Chapter 4: Distributing Oil Residue (Please Add to Favorites)

The Siheyuan courtyard—Old Man Xu and his daughter-in-law had just returned home.

Old Lady Xu revealed that Zhou Yimin had given them more than ten catties of cornmeal.

“Yimin is truly a good child,” she sighed.

Widow Xu was overjoyed. With these eighteen catties of cornmeal, they could last until next month’s ration distribution, solving their urgent crisis.

Old Man Xu also breathed a sigh of relief, but after thinking for a moment, he said, “When he comes back, I’ll send him two yuan.”

Their family still had some money, but grain was incredibly difficult to buy. Even at the Pigeon Market, it was scarce and absurdly expensive.

The earliest civilian markets were called Pigeon Markets because they initially sold pigeons. Later, they expanded into large-scale trading hubs for all sorts of goods, though they remained unofficial.

Some people equated the Pigeon Market with the black market, but strictly speaking, they were slightly different.

The Pigeon Market wasn’t government-sanctioned; it was a spontaneous gathering where people sold goods, usually during the day, and mostly agricultural products. The authorities turned a blind eye to it—after all, people needed a way to survive.

The black market, however, operated discreetly at night. There was an entrance fee, guards, and all sorts of shady, untraceable goods—similar to the legendary “Ghost Markets.”

Currently, cornmeal was selling for ten cents per catty in both the Pigeon Market and the black market.

Yet, people still flocked to buy it despite the high price. What else could they do if they didn’t have enough to eat?

Even so, cornmeal was still a hot commodity at both markets. In fact, any grain—whether refined or coarse—was in high demand. Those who acted fast got it; those who were slow got nothing.

Their family’s rations were only going to become increasingly insufficient in the future. They couldn’t rely on Zhou Yimin’s generosity forever.

However, since Zhou Yimin worked in procurement and had access to grain outside of government rationing, they could buy some from him.

That was the only long-term solution.

“Yes, we should. Yimin has it tough too,” Old Lady Xu nodded in agreement.

—

In Zhoujia Village, Zhou Yimin’s grandmother must have heard the news as well. She rushed home with a vegetable basket, though it only contained a few wild greens.

Before she even reached the house, she caught the scent of oil residue.

Outside the house, a crowd of village children stood eagerly, swallowing their saliva.

Zhou Yimin came out with a small basin of oil residue, ready to distribute, when he saw his grandmother return.

“Grandma, you’re back? Didn’t I tell you not to go picking wild greens anymore?”

Hearing the “reproach” in her grandson’s tone, the old lady grinned, showing all her teeth. “Alright, alright, I won’t pick them next time.”

As long as her dear grandson was home, nothing else mattered.

Seeing him distributing a whole basin of oil residue to the children, she felt a little heartache but said nothing.

As long as her grandson was happy, nothing else was important.

“Old lady, hurry up and make dumplings for my eldest grandson!” Grandpa Zhou called out loudly from inside the house.

The old lady responded and hurried inside.

Only then did Zhou Yimin start handing out the oil residue.

“Line up properly, one at a time—no pushing,” he instructed.

Each child received two pieces. Many kids ate one and carefully saved the other to take home.

Those who got some all said “thank you” politely.

The taste lingered in their mouths—so fragrant, so crispy, and their lips were left shiny with oil.

“You—how old are you?” Zhou Yimin glared at a boy nearly as tall as himself.

Did he really have the nerve to line up for food?

The boy chuckled sheepishly. “Uncle, give me two pieces? My little brother sprained his foot and couldn’t come.”

Zhou Yimin wasn’t sure if he was telling the truth, so he turned to Laifu for confirmation—he wasn’t familiar with many people in the village.

Laifu nodded. “Big Brother, Gou Dan really did sprain his foot.”

Alright then.

Zhou Yimin gave him two extra pieces.

“Thank you, Uncle!”

After he finished distributing, Zhou Yimin returned inside. His grandmother handed him a cup of sugar water.

“Yimin, have some sugar water.”

As for Laifu and the others? None for them.

