RBI1960 Chapter 19

After lunch that afternoon, Jiang Dahai went over to the home of Mo Dashuan, the team leader, to collect the notice from the Revolutionary Committee and the team’s proof of authorization. While he was there, he also borrowed the team’s donkey cart. They still didn’t know how many people the committee would be sending over, and taking the cart would make transport a lot easier.

Their team only had one donkey cart, and it was usually treated like a treasure, rarely loaned out. The gray donkey pulled a simple wooden flatbed made by the villagers themselves: just a board mounted on two wheels with wooden slats around the edges to keep people or goods from falling out.

At the moment, the cart’s bed was padded with thick quilts, and a small body was wrapped tightly in a heavy cotton blanket. Only half of a small face peeked out, the nose and mouth buried in the fabric, steaming with each breath.

That small figure was Jiang Yiliu. During lunch, he had pestered his father nonstop to let him come to the county town. Trips into the city were a hassle, and the last time he’d been there was during the Lunar New Year the previous year. This time, he was eager to find out if the “Grandpa Ruan” his grandfather mentioned was the same Ruan Jingguo, the financial tycoon from his previous life. He also wanted to see how things were shaping up in town.

To get his way, he’d rarely acted so spoiled, even throwing in a bit of baby talk. Jiang Dahai couldn’t stand his beloved son begging like that and quickly caved in. But right before they left, Grandma Miao gave him a fierce scolding for bringing the boy along. Even so, she still carefully instructed her daughter-in-law to line the cart with thick padding, afraid the little one would freeze.

In the back of the cart, along with Jiang Yiliu, were several bags of various sizes—this year’s mountain goods the team had received from a recent foraging trip. They’d found a lot of good things in the hills, and after handing over the required share to the county, the rest was distributed among the villagers in exchange for labor credits. The Jiang family had no shortage of grain now, so they took a bit extra. These bags were packed by the old man specifically for his youngest daughter’s family.

The bags were filled with dried mushrooms, black fungus, chestnuts—nothing rare in the village, but popular outside. Old Man Jiang knew his son-in-law had helped them plenty over the years, especially recently with the coal briquettes. He couldn’t show up empty-handed. Give and take—that’s how relationships work. Grandma Miao didn’t like the idea, but she didn’t push back too hard after the old man insisted.

Still, the bags looked pretty shabby, thin, and deflated. Grandma Miao wouldn’t challenge her husband outright, but she had made changes behind the scenes. Most of the black fungus she packed was scraps; there were barely any whole, large pieces. The chestnuts she picked were dry and shrunken, and she didn’t pack many of them either. She was terrified of being taken advantage of.

Jiang Yiliu knew full well what kind of person his grandmother was. The only people who could get good things from her were his grandpa, his dad, and now, in this life, him.

Grandma Miao wasn’t just stingy with others—she wasn’t much better to herself. She was the embodiment of extreme patriarchal thinking. In her house, her meals were just slightly better than those of her daughters-in-law and granddaughters, but still far inferior to what the men got. In her eyes, only men could support the family, and so all the best resources should go to them.

Jiang Yiliu didn’t know whether to be impressed by her “fairness” or saddened by her ignorance.

He glanced at the deflated bundles, then looked at his father, focused on driving. Quietly, using his mind, he began transferring dried mushrooms and black fungus from his space supermarket into the bags. Slowly, the once flimsy sacks puffed up.

He didn’t add too much, afraid his father would notice. When the bags looked just about right, he stopped. After all, Grandma Miao was just an old village woman—her view of things was far less perceptive than Grandpa Jiang’s.

The Jiang family had asked the Mengs for a lot over the years. Even if his uncle never complained, that didn’t mean his uncle’s parents felt the same way. Bringing these things was a way to smooth things over, to keep his aunt from being caught in the middle. If they had brought just the meager bundles his grandmother had packed, it would’ve not only seemed ungrateful—it might have offended the Meng elders and strained family ties.

Satisfied, Jiang Yiliu looked at the now full-looking bundles. Over the past few years, he had become very practiced at this kind of quiet intervention. Now and then, he would secretly add a little to the family’s grain or oil stores—not enough to draw suspicion, but enough to make a difference. Little by little, it added up, and now the family wasn’t so tight on food.

With enough to eat, Grandma Miao even started treating the granddaughters better.

In his past life, his oldest sister had barely reached five feet tall. Now, at fourteen, she was already that height. Because their diet was poor, he had secretly ground up calcium and vitamin supplements and mixed them into their food. In this life, all four sisters were healthier than before.

He was still young, and this was all he could do for now.

The donkey cart swayed steadily along the road, and Jiang Yiliu was nearly asleep by the time they reached the county town.

Right now, the town looked like a sea of red. Big-character posters and red slogans covered every wall along the streets. Mao quotes, painted in bold red characters, were everywhere, marking the fervor of the unfolding movement.

