Chapter 623 A Good Thing
Zhou Yimin thought for a moment and said, "Uncle Zhang, how many kilograms of food do you want?"
If the amount is not large, just agree to it. If the amount is large, then there is nothing we can do.
Zhang Jianshe thought about it seriously and said, "Yimin, can you get a thousand kilograms of food? Even if it's all coarse grains?"
In such an environment, it’s good to have something to eat, so why would you be picky about eating fine grains?
This quantity was not large, so Zhou Yimin said, "Okay, Uncle Zhang, I'll deliver it tomorrow."
Zhang Jianshe was very excited: "Yimin, on behalf of the people in the research institute, I want to say thank you to you!"
Zhou Yimin quickly stopped him: "Uncle, there's no need to talk about this between us."
Zhou Yimin raised his hand and glanced at the Shanghai watch on his wrist. The pointer was stuck at half past eight. He wiped the breath on the glass of the dial with his sleeve and saw clearly that the short hand had passed most of the "8".
The snow in the yard had started to fall again without knowing when. A thin layer of snow accumulated on the motorcycle seat. He stamped his numb feet and said to Zhang Jianshe who was smoking a pipe, "Uncle Zhang, it's getting late. I'll go back first."
Zhang Jianshe had just knocked his pipe against the sole of his shoe. Hearing this, he looked up at the sky. Fine snow flakes were floating in the dark blue night. "The roads are slippery in this snowy day. How about we stay here for the night?"
As soon as he said this, he shook his head. There was only one kang in the west wing, and with Zhang Yan and her sister squeezed in, there was really no extra space. "Then I'll take you to the door."
As soon as Zhou Yimin got on the motorcycle, he heard the rustling sound of fabric rubbing against each other behind him.
Zhang Yan stood under the porch, still holding the unfinished scarf in her hand, the knitting needles spinning rapidly between her fingers. When she saw him looking at her, she hurriedly hid the scarf behind her, the snowflakes on her eyelashes flashing in the light: "Go slowly on the way, tomorrow... tomorrow I'll bring you some dumplings."
"No need to trouble you, I have one at home." Zhou Yimin started the engine, and the roar of the motorcycle broke the silence of the winter night.
In Zhou Yimin's rearview mirror, the figure standing under the door light became smaller and smaller until it disappeared around the corner.
In the courtyard, Zhang Lu was watching the show with her arms folded. Seeing her sister staring at the street corner in a daze, she deliberately dragged out her tone: "Sister, your brother-in-law has disappeared, why are you still standing here? If you keep looking, your eyes will stick to the back of the car."
She imitated the way Zhang Yan had just held her scarf, pinching the corner of her clothes and twisting it around, which made Aunt Zhang, who had just come out, laugh.
Zhang Yan came back to her senses and stretched out her hand to pinch her sister's arm. Her fingertips felt a little hot, "You're the only one who talks too much."
She glanced at the red scarf on Zhang Lu's chest, and suddenly remembered what Zhou Yimin had said just now. The corners of her mouth couldn't help but rise, "Lulu, I hope that when you have a partner, you can still be so tough."
"I wouldn't!" Zhang Lu retorted with her neck stiff, but when she turned around, she tripped over the door sill and almost fell in the snow.
Zhang Yan helped her with a smile, but walked into the house with a red face. The crunching sound of her cotton shoes stepping on the snow was mixed with a smile that she couldn't hide.
Aunt Zhang looked at her two daughters' backs and moved the freshly dried bacon under the eaves to prevent it from getting wet by the snow.
The lights in the west wing soon came on, and the shadow of Zhang Yan, who was knitting a scarf with her head down, was reflected on the window paper. The ball of yarn swayed gently on her knees, as if hiding an uncontrollable heartbeat.
In the distance, the roar of motorcycles gradually melted into the wind and snow, leaving only a series of increasingly faint ruts, winding into gentle arcs on the snow.
The sound of the motorcycle engine stopped abruptly at the gate of the courtyard. Zhou Yimin took off his helmet, and the white breath he exhaled instantly dissipated in the cold air.
He carried the oil-paper bag that Aunt Zhang had stuffed in his hand and walked toward his home on the bluestone slabs covered with thin ice. The soles of his military boots rolled over the broken snow, making a slight "crunching" sound.
The old locust tree in the yard swayed in the wind, and the snow on its branches fell down and landed right on his shoulders.
I pushed open the creaking wooden door and the cold air from the room hit me in the face.
Zhou Yimin put the oil paper bag on the table. He caught a glimpse of the coarse cloth mattress on the kang in the moonlight, and the fatigue from a day's work instantly came over him.
He was too lazy to take off his military coat and only unbuttoned the top two buttons. Then he fell heavily onto the kang, and the back of his head pressed against the pillow, making a "puff" sound.
The moonlight outside the window shines through the window lattice, casting mottled light and shadows on the ground.
He stared at the grain bags hanging on the beams for a while. They were the miscellaneous grains shipped out of the warehouse yesterday. The mouths of the bags were tied tightly with hemp ropes.