Favoring her own grandson—who could argue with that?

“Thank you, Grandma!” Zhou Yimin enjoyed being spoiled by the elderly. He downed the drink in one go—it was sweet and refreshing.

“Are you hot? Let your grandpa fan you,” Grandma said with a wide smile.

Zhou Yimin couldn’t help but laugh.

Let Grandpa fan him? Wouldn’t that be turning the world upside down?

He quickly said, “I’m not hot.”

Before long, his aunt came over.

“Wow! Yimin brought back so many things again!” She was delighted. No matter what, their family could benefit from this. At the very least, the three kids would get to eat something good.

“Auntie, in a while, I’ll bring back some fabric. Can you make clothes for Grandpa and Grandma? And also a set for Laifu and the others,” Zhou Yimin said.

Huang Lan was overjoyed but still said, “Yimin, you’re really capable! Of course, I’ll make clothes for your grandparents. But Laifu and the others don’t need new clothes—they can still wear what they have.”

Zhou Yimin rolled his eyes.

Full of patches, and you call that ‘still wearable’?

Then again, in times like these, “patching up clothes to last another three years” was a common mindset. Every child’s clothes had patches, many of which were repurposed from adult garments.

There was no such thing as “new clothes for the New Year.”

“Make them a set. It’s my way of showing care as their big brother. I have connections at the textile factory—I can get fabric, so don’t worry,” Zhou Yimin assured her.

The old man spoke, “Xu Qiang’s wife, just do as my good grandson says. Don’t spread the word about Yimin knowing people at the textile factory—it’ll only bring trouble.”

If word got out, everyone would come looking for Yimin. Should he help them or not?

“I understand, Uncle,” Huang Lan quickly responded.

The old lady “educated” Laifu and the other two little ones, saying, “From now on, you must always remember how good your big brother is and listen to him…”

After finishing her lecture, she took Huang Lan to the kitchen to make dumplings.

When Huang Lan saw all the things her nephew had brought back, her eyes widened in astonishment.

“Auntie, Yimin is really amazing.”

The old lady, who loved hearing others praise her grandson, chuckled and scolded, “You lot are all useless—only my Yimin…”

What followed was a long string of self-praise, belittling others to highlight her beloved grandson, while Yimin’s aunt chimed in to play along.

A little while later, Yimin’s uncle, Zhou Xuqiang, returned carrying two buckets of water. The old man didn’t even let him rest, instructing, “Since Yimin is back today, fetch a few more buckets so he can take a bath later.”

“Alright!” Zhou Xuqiang readily agreed without complaint.

Honestly, he came here more often than he visited his own parents. Everyone in the village knew the story behind it, and no one found it strange.

“Grandpa, let Third Uncle rest for a bit,” Yimin said.

Then he turned to Zhou Xuqiang and offered, “Third Uncle, I’ll go with you later and carry the water back on my bicycle.”

Zhou Xuqiang laughed, “No need, Yimin. You just stay home. The well is quite far now, and bicycles can’t get there—the old well has dried up.”

Seeing his grandson intercede, the old man relented and said, “Fine, eat first, then go. And I’ll allow you to have two cups of liquor later.”

“Thanks, Uncle!” Zhou Xuqiang was overjoyed.

In the countryside, sweet potato liquor was a rarity. Usually, the old man secretly enjoyed a cup by himself, rarely sharing.

For those two cups of liquor, Zhou Xuqiang was more than willing to fetch extra water—he was happy to do it.

Originally, he could have eaten at the village canteen, but with dumplings being made here, who would still want to eat that wild vegetable porridge? It was not only unappetizing but also far from filling.

Meanwhile, as she wrapped dumplings, Huang Lan kept praising the quality of the flour.

If Yimin weren’t home, they probably would have mixed something else into the flour. Who uses premium flour straight for dumplings? That’s just not how thrifty folks live.

At that moment, the entire village was talking about Zhou Yimin, their faces filled with envy.

Since all their kids had benefited from him, their praises were endless.

(End of Chapter)