

Zhou Dahu hadn't expected Zhou Yimin to be so generous, offering four jin of meat for a single ginseng root, with the type of meat being entirely up to him. He had thought three ginseng roots would only yield two jin at most, but the price had increased sixfold—now three ginseng roots could be exchanged for twelve jin of meat.

Zhou Dahu said cautiously, "Sixteenth Uncle, I'd like twelve catties of fatty pork, is that alright?"

He knew that this request was a bit excessive, since fatty pork was in high demand right now, so he changed his mind: "Uncle Sixteen, or it doesn't have to be fatty pork, any meat will do!"

Zhou Yimin waved his hand: "It's okay, let's have the fatty pork!"

You know, there's no telling how much fatty pork is stored in the store space. Plus, I don't like eating fatty pork, so it's all stored there and I never have a chance to take it out!
"Go and dig up the other two plants now, but be careful to keep them in good condition and don't damage the ginseng roots."

Zhou Dahu nodded to indicate that he understood, and then left without looking back.

Seeing this, Zhou Yimin shook his head helplessly, then turned around and went back into the living room to continue warming himself by the fire.

At this moment, the old man asked, "Yimin, who was that just now? What was that thing in your hand?"

Zhou Yimin explained one by one: "That was a tiger, this is ginseng."

The old man's eyes lit up when he heard this. Ginseng was a valuable commodity, after all, but he didn't ask any further questions.

Braving the howling north wind, Zhou Dahu trudged towards the back of Liangjiazhuang Mountain, his steps uneven.

My cotton shoes sank into the half-foot-thick snow, and it took a lot of effort to pull them out with each step. My trouser legs were already soaked with snow water and covered with a hard layer of ice.

His ears and cheeks ached from the cold wind, but he didn't bother to rub them; his mind was only on the two ginseng roots hidden beside the old tree.

The deeper we went into the mountains and forests, the more fierce the wind became, making the withered branches whistle mournfully.

Zhou Dahu gripped the small, gleaming hoe in his hand, which he had brought from home.

His eyes were fixed on the ground, searching for the old, crooked pine tree in his memory—the mark where ginseng grew.

Finally, beside a thicket of bushes, he saw the familiar gnarled branches and was immediately overjoyed.

Under the snow cover, the ginseng stems and leaves had long since withered, but Zhou Dahu, with his years of experience in the mountains, recognized the unique shape of the ginseng receptacle at a glance.

He crouched down and carefully used a hoe to dig away the surface snow and frozen soil.

The cold wind rushed into his collar, making him shiver, and his fingers gradually lost feeling, but he dared not slack off in the slightest.

Each dig felt like carving a rare treasure, as if afraid of damaging the ginseng body underneath.

The frozen soil was as hard as iron, and every time the hoe fell, it made his hands go numb.

Zhou Dahu was panting heavily, and his breath condensed into frost in front of his eyes.

As the soil was dug deeper and deeper, the dark red ginseng tendrils were finally revealed, appearing and disappearing.

His heart raced with excitement, and he quickly put down the hoe and began to dig away the soil little by little with his fingers.

His fingernails were filled with frozen soil and withered leaves, causing him excruciating pain, but his eyes remained focused on the ginseng, his movements gentle yet firm.

After nearly an hour of effort, the first ginseng was finally unearthed intact. Its plump body gleamed with a warm luster, and its tendrils spread out like coral.

Zhou Dahu carefully wrapped it in an old cloth he carried with him, tucked it into his pocket, and felt the warmth of the earthy scent.

After a short rest, he mustered his strength and walked toward another marker not far away.

By the time the second ginseng was successfully obtained, it was already getting dark.

Zhou Dahu looked at the baby in his arms with a satisfied smile on his face.

The journey back was still difficult, but his steps were much lighter, as if he could already see his wife's happy face as she ate the fragrant braised pork.

The cold wind still howled, but it couldn't dispel the warmth in his heart. In the mountains and forests, only a string of deep and shallow footprints remained, gradually covered by the newly fallen snowflakes.

Zhou Dahu put the two ginseng roots into his pocket and walked towards Zhou Yimin's house.

As dusk, carrying a chill, seeped through the cracks in the door, Zhou Dahu's cotton shoes hesitated and stopped outside Zhou Yimin's courtyard gate.

The aroma of meat mingling with the scent of firewood wafting from inside the house acted like an invisible hook, causing his stomach to spasm—since his wife became pregnant, the family's food supplies had become increasingly tight, and he couldn't remember the last time he had tasted meat.

Clutching the ginseng hidden in the inner pocket of his cotton-padded coat, the fabric burning hot from his body heat, he took a deep breath and knocked on the wooden door, silently saying, "Excuse me."

"Big Tiger? Come in quickly!" Zhou Yimin's voice, carrying with it the rising steam, burst through the crack in the door.

The moment the door hinges turned, the rich aroma of stewed meat wafted out, Zhou Dahu's Adam's apple bobbed violently, and when he saw the braised pork ribs, glistening stir-fried vegetables, and white rice on the dining table inside, his feet seemed to be nailed to the spot.

"No, no, no," he said, but his body moved uncontrollably inside. As his patched-up trousers swept across the threshold, the snowflakes on them fell off.

"Put everything aside for now and eat first!" Zhou Yimin had already seen through Zhou Dahu's predicament. When he turned to go into the kitchen, he deliberately stomped his feet heavily to give the other person a buffer.

Amidst the crisp sound of porcelain bowls clattering together, Zhou Dahu stared at the mountain of rice piled up in his bowl, his eyes suddenly welling up with tears.

He heard his teeth chattering, but couldn't tell if it was from the cold or from hunger.

The moment the first bite of the rib enters your mouth, the rich aroma of the fat explodes on your tongue.

Zhou Dahu felt every pore on his body cheering, and a suppressed sob escaped his throat.

He tried desperately to suppress the urge to wolf down his food, but his trembling hands couldn't stop him from shoveling rice into his mouth, oblivious to the sauce dripping down his chin and into his collar.

Zhou Yimin silently put food into his bowl, watching Zhou Dahu's tense shoulders gradually relax.

Only when the last grain of rice was licked clean did Zhou Dahu realize his loss of composure.

He hurriedly wiped his mouth with his sleeve, but froze when he touched the hot towel that Zhou Yimin handed him.

To ease his nervousness, Zhou Dahu quickly took out two ginseng roots from his pocket.

"Uncle Sixteen, what do you think of its condition?"

Zhou Yimin nodded, opened the cloth, and two ginseng roots of good quality were revealed to everyone.

(End of this chapter)