Courtyard House: Rebirth of a Shopkeeper in 1937

"Why are you charging so much? This is making it impossible for anyone to live!" Upon hearing this, Father's anger flared up instantly. He abruptly stood up from his chair, his chest heaving, his breathing becoming heavy. He was clearly furious at the heavy tax burden. He secretly rejoiced that he had gone to Yongfeng Town to stock up on grain beforehand, and that Xingbao often brought some food to supplement the family's income. Otherwise, their family might not have been able to get through this year's crisis.

Old Wang slowly pulled out his water pipe from his pocket, added some tobacco, lit it, took two puffs, exhaled a cloud of white smoke, then sighed heavily and said in a slow, deliberate tone, "It's not just your family that's struggling; everyone in the village is having a tough time this year. The land tax averages 48 cents per mu, the regular tax takes up 10%, there's another 30% for national disaster relief, and then there are all sorts of other surcharges to calculate separately." He looked up at his father, his tone earnest, "Dawei, although the price of grain has gone up, only your family in the whole village can afford to buy grain at four silver dollars per shi. If the villagers want to sell their grain to you, please be accommodating and accept it, help them get through the tax hurdle first. My family isn't in a hurry for grain; you can come to my house to get it when you have some money. As for the other families who ordered grain from you before, I'll also help you negotiate with them, and I won't let them make things difficult for you."

After speaking, Old Wang slowly stood up. His already hunched back seemed even more bent than when he arrived, and his steps were heavy. He didn't linger any longer and walked out of the shop with faltering steps. The cold moonlight shone on the ground, casting a long shadow of him, making him look exceptionally lonely. The eldest brother silently followed, closed the door, and re-locked the door frame. Naturally, the whole family gathered around the counter.

The eldest brother spoke first, his voice full of hesitation: "Dad, are we really going to take the villagers' grain? That's their winter rations. If we take it, how will their families survive the winter?"

Father's anger had subsided somewhat. He slowly sat back in his chair, his face full of helplessness: "How can we not accept it? If we accept it, at least the grain is still in the village. If we urgently need money or grain, everyone can lend to each other. Families who can sell their grain can at least hold on for a while; those who have no grain to sell and can't scrape together the money are truly desperate. I reckon the village will be in turmoil again starting tomorrow." He turned to Xingbao, his tone softening, with a hint of guilt: "Xingbao, we won't go to Yongfeng Town tomorrow. We should use the oil and salt we have at home sparingly; it should last us a while."

Xingbao's heart tightened, and he quickly leaned forward, asking, "Dad, are we running out of money?"

Father shook his head gently and sighed, "We still have enough money, but our family has spent a lot this year, so we don't have much left. Let's see how many people in the village need to sell their grain first. Once we've helped everyone raise enough money to pay their taxes, we can go to Yongfeng Town to buy more. That's all. You three brothers, take Guixiang and go about your business."

The second brother responded and led Xingbao and Guixiang to the backyard to sift and sort the freshly pounded rice. Inside the main room, the merchants who had just overheard the tax matter were now anxious, huddled together whispering. As Xingbao passed by, he vaguely heard that some of the travelers who had just left home had decided to head back the next day to pay the taxes first; those who were already planning to return were even more anxious, just wanting to sell their goods as soon as possible—it seemed that all their money was tied up in goods, and the money they had set aside was simply not enough to pay the taxes.

Seeing their anxious, scratching-headed expressions, Xingbao secretly rejoiced: "Luckily, Old Wang came tonight. If we had waited until tomorrow night, when our family was already heading to Yongfeng Town, we would have been in complete chaos." This was the second time they'd been troubled by money. He remembered the last time they were penniless, unable even to pay the labor exemption fee, and the township head forced them to forcibly take away their painstakingly cultivated spirit tea tree, leaving the spirit spring water exposed. This time, taxes almost disrupted all their plans again. It seemed that whether in his past life or this one, being without money was truly unacceptable. However, the most pressing issue right now was food; how to balance this was up to his father to decide.

Second Brother led Xingbao and Guixiang to the small classroom in the backyard and lit a dim oil lamp. The tiny flames danced on the wick, casting long shadows of the three children. Second Brother brought over a bamboo sieve for sifting rice, poured in the freshly pounded rice, and gently shook it, gripping the sieve's edges with both hands. Fine rice bran fell down, accumulating into a thin layer on the laid-out burlap, which would be collected later to feed the chickens; the coarser husks floated on top of the rice, which Second Brother casually scooped up and put into a cloth bag beside him.

After sifting the rice husks, the three men each pulled up a small stool and sat down. In front of them were wooden basins filled with the sifted rice. All three bent down, using their fingertips to pick out any unhusked grains, pebbles, and clods of dirt. The second brother was the most meticulous; if his fingertips touched anything that didn't look right, he would pick it out and throw it into an empty bowl beside him, muttering, "These guests are from Nanjing; they're very particular. We can't let any impurities get mixed in with the rice, or it will ruin our shop's reputation. That would be a huge loss." Gui Xiang, though young, had bright eyes. Squatting by the wooden basin, her little fingers deftly rummaged through the rice grains, occasionally lifting a plump, white grain to examine it under the oil lamp, as if she were holding a precious treasure.

Xingbao continued working, but other ideas were brewing in his mind. The mountains of books piled up on the carriages of the teachers and students of Sanmin Middle School during the day were now constantly on his mind. There must be a lot of knowledge and techniques in those books that he had never heard of before. If he could borrow a few to read, he would have a legitimate reason to come up with those advanced ideas in the future, without having to rack his brains to make up excuses anymore.

The more he thought about it, the happier he became. He almost crushed the grains of rice between his fingers, wishing he could immediately pull the teachers and students back and let them stay at the inn that night. Given his childhood, he figured it wouldn't be difficult to plead and borrow a few books. Besides, his mental strength was now far superior to that of ordinary people, and his memory was ridiculously good—he could almost remember everything he saw. His older brother and Guixiang also had good memories, only his second brother was a little weaker. As long as he could borrow the books, even if he only skimmed through one or two in one night, he could still memorize them word for word later. Thinking of this, Xingbao couldn't help but smile secretly. His movements as he picked up the rice became much lighter, and he happily contemplated the idea, as if he were already holding those thick books, immersed in their pages.

Just as he was lost in thought, he heard footsteps behind him. Xingbao turned around and saw that his older brother had finished with the work in the main room and had come to help. His older brother rolled up his sleeves, sat down next to Xingbao, and skillfully picked out a small pebble mixed in with the rice with his fingertips, throwing it into the empty bowl with a crisp "ding".