Chapter Thirty-two: Before Moving In

As the aroma wafted from the large cauldron, the villagers working on the roof picked up their pace. Han Li, seeing that some had already finished their work, went out of his way to invite the three great figures of Shanghe Village.

The dish prepared in the big pot was eggplant stewed with pork, with a layer of shimmering oil on top that made it look incredibly appetizing. The side dishes were air-dried rabbit, cucumber dipped in bean paste, tomatoes tossed with sugar, scrambled eggs with tomato, and beans stir-fried in lard. Finally, Mrs. Zhao, the village chief’s wife, declared that five dishes weren’t enough and added a plate of dandelion seasoned with garlic.

It must be said that the dining etiquette in Shanghe Village was no less elaborate than in the capital. The men drank and ate at the table, while women and children were forbidden from joining; they could only wait on the side. Traditionally, even meals had to wait until the men finished drinking, and only after their plates were cleared could the women eat. Today, at Han Li’s insistence, and since the hosts included two women, they were allowed to eat first, but they made sure to leave enough dishes in the pot for the men still drinking—even if it meant they went hungry themselves, they would never take a second helping.

Han Li’s only miscalculation was that he hadn’t bought enough alcohol. He forgot that the locals were quite heavy drinkers. He borrowed a jar that could hold ten jin of liquor, filled with the local sixty-proof red sorghum baijiu. Later, he bought two bottles of sixty-five proof Beidacang, but even that turned out to be insufficient!

Still, no one minded much, and their eating and drinking was swift—otherwise, night would fall and they’d have to trouble someone to light a lamp.

The courtyard was lively during dinner, but the atmosphere at the academy for educated youth was rather odd. Several people were gossiping about Han Li and his companions, their jealousy sharper than a dip in a vat of vinegar.

“Han, Hao, and Yang are really something—not only did they build their own house,”

“They even made meat dishes to treat the villagers. Have they forgotten that we educated youth are supposed to stick together?”

“Exactly! They’re just currying favor. If we were invited, they couldn’t put on a show.”

Had Han Li overheard, he would have responded with a slap. He built his house without any help from them, and they only offered snide remarks from the sidelines. Now that the house is finished and it’s time to thank the villagers who lent a hand, why should he invite them along?

When Han Li’s gathering dispersed, the women took the initiative to tidy up. The men collected the pots, bowls, and cutting boards, loaded them onto a cart, and Han Li only needed to sweep the courtyard.

He handed each of the children who’d come a handful of hard fruit candies; the little ones grinned so wide their eyes disappeared.

After seeing everyone off, Han Li stretched in satisfaction.

“Tomorrow I’ll urge the carpenter to finish the front gate, and in the afternoon, we’ll need firewood for the kang bed. That way, the rooms can dry sooner—I can’t wait to move in.”

“You wouldn’t believe it, but sleeping on the firewood pile these days has left my back aching every morning.”

Yang Xiuying said, “You’re lucky—the boys can sleep in the courtyard, cool and comfortable. We girls have to squeeze inside, sweating and listening to some snore and grind their teeth.”

Hao Hongmin added, “We’ll soon be done, but what about the firewood? We really can’t handle chopping it ourselves. If we keep trading favors, will there be any trouble?”

Han Li replied, “It gets cold here from October and stays frozen until February or March. In minus forty-degree weather, lacking enough firewood isn’t just a joke—it’s deadly serious. Tomorrow at work, let’s ask the aunties how firewood is managed around here. Whatever happens, we need to stockpile as much as possible.”

When they returned to the academy, they experienced the full force of isolation—no one spoke a word to them. Han Li didn’t care; he grabbed his bedsheet and headed for the firewood pile.

It wasn’t that Han Li was aloof or looked down on his fellow educated youth; he simply had his principles. Friendship and effort must be mutual—if you’re good to him, he’ll be even better to you. But if you’re only after his generosity, you can stay where you are.

If there were decent people at the academy, he wouldn’t refuse to make friends. But ever since he arrived, his first meal was a target for collective scheming, exclusion, and ridicule. Then came the absurd one-yuan cucumber incident, and the village leaders only sent the main culprit away for the sake of appearances.

But the others who gleefully watched or stirred up trouble? They still lived comfortably in the academy.

Perhaps because Han Li was stubborn and physically imposing, no one dared to target him after that. But when he began building his house, none of the educated youth offered so much as a polite word, let alone a helping hand—only sour comments drifted his way.

These people were inferior even to the villagers; at least the villagers would offer a courteous word and ask if he needed help, sometimes even pitching in without being asked.

With such a stark contrast, how could Han Li warm up to the academy crowd?

Maybe it was the promise of a new home, or maybe the alcohol, but Han Li slept soundly that night.

The next morning, the bell rang early as usual. Han Li rolled out of bed, fired up the kerosene stove, and boiled water. By the time he washed his face and brushed his teeth, the water was ready. He poured himself an enamel cup and the rest into the kettle.

He took out two leftover mixed-grain buns from the previous night, paired them with pickled vegetables, and had a simple breakfast.

On his way to work, he walked alongside Auntie Zhang, who had traded him cucumbers, and took the opportunity to ask about firewood.

“Auntie Zhang, do we chop firewood with axes in this village? Is there a trick to it?”

Auntie Zhang laughed, “Han, here we don’t usually chop firewood.”

“Don’t chop it?”

“That’s right. Normally, we just collect it. The mountains are full of fallen trees, branches, and sticks—all dried out. If you’re willing to put in the effort, you can gather as much as you like.”

Han Li asked, “Why is there so much?”

Auntie Zhang replied, “I don’t really know. The big trees drop their lower branches and sticks every year, and the wind blows them to the ground. Lots of saplings that don’t get sunlight also die off—those are good firewood, though they don’t last long when burned. If you want something that burns all winter, look for dead trunks. Stick one in the stove, and it’ll last all day. But those are so heavy, no one wants to bother with them alone.”