Old Yuan took the red paper-wrapped plaster and gently rubbed the edges of the package with his fingers, which felt like dry tree bark. "Is this the secret recipe from Jishidiang? This must have cost a lot of money, right?"
"Fifty."
Chen Changyuan pushed the bacon wrapped in oil paper towards the earthen stove.
Snap—the brass pipe hit the stove, and the old man stood up suddenly: "You bastard! Did the money come from the wind? In the past, when I had rheumatic leg pain, I used some folk remedies to get rid of it. Is it easy for you to save some money..."
Before he could finish his words, the young man pushed him back to the bench.
Chen Changyuan disagreed and even poured a glass of water for Lao Yuantou.
"When you helped my mother and me fetch water and chop firewood, you never complained about the trouble."
Old Yuan grabbed the teacup and took two big gulps, and a few dry coughs rolled out of his throat.
Just as he was about to say something, a stiff paper bag was suddenly stuffed into his palm, and the unique scent of ink from Big Black Ten came out from the gaps in the oil paper - five pieces in total.
"useless!"
The old man was so panicked that he threw the banknotes onto the kang, as if they were covered with sparks.
"When your father was alive..."
"If you don't accept them, I'll bring you the wolf cubs from the north slope tomorrow to keep you company."
Chen Changyuan held down the old man's trembling hand.
The old man looked at the roof beams and suddenly turned around to blow his nose, and some dust fell off his tattered felt hat.
After a while, he changed the subject with a hoarse voice: "How much did that tiger skin sell for? Eight hundred?"
Chen Changyuan put out the cigarette butt and wiped it on the window frame, then spread out his five fingers and shook them.
"one thousand?"
Seeing the other party shaking his head, the old man's eyes widened: "You can't exchange the whole thing for a bundle of bills, right?"
"Count to the sky and guess."
Chen Changyuan scooped water from the water tank behind the door and drank it, his Adam's apple rolling and splashing on his front.
"One thousand seventeen."
Before he could finish his words, he heard a thud. Turning around, he saw Old Yuantou slumped over the firewood pile, holding his chest.
A few lit cigarettes were bouncing on his trouser legs.
"One thousand seven?"
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