Courtyard House: Home Alone

"Huaijin," he slowly put down his teacup, "where did you hear that from?"

"Grandpa, this is a message just sent by 'Ghost.' You know, 'Ghost' has many capable people under his command, so the information they send is absolutely accurate."

The main room was so quiet that you could hear the crackling of the firewood in the fireplace, while from the direction of the cellar came the rustling sound of Xinyi moving sacks.

Tang Baolin suddenly laughed, his wrinkles revealing decades of hardship: "If you're going to joke about something like this, you don't deserve the surname Lin."

"Then I'll speak frankly."

Lin Yifan leaned forward and said, "When the drought hit, grain prices soared and refugees flocked to the area."

The city of Beiping may seem impregnable, but its greatest fear is running out of food. With two million people living in the city, the old man knows better than I how much food they consume every day.

Furthermore, refugees from the Central Plains will certainly flood into Beiping at that time.

"You mean...?"

"Stockpile food."

Lin Yifan pulled out a piece of paper from his sleeve, which he had hastily written while waiting. "I've calculated it. Based on a daily ration of one and a half jin of grain per person, the annual grain consumption in Beiping City is around 160,000 tons."

If we add the arriving disaster victims, we need to store 300,000 tons, supplemented with dried sweet potatoes and miscellaneous grains, to ensure the safety of Beiping.

Tang Baolin took the paper, his eyes scanning it line by line behind his reading glasses, his knuckles tapping lightly on the surface: "Three hundred thousand tons... Huaijin, do you know how huge that is?"

"Know."

Lin Yifan glanced at the old man and said, "When 'Ghost' sent the message, he said that they would be in charge of the food, but we need to hurry up and prepare the granary."

This isn't just between the two of us. You need to go back and discuss it with Zheng Shucheng and the others. We need to organize manpower immediately and start building the granary."

"in addition,"

He paused, then continued, "It must be done in secret. We can't let the Japanese find out, and we can't let Chongqing get wind of it."

Tang Baolin folded the paper and tucked it into his pocket. He stood up, paced a few steps in the main room, and suddenly stopped: "Huaijin, this 'ghost'...why...?"

Lin Yifan had anticipated this question. He lowered his eyes, looking at his fingertips: "Old man, 'Ghost' is helping the people. Millions of lives are more important to them than any political party or ideology."

And what about you?

Tang Baolin turned around, his gaze sharp, "Why are you so concerned?"

The air in the main room seemed to freeze for a moment. A spark popped from the firewood in the fireplace, and Lin Yifan looked up, his voice soft yet clear: "I am Chinese, and the Lin family's ancestral graves are in Hebei. Grandpa, what was the purpose of everything we did before?"

Tang Baolin was silent for a moment, then suddenly burst into laughter, his laughter tinged with a sense of desolation: "Good, good! I, Tang Baolin, have lived for over sixty years, and this is the first time I've seen someone speak of such a momentous matter so lightly."

Three hundred thousand tons of grain, secretly building granaries—Huaijin, are you trying to make me sacrifice this old man's life?

"It's not just you."

Lin Yifan stood up and walked to the old man. "Zheng Shucheng, Qin Zhirong, and those newly appointed officials all need to get moving."

Before the spring of next year, at least ten large grain depots should be built, scattered in the four suburbs of Beiping, each storing 30,000 tons of grain.

Also, try to build it underground, so that the laborers building the granary can exchange their work for food.

"Ten?" Tang Baolin frowned. "How could we possibly keep such a commotion from the Japanese?"

"That's why it needs to be dispersed, underground, and under other pretexts."

Lin Yifan took out another map from his pocket, a topographical sketch of the four suburbs of Beiping. "Look, here—at the foot of the Western Hills, warehouses under the pretext of building the Summer Palace; here—on the banks of the Tonghui River, sheds supposedly for dredging the river; here—"

His fingertips traced the map, and he gave a reason for each point he made: "The expansion of the military horse farm in Nanyuan, the renovation of the warehouse in Dongzhimen, and even the courtyard of the tomb keeper of the Tang family's ancestral tombs can all be used as examples."

We've basically wiped out most of the Japanese agents' infiltration personnel in Beiping. Any investigations we find only scattered projects; nobody would suspect that ten grain depots are connected underneath.

Tang Baolin took the map, his reading glasses slipped down to the tip of his nose, so he simply took them off and brought them close to the candlelight to examine them closely. The candlelight danced on his deeply lined face, like illuminating an old map.

"Exchanging work for food..."

He suddenly looked up. "You mean, let those warehouse repair workers know what they're doing?"

"We knew they were building a warehouse, but we didn't know it was a grain depot."

Lin Yifan took a fox fur coat from the daybed and draped it over the old man's shoulders. "Two catties of mixed grains per person per day, enough to fill you up. In this world, having food to eat is enough to keep people quiet. Once the granary is built, those who want to stay can be granary keepers, and those who don't can be given some travel expenses and go far away."

"Two jin of mixed grains..." Tang Baolin murmured repeatedly, then suddenly laughed, "Huaijin, you've completely outmaneuvered people."

"What we're calculating isn't people's hearts, it's fate."

Lin Yifan tied the belt of his fox fur coat for him. "Millions of lives, old man. In the thirteenth year of Chongzhen's reign, only seven out of the thirty-odd members of the Tang family's ancestors remained. How did those twenty-odd lives die?"

It wasn't war, it wasn't plague, it was hunger. People were so hungry they resorted to cannibalism, to selling their wives and daughters, until they didn't even have the strength to cry.

This time it will only be more serious, and the disaster area is surrounded by Japanese-occupied territory, what do you think...?

Tang Baolin's hand froze in mid-air.

"Ten grain depots," the old man finally spoke, his voice hoarse, "each with a capacity of 30,000 tons, underground, scattered, under various pretexts. Huaijin, this project will take at least three months, manpower, materials, money..."

"'Ghost' will be taken care of," Lin Yifan interrupted him.

"The money comes from the profits of penicillin, the materials go through the pharmaceutical factory's transportation line, and the manpower—" He paused, "those few arrested in Linli, like Liu Quande, will come in handy."

They were trained, knowledgeable in civil engineering and surveying, and after being locked in a dark room for a few days, they were as docile as mice. Let them atone for their crimes by repairing the granary; their fate will depend on their performance then.

Tang Baolin was taken aback upon hearing this, then shook his head and smiled bitterly: "Huaijin, Huaijin, what's wrong with your brain? A Kuomintang agent, turned into a laborer building a granary."

"Anyone who can do the work is a good laborer."

Lin Yifan remained indifferent. "Liu Quande has been operating in Beiping for many years and knows the terrain of the surrounding areas very well. Letting him survey and select a site will be ten times faster than us figuring it out ourselves. If he wants to live, he'll have to use all his skills."

The old man pondered for a moment, then suddenly lowered his voice: "That Chen Gongshu hasn't shown up yet. Did we misjudge the situation, or...?"

He lowered the curtains, turned around, and said, "There's only one possibility for why he didn't come—he's waiting. Waiting for a reply from Chongqing, waiting for a new action plan, waiting for an opportunity to turn things around with profit."

"Then let's..."

"Make him wait."

Lin Yifan smiled, but the smile didn't reach his eyes. "Wait until he gathers everyone together, wait until he's finished weaving the net, wait until he feels everything is foolproof..."