The 1,000 kilograms of grain that was to be delivered tomorrow morning was still in the factory's hidden warehouse and had to be transported to the agreed location before dawn. He raised his hand to rub his heavy temples, turned over and fell into a deep sleep without even taking off his shoes.
When the rooster crowed for the first time, Zhou Yimin suddenly opened his eyes.
The sky outside the window was still dark blue. He put on his coat in the dark, grabbed the flashlight on the table and walked out. The motorcycle drove through the silent alley, and the headlights cut through the night, illuminating the snowy road ahead.
When passing by the supply and marketing cooperative, he stopped and added a piece of canvas to the truck bed to prevent the grain from getting wet by dew.
The agreed location was in an old warehouse on the outskirts of the city. The rusty lock on the iron door glowed coldly under the flashlight.
Zhou Yimin took out the key from his arms, unlocked it with a "click", pushed open the heavy iron door, and the door hinges made a harsh "creaking" sound.
The warehouse was filled with dust and moldy smell. He skillfully put the food purchased from the store into the warehouse.
A thousand kilograms of grain were piled into a small hill. Zhou Yimin carefully covered it with canvas and scattered some hay around it to conceal it. Then he nodded with satisfaction.
When the sky was turning pale, Zhou Yimin locked the warehouse door and hid the key in the crack of the door lintel. He got on his motorcycle and headed back. When he passed the moat, he saw thick ice on the water surface.
As soon as Zhou Yimin stopped his motorcycle at the gate of the courtyard, he heard the crisp sound of coarse porcelain bowls colliding coming from the house.
He patted the snow foam on his military coat, pushed open the half-open wooden door, and ran into Zhang Jianshe drinking corn porridge from a large enamel bowl, the yellow porridge dripping down the corners of his mouth.
"Yimin? So early?" Zhang Jianshe almost dropped the bowl on his lapel and hurriedly wiped his mouth with his sleeve. There was still half a piece of sweet potato at the bottom of the bowl.
Aunt Zhang was adding firewood to the stove. She heard the noise and stuck her head out. Her apron was stained with flour. "Child, it's not even daybreak yet! Come in and warm yourself up. The corn porridge is still hot."
As soon as Zhou Yimin sat down at the table, Aunt Zhang brought him a bowl of steaming porridge and took out two white steamed buns from the steamer: "I'll heat up the braised pork left over from yesterday for you to eat with the buns."
She pushed the small plate in front of him, with bits of oil swaying gently in the sauce-colored gravy.
Zhang Lu ran out of the inner room with a steamed bun in her mouth, the end of her braid still sticking up: "Brother Yimin, are you catching the early bus?"
As soon as she finished speaking, Aunt Zhang patted her on the back and said, "You are so disrespectful. Ask your sister to bring out the pickled vegetables."
When Zhang Yan came out with the pickled vegetable dish, her cheeks were still stained with sleep. She pushed the dish towards Zhou Yimin, her fingertips accidentally touching the back of his hand, and she drew back as if burned, and turned to walk towards the kitchen, her steps brisk as if she was stepping on cotton.
"Is it done?" Zhang Jianshe glanced in the direction of the kitchen and asked in a low voice, slurping the corn porridge in his hand.
Zhou Yimin chewed on a steamed bun and replied incoherently, "It's just as you said. It's in the north corner of the old warehouse, covered with canvas and covered with hay."
He broke off half a steamed bun and threw it into his mouth. "The key is in the gap between the third brick of the door lintel, the protruding piece."
Zhang Jianshe's chopsticks paused on the edge of the bowl, and the hot steam from the corn paste blurred the lenses of his glasses.
"Good boy." He put a piece of braised pork into Zhou Yimin's bowl.
"I'll go inform everyone at the research institute after I finish eating."
"I don't care about the rest." Zhou Yimin drank a mouthful of porridge, and the warmth flowed down his throat into his stomach.
Aunt Zhang came out carrying a jar of pickled vegetables and just happened to hear the second half of the sentence: "What are you two talking about? You're so mysterious."
She added a spoonful of pickled radish to Zhang Jianshe's bowl, "Yimin, it's rare for you to come here, so eat more."
Zhang Jianshe quickly interrupted: "He's talking about his factory."
Zhou Yimin was pressing on the warm steamed bun bag.
"Aunt's porridge is so delicious."
He stuffed the last half of the bun into his mouth and said, "I'll leave first. I have things to do at the factory."
"What's the hurry?" Aunt Zhang stuffed the steamed bun wrapped in oil paper into his hand, "Eat it on the way, it will fill your stomach."
She stuffed a hot water bottle into his military coat pocket, "It's windy when riding a motorcycle, cover your hands."
When Zhou Yimin got on the motorcycle, Zhang Yan was standing under the porch, holding the gloves he had placed on the table. "Your gloves."
She ran over and handed it to him. She touched his palm lightly with her fingertips, then turned and ran back, the tip of her braid brushing the back of his hand like a frightened deer.
Amid the rumbling sound of the motorcycle engine, Zhang Jianshe looked at Zhou Yimin's back. Hearing this good news made him feel more reassured than any other delicacies.
