Secretary Qian’s funeral was quickly forgotten by the people of Ge Village. After the autumn rice was dried, the village chief immediately started making plans to sell the grain. The entire village was looking forward to the good news the chief would bring back from the foot of the mountain.
But the news was not as good as hoped.
"The people at the Grain Station are too oppressive," the chief complained after two trips down the mountain. His face, already darkened from shouting orders during the harvest, was now clouded with anger. He had brought more than fifty kilograms of rice down with him, not only to show the Station the quality of the grain, but also to negotiate a fair price.
"First they claimed they didn’t recognize our variety of rice. After we husked it to determine the variety, they weighed it and shortchanged us, saying fifty kilograms were only forty-three. Isn’t that cheating us?" The village chief erupted in frustration, nearly exuding smoke like a chimney in his rage.
"That’s how the rules are at these stations," Zhu Shijun had been prepared for this. The local grain stations, with their monopoly over the market, often cheat farmers by skimping on weight. Ge Village traditionally suffered from poor harvests and had never encountered such exploitation. This year’s bountiful harvest made the sting of being cheated all the harder to bear.
"What can we do? The whole village has worked so hard all year for just this little harvest. Some families, especially those hit hardest by disasters, are depending on this sale to rebuild their homes." The village chief was deeply troubled. The villagers had little rapport with the town’s Agricultural Grain Station; before, Qian Duoduo had been the go-between thanks to Secretary Qian’s connections. A few hundred yuan, coupled with some flattery in the form of cigarettes and alcohol, would do the trick. But now, with Secretary Qian becoming nothing but bones in the mountain, Qian Duoduo blamed the villagers for not looking after his father and kept his mother barricaded at home, refusing to deal with anyone from the village.
However, the villagers were unaware of the difficulties the chief faced when selling the grain. Word that the chief had returned quickly spread, and they were eager to ask when the grain could be transported down the mountain.
San Gouzi, who had accompanied the village chief, felt sympathy for the chief’s difficult position and took a fierce drag on his cigarette. "Uncle Jin, perhaps we could sell to them at a lower rate, I won’t charge for transporting the grain down the mountain."
"Impossible," the village chief knew San Gouzi was generous, but his business had already suffered. When he hauled Secretary Qian’s corpse up the mountain, others found his truck unlucky for having transported a dead body. If San Gouzi had to take another loss on the transportation, life would be very hard for him.
"Old man, your words are sound. Please persuade the chief. These past few years, I’ve been on the road and rarely at home, causing trouble between my wife and child. If the village’s grain sells for a good price, I’ll stay to farm the land. If our village gets rich, we could contribute the funds to have the government lay a cement road right to our doorstep, and just like in the town, erect utility poles so that every household can have electric lights and watch television." In his thirties, San Gouzi revealed the innocent hopes of a child when he spoke of these dreams.
Zhu Shijun listened, his heart surging with emotion, as if seeing again the fervor of old workers at a nearly bankrupt tobacco factory, reinvigorated under his leadership.
"Village chief, ever since Qian Yongfu’s death, the position of party secretary has remained vacant, and you alone are overwhelmed with the village’s affairs. San Gouzi has a good thought; why not write a letter recommending San Gouzi to fill the vacancy? As for the rice, let’s not rush it. I’ll give it some thought." Zhu Shijun had become a pillar of support for the chief. Considering it further, the chief agreed that San Gouzi, a born-and-bred villager of Ge Village who also knew something of the world and was more eloquent than himself, would be a good example for the strong men of the village. Perhaps the young people who had gone off to work elsewhere would return if they saw him, and then the village would truly prosper.
That night, as Zhu Shijun ate his dinner, his mind was still preoccupied with the village’s surplus grain. Selling to the Agricultural Grain Station and fueling the habit of usurping farmers’ grain was out of the question. The matter of transportation costs needed careful consideration; whether up or down the mountain, not using San Gouzi’s truck would be a significant expense when shared among each household.
Zhu Shijun at once dismissed the idea of selling the grain to the Grain Station. Though the government no longer mandated that farmers must sell their grain to such stations, privately selling such a large amount could draw unwanted attention from the authorities.
"Grandpa, Sister-in-law Lian fried a pound of red-skinned peanuts with vegetable oil a few days ago as a treat for you. I’ll go get your drink." Having finished his bowl of rice, Xiao Xian noticed Zhu Shijun was troubled about the village affairs and eagerly went to the cupboard to fetch a bag of fried peanuts.
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