Jiang Yiliu silently took it all in. The county town was far from the bustling place it would become later. Most buildings were low, single-story brick and tile homes. A few taller structures stood out, but none more than three stories.

There weren’t many pedestrians. The few people on the street hurried past with grim expressions. Most wore drab colors—black, gray, dark blue. A few years ago, floral clothes were still common, but now even those were banned. They were seen as bourgeois. If the Red Guards caught you in them, you’d be publicly denounced.

The overcast sky matched Jiang Yiliu’s mood. Even though he knew this dark cloud would eventually pass, witnessing it in person weighed heavily on him.

When Jiang Dahai arrived at the Revolutionary Committee’s compound, just as he parked the cart, a middle-aged man in a gray coat stopped him.

“What do you think you’re doing? You country folk think you can just waltz in here?”

The man’s eyes swept over Jiang Dahai’s patched-up coat with a flash of contempt.

“Comrade,” Jiang Dahai replied, “I’m from Qingshan Village. Didn’t the county issue instructions for us to take in some laborers for reform? Our team leader sent me to pick them up.”

Caught off guard, Jiang Dahai handed over the team’s proof of authorization.

“They’re not here yet,” the man said with a snort, puffing out his belly like he was in charge. “Come back in a few hours.”

He waved them off with barely concealed annoyance.

Jiang Yiliu frowned. The Revolutionary Committee now held immense power, and nobody dared to offend them. As the saying went, “Better to offend a nobleman than a petty one.” These people weren’t easy to deal with. One careless move and they could wreck your entire family.

Jiang Dahai clearly understood this too. He smiled and nodded, picked up a few bundles from the cart, and took his son’s hand to head toward his sister’s place.

Judging by that man’s attitude, waiting in the courtyard wouldn’t get them anywhere—and who knew how long it would take for those laborers to arrive? It was freezing, and while he could handle it, his son might not. Better to wait at his sister’s house and return later.

He left the donkey cart in the courtyard. An old gatekeeper watched over the place, and in this county, no one would dare steal from the Revolutionary Committee.

His sister Jiang Dazhen’s home was nearby—just a short alley away. The area was full of traditional courtyard houses, most of them multi-level duplexes, far nicer than the one-story homes they passed earlier.

These had been built a few years ago with pooled funds from local factories and distributed to senior workers. Both Meng Pingchuan and his father were veteran workers with high ranks. Each got a unit—one upstairs, one downstairs—which they combined into a spacious, standalone house.

Jiang Dahai held his son’s hand tightly as they entered the alley, but they hadn’t gone far when they were stopped by a commotion.

Outside a courtyard ahead, a crowd had gathered. Inside came the wails of an old man, curses from younger voices, and the crashing of smashed objects.

Jiang Yiliu instinctively gripped his father’s hand tightly. This scene was all too familiar—he knew exactly what was happening up ahead.

The crowd blocked the way, but the shortcut to his sister’s house passed through this alley. If they turned back now, it would mean a long detour. So Jiang Dahai simply hoisted his son onto his shoulders and pushed through the crowd.

“Oh, the poor man,” someone in the crowd murmured. “Mr. Lu was such a good teacher. How did he end up labeled a reactionary?”

From atop his father’s shoulders, Jiang Yiliu had a clear view of the courtyard.

Torn books littered the ground. Elegant wooden furniture lay in pieces, piled up like trash. Teenagers, no older than fifteen or sixteen, kept dragging more items from the house. A tall ceramic vase was flung into the yard and shattered instantly.

“You can’t burn those—please!” an old man with white hair, his eyeglasses bent and hanging lopsided on his face, pleaded desperately. His clothes were torn, revealing yellowed cotton stuffing.

He clutched at a young man holding a torch, his face twisted in sorrow.

“Get out of here, old man! If your son hadn’t reported you, we wouldn’t have found all these reactionary books. You’re a member of the black five categories—a stinking intellectual! The organization will deal with you!”

The man kicked the old man away and tossed the torch into the pile of books. Flames roared up, consuming the pages instantly.

“No, you can’t burn them! Those books are from our ancestors!” the old man cried, clutching his chest and trying to rush the fire, but an elderly woman held him back, weeping.

“You ungrateful beast!” the old man sobbed, trembling as he pointed at a young man cowering in the corner.

“Lu Jianxun!” he shouted. “From this day on, I sever all ties with you. I want nothing to do with a reactionary like you or the rest of those black elements!”

The young man straightened his back as everyone stared. “I stand with the revolution,” he said solemnly.

Gasps rippled through the crowd. A son reporting his father—it was beyond imagination. What kind of person could do that?

Watching it all, Jiang Yiliu felt the winter wind on his face, but it couldn’t compare to the chill in his heart. Yet he could do nothing. This was the reality of the era, and all he could do was watch helplessly as it unfolded.