In the kitchen, Aunt Zhang was winking at Zhang Yan, asking her to pick up the scarf that Zhou Yimin had dropped. Steam was coming out of the gap in the pot lid, condensing into fine water droplets on the window glass, blurring the gradually brightening sky outside the window.
Zhang Jianshe grabbed the army green jacket draped over the back of a chair and threw it on carelessly, buttoning it in the wrong place - the third button went into the fifth buttonhole, and the collar was shaking crookedly.
"What's wrong with you? You haven't finished your porridge yet!" Aunt Zhang was adding firewood to the stove. She looked up and saw him looking so flustered that the fire tongs in her hand almost fell into the fire.
Zhang Jianshe stuffed half a cold steamed bun into his mouth and waved his hands vaguely: "It's too late. There are urgent matters at the institute."
He grabbed the canvas bag on the corner of the table, stuffed two steamed buns into it, zipped it halfway, and rushed to the door, his heels making a "thump thump" sound on the threshold.
"Dad! Your scarf!" Zhang Yan chased out holding a gray-blue scarf. The tip of the scarf swept across the water tank covered with thin ice, splashing fine ice chips.
Zhang Jianshe took the scarf and wrapped it around his neck, with half of it hanging behind his back like a tail. He ran towards the alley without looking back, his army green jacket drawing a swaying arc in the morning mist.
Zhang Lu lay on the door frame, biting a steamed bun and muttering, "Did Dad get his butt burned by fire?"
Aunt Zhang poured the remaining corn porridge into the thermos bucket and wrapped it carefully with cotton cloth: "Don't talk nonsense, your father is in a hurry to deliver breakfast to the institute."
She looked in the direction where Zhang Jianshe disappeared, and suddenly remembered something, "Yanzi, hand me your father's glasses. He must have forgotten to bring them again."
When Zhang Jianshe ran to the alley entrance, sweat had already appeared on his forehead, which condensed into white frost in the sub-zero morning breeze.
He felt in his pocket, but couldn't find his glasses. He could only squint to recognize the road signs, and his cloth shoes made a "crunching" sound as he stepped on the snow.
When he passed by a breakfast stall, the stall owner called out to him, "Lao Zhang, you don't want to buy fried dough sticks today?"
He waved his hand and ran faster. The steamed buns in the canvas bag bounced up and down with his footsteps, like his uncontrollable heartbeat.
The iron door of the research institute had not yet been fully opened. He squeezed in sideways. The guard, Old Li, stuck his head out and said, "Master Zhang, you're here early today."
He responded vaguely and rushed to the office building. On the stairs, he met Professor Wang who was carrying a thermos bottle. He grabbed the other's arm and said, "Old Wang, there's good news!"
Professor Wang's eyes slid down to the tip of his nose and looked at his red face: "What's wrong?"
Zhang Jianshe panted and pointed in the direction of the laboratory: "We got... one thousand kilograms of food..." Every word was accompanied by rapid gasps, like an unoiled blower.
Before the laughter in the corridor had died down, Professor Wang dragged Zhang Jianshe towards the laboratory. The hem of his white coat swept across the calculation papers on the floor, startling the young men who were drawing at their desks and making them look up.
"Old Wang, slow down!" Zhang Jianshe staggered a few steps and the steamed buns in his canvas bag hit the metal door frame with a bang.
"Stop, everyone!" Professor Wang took off his glasses and wiped them. His eyes behind the lenses were surprisingly bright.
"Master Zhang has good news!" He deliberately dragged out his voice, his eyes sweeping across everyone's sallow faces.
"What good news?" The youngest, Xiao Zhou, pushed his glasses, the tip of his pen hovering over the drawing, and the ink droplets formed a black dot on the words "reactor parameters".
Just as Zhang Jianshe was about to speak, he saw the director coming out of the office wearing a military coat, with chalk dust on his army green collar: "What are you arguing about? Today is the last working day before the New Year."
Professor Wang explained happily, "Director, the construction has brought good news, that is, we have obtained food?"
The director's eyes widened: "Jianshe, is what Professor Wang said true?"
Zhang Jianshe nodded to indicate that it was true.
After hearing this good news, everyone was very happy. They were originally thinking about how to solve the food problem.
Unexpectedly, it was solved by Zhang Jianshe before it even started.
However, everyone in the research institute also knew that it must be Zhou Yimin who helped, otherwise if they relied solely on Zhang Jianshe, they would definitely not be able to get so much food.
The director understood that everyone would not be in the mood to work after hearing the good news, so he said, "Everyone, clean up and then go to the warehouse to take the food back home!"
After hearing this good news, everyone felt energized and wanted to bring the food back home as soon as possible.
Everyone has a clear division of labor. Some are responsible for sweeping the floor, some are responsible for mopping the floor, and some are responsible for cleaning the floor.
Originally Zhang Jianshe also wanted to help, but was stopped by everyone. They had obtained so much food and helped everyone solve a big problem, so how could they let Zhang Jianshe clean up?
(End of this chapter)
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