Chapter 229 Someone Fainted

Before dawn, the old village secretary led the people of Zhoujiazhuang to start loading the already sun-dried wheat onto ox carts and donkey carts. Today, they were going to deliver the grain to the state.

Delivering public grain meant that if you farmed land owned by the state, once the autumn harvest came, you were required to hand over a portion of the grain for free.

For example, if you farmed ten mu of land, regardless of how much you harvested, you had to submit twenty percent of each mu’s yield to the state.

For many young people of later generations, this concept is unfamiliar. But for those born in the 1960s and 70s, delivering public grain was a major affair in the countryside—an indelible memory etched deep in their minds.

After over an hour of bustling work, they finally finished loading most of the wheat onto the carts. The rest, which couldn’t fit, had to be carried manually using shoulder poles.

Once the old village secretary saw that everyone was ready, he called out loudly, “Let’s go!”

Everyone set out in an orderly fashion. This was something they did every year, and after so much time, it had become routine.

The village had already prepared the dry rations needed for the road in advance. Since there were many people, all the food was made into corn buns—one large hemp sack full of them.

“Old Secretary, is one sack of corn buns enough?” the brigade leader asked doubtfully.

In previous years, they’d needed at least two or three sacks just to barely have enough to eat.

First, it would take one or two hours just to get to the grain depot—they lived quite far from it.

Second, once they arrived, there’d probably be a long line. Who knew how long it would take for their village’s turn to come?

Not to mention, their grain might not even pass inspection. They could be told to sun-dry it again somewhere.

Of course, Zhoujiazhuang might be better off this year.

After all, they had someone at the commune. Last time, Chen Hua was rewarded for getting a threshing machine and was reportedly given an important post in the commune.

As the saying goes, it’s easier to get things done when you know someone.

And the old secretary waved the two packs of Zhonghua cigarettes in his hand. “With these two packs of Zhonghua today, plus Chen Hua helping us put in a word, our village will definitely have a smooth path.”

In past years, they didn’t have good cigarettes on hand. China is a country where connections and etiquette matter.

In fact, even if he wanted to buy good cigarettes before, he couldn’t. Without ration coupons, they weren’t available—unless you went to the black market. But everyone knew the black market came with high risks.

When the brigade leader saw the Zhonghua in the old secretary’s hand, his eyes widened slightly as a craving hit him. He immediately flattered him: “Old Secretary, can I have one of those Zhonghua cigarettes?”

He’d never smoked such a good brand before—imagine the bragging rights.

The old secretary replied irritably, “Even I don’t want to smoke these myself—they’re meant for the leaders at the grain depot. Forget it.”

The brigade leader gave an awkward laugh and didn’t press further.

And so, the people of Zhoujiazhuang set off in grand procession. When they reached the outskirts of the village near Shangshui Village, they saw that those villagers were also departing.

The two sides greeted each other and chatted briefly.

They decided to travel together—after all, there’s safety in numbers. This way, they didn’t have to worry about foolish troublemakers trying to rob them of their grain.

On the road to the grain depot, it was bustling with oxcarts, horse-drawn wagons, and people dragging carts. The noise and excitement filled the air.

Besides Shangshui and Zhoujiazhuang, most villages probably hadn’t brought enough grain. There was simply no choice—being able to eat one’s fill these days was a luxury.

You could see that most people looked sallow and skinny. There wasn’t a single fat person around. When you couldn’t even eat enough, how could you gain weight?

As for the so-called “three highs” of later generations (high blood pressure, high blood sugar, high cholesterol)—those just didn’t exist in this era.

Though they were strangers, everyone began chatting more as the journey went on.

Just then, someone up ahead suddenly shouted, “Someone fainted!”

People were still warmhearted in these times. Everyone rushed forward, ready to help.

Unlike in the 21st century, where even if an elderly person collapsed on the street, people hesitated to help for fear of being falsely accused. You could lose your savings or even your family because of it.

The old village secretary was nearby and hurried over with others to help.

They saw a middle-aged man who was so starved he had no meat on his bones—just skin and skeleton. A bag of wheat lay scattered on the ground beside him, but no one focused on the wheat; they were all concerned about the man’s condition.

“Liang Zhishen, wake up! Everyone step back a little. Who has water? Bring it here!” a middle-aged man nearby called out.

Only then did the crowd react. The old secretary quickly brought over the village’s kettle and handed it over. He thought the man looked familiar, and asked, “Are you Village Chief Liang?”

Village Chief Liang looked a little curious. “You know me?”

“I’m the secretary of Zhoujiazhuang,” the old man introduced himself.

“Oh, Secretary Zhou! Let’s talk later—let me take care of this first.”

He took the kettle and slowly poured water into the unconscious man’s slightly parted mouth. The water trickled into his throat, and before long, the man opened his eyes.

Everyone breathed a sigh of relief at the sight.

Village Chief Liang spoke awkwardly, “Does anyone have spare food? He fainted from hunger. If he doesn’t eat something soon, he might pass out again—or even starve to death.”

There was no other choice. Their village had handed over all its wheat to meet the public grain quota, and they’d even borrowed a bit from other villages just to make ends meet.

They hadn’t brought any food for the road. Otherwise, they would’ve already fed Liang Zhishen some corn buns. After all, life was at stake. If worst came to worst, they’d have to take some from the public grain for him.

Their village had a rough year—the harvest was poor.

“I’m fine… just let me rest,” Liang Zhishen said weakly.

But food was so scarce—most people didn’t even have enough for themselves, let alone extra to share.

The old secretary couldn’t bear it. He took out three corn buns from Zhoujiazhuang’s supply and offered them. “Brother, have something to eat first.”

Just as Liang Zhishen was about to refuse, the old secretary pushed the buns into his hands.

Village Chief Liang stepped in, “Zhishen, just eat. If something happens to you, what will your wife and kids do?”

Liang Zhishen was the backbone of his family. If anything happened to him, the household would collapse.

Hearing this, Liang Zhishen didn’t argue further. He quietly began eating the three corn buns. But he ate too quickly and suddenly choked. He slapped his chest, trying to swallow, but it didn’t help.

Village Chief Liang quickly handed over water.

Liang Zhishen took it and drank eagerly, gulping several mouthfuls before finally managing to swallow the bun stuck in his throat.
(End of Chapter)