Chapter 230: Turning In Public Grain (Part 1)

Village Chief Liang hurriedly expressed his thanks. “Secretary Zhou, if it weren’t for your help, our villagers wouldn’t know what to do.”

Something had gone wrong, and as the village chief, he couldn’t escape responsibility no matter what. On top of that, he didn’t know how to face Liang Zhishen’s family. After all, when they left together, the man was fine—yet in the time it took to deliver the public grain, he collapsed.

“Chief Liang, it was just a small gesture,” said the old secretary indifferently.

At that moment, Village Chief Liang took out a homemade dry tobacco roll and added, “Secretary Zhou, conditions in our village aren’t great, I hope you don’t mind.”

There was no helping it! The only other cigarettes he had on him were two packs of machine-rolled ones bought at the supply and marketing co-op, meant to grease palms at the grain depot. He couldn’t afford to touch those.

“Having anything to smoke at all is already a luxury,” said Secretary Zhou, unconcerned.

Thanks to eating a bit of food, Liang Zhishen was feeling much better. Village Chief Liang had already instructed others to gather the scattered wheat from the ground and bag it properly.

Seeing that the man was all right, the group resumed their journey.

However, the villagers of Shuangtian Village now held a great deal of goodwill toward the old secretary for his generous act. After all, Liang Zhishen was one of their own.

If someone was willing to help Liang Zhishen, they would surely lend a hand to any of them if they were the ones who collapsed.

Village Chief Liang found it puzzling. He had been to Zhoujiazhuang before to borrow grain, but back then, their situation wasn’t much better than his own village’s. In the end, he’d returned empty-handed.

Now, seeing the villagers of Zhoujiazhuang again—although they couldn’t be called radiant or glowing—they clearly had more energy and spirit than before.

It looked like they were eating their fill. He figured he ought to probe a bit, and once the public grain was turned in, he should make another visit to Zhoujiazhuang.

His own village had no grain left. He had no idea how they were going to get by in the future!

So, Village Chief Liang made probing inquiries here and there about how Zhoujiazhuang had been doing recently.

But the old secretary was no fool. He either dodged the questions or brushed them off vaguely. He couldn’t disclose Zhoujiazhuang’s situation—he was worried it might cause unnecessary trouble for Zhou Yimin.

One must always guard against others.

After several rounds of probing, Village Chief Liang realized he couldn’t get anything useful out of him, so he dropped it. Pushing further might only irritate the other party. It was better to see things for himself with another visit to Zhoujiazhuang later on.

Just then, the sound of a loudspeaker horn came from the rear of the procession.

Everyone turned around and saw a large truck following behind them. The truck bed was filled with sacks of grain, leaving everyone stunned.

The nearby villages were all in more or less the same situation. No one had heard of any village owning a large truck—after all, large trucks were rare and certainly not something a single village could afford. Maybe someone in that village was a truck driver? That was the only possible explanation.

Everyone moved aside to make way for the truck.

All those present were filled with envy. Large trucks were already rare, and seeing one was even rarer.

Zhou Xucai muttered under his breath, “If I had known this would happen, we should’ve had Yimin drive the big truck to deliver the grain. That would’ve made our village look good.”

Everyone in the village knew Zhou Yimin could drive a large truck—he had driven one over last time to collect goods.

The old secretary heard this and immediately smacked him, saying sternly, “Zhou Xucai, don’t ever say something like that again. If I hear it one more time, I’ll make you face the consequences of village rules.”

Yimin was Zhoujiazhuang’s last trump card. No matter what, they couldn’t reveal him lightly. The more people knew, the more likely it was to bring trouble—or even danger.

Only then did Zhou Xucai realize he had said something wrong, and he quickly apologized. “Old Secretary, don’t worry. It won’t happen again.”

Everyone knew the village rules weren’t a joke. If they came down on you, you’d be lucky to survive with just a layer of skin peeled off.

The old secretary was finally reassured by his attitude and didn’t continue to scold him. Overdoing it could have the opposite effect.

Once the truck passed, the group continued on their way.

In order to save time, everyone walked a bit faster.

Zhoujiazhuang was still doing okay—they had ox-carts and donkey carts, especially the donkeys. They had bought three or four earlier, and now they were finally coming in handy.

At last, they reached the grain station just before 7 a.m., only to find a long line already formed up front. They rushed over, knowing that if they were any later, the crowd would only grow larger.

When they arrived at the grain station, the old secretary saw a man with a jacket slung over one shoulder respectfully step forward with a smile on his face and ask in a low voice, “Leader, is it possible to start turning in grain now?”

Then, very respectfully, he held out two packs of cigarettes with both hands, hoping to get the grain station officials to start early so they could finish up sooner and head back.

The grain station official looked at the cigarettes, reluctantly accepted them, and then said sternly, “It’s not office hours yet. Get in line.”

The grain station wouldn’t open its doors until eight o’clock sharp. After all, rules were rules.

The man had no choice but to step back and line up obediently. He had thought that offering the cigarettes would get him in early, but as it turned out, even with the bribe, he still had to wait until eight.

So everyone lined up and waited for the officials to start work.

Some people, feeling hungry, took out the dry rations they had prepared earlier and began to eat with great gusto, washing it down with a bit of water if they choked.

The villagers from Shuangtian could only swallow their saliva silently when they saw this. Their village had no extra grain to make dry food to bring along.

If they were hungry, all they could do was drink water to suppress the feeling.

Once some people had eaten and drunk their fill, they lit up their homemade dry tobacco. Soon, the entire line was filled with the smell of smoke. For those who didn’t smoke, it was quite unpleasant—but there was nothing they could do, so they just endured it in silence.

This wasn’t the 21st century, where people talked about the dangers of secondhand smoke.

The villagers from Shangshui Village couldn’t bear it anymore. After all, they had only slept two or three hours the night before. Making it this far was already an accomplishment. They sat down, leaned against their grain sacks, and dozed off right then and there.

Zhou Xucai said, “So what if they have a big truck? They’re still stuck in line just like the rest of us.”

“Exactly. Who knows how much longer we’ll have to wait?” added Zhou Dafu.

The group continued chatting, but all of them tacitly avoided mentioning Zhou Yimin—after all, the old secretary’s warning still echoed in their ears.

As time passed, more and more people joined the line. Finally, eight o’clock arrived.

Village Chief Wang saw the line start to move and quickly roused his villagers.

The Shangshui villagers finally opened their eyes at the village chief’s call, got up quickly, and checked their grain sacks. Seeing that nothing was missing, they felt relieved.

At exactly eight, the grain station staff opened the doors and began letting in the first village in line.

They would definitely have to go in one village at a time. If everyone rushed in together, it would be impossible to tell who belonged to which village—and if someone snuck in under the radar, things could get messy.

(End of Chapter)