Secretary Qian’s funeral was soon forgotten by the people of Ge Village. After the autumn rice was dried, the village chief began to make preparations for selling the grain. The entire village eagerly awaited the good news he would bring from down the mountain.
But when the news arrived, it was not good at all.
"The people at the Agricultural Grain Station are bullying us too much," said the village chief, who had made trips to the foot of the mountain. Having coordinated the villagers in harvesting the rice under the scorching sun, his face darkened not from the sun but with anger. When he went down the mountain, the village chief took more than fifty kilograms of rice not only to show the station the quality of the rice but also to negotiate a good price.
"They first claimed not to recognize our type of rice, and after we husked it to determine the variety, when weighting it, what was a full weight of rice was suddenly only forty-three kilograms. Isn’t this cheating?" This time, the village chief was so frustrated that he was almost steaming with rage.
"The rules at Agricultural Grain Stations are always ," Zhu Shijun had already braced himself for it. It was common for local grain stations, which had a monopoly, to shave off the weight. Ge Village had always experienced poor harvests in the past and had never suffered such exploitation when selling grain. This year, with a bumper harvest, this unexpected issue was hard to accept.
"What should we do? The entire village has worked hard for a year for just this little bit of harvest, and there are several families hit hard by disasters relying on selling this grain to rebuild their houses," worried the village chief. The village lacked connections with the town’s Agricultural Grain Station; before, there was Qian Duoduo, who could use his relationship with Secretary Qian to smooth things over by offering a few hundred dollars, a gift of cigarettes and alcohol. But now that Secretary Qian had become a pile of bones in the mountains, and Qian Duoduo, blaming the villagers for not looking after his father, only had his mother lock the door, refusing to greet anyone from the village.
But the villagers didn’t know that the village chief had run into trouble when selling the grain. Hearing of the village chief’s return, they followed one after another, entering the door to ask when the grain could be transported down the mountain.
Seeing the village chief in a tough spot, San Gouzi, who had accompanied him down the mountain, took a deep puff of his cigarette. "Uncle Jin, if we have to accept a lower price, then so be it. At worst, I won’t take any money for transporting the grain down the mountain."
"No way," the village chief knew San Gouzi was well-intentioned, but since the last time he had carried Secretary Qian’s corpse up the mountain and people started avoiding San Gouzi’s vehicle due to bad luck, his transport business had been affected. Asking him to lose money on transportation again would make San Gouzi’s life even harder.
"Old man, you speak wisely, please persuade the village chief. These past few years I’ve been away from home constantly running the transportation business, and my wife and child at home are upset. If the village’s grain can be sold for a good price, I’ll stay home and farm. If our village becomes prosperous, we can pay to have the government build a cement road to the entrance of the village, and set up power lines like in town, so every household can have electric lights and watch television," said the thirty-something San Gouzi, his face alight with the kind of aspiration normally seen in children.
Listening to this, Zhu Shijun’s heart surged, as if seeing once again the passionate expressions of the old tobacco factory workers on the brink of bankruptcy, under his leadership.
"Village chief, since Secretary Qian Yongfu passed away, the position of village secretary has been vacant. You’re overwhelmed handling all the village affairs by yourself. San Gouzi has a good idea. Why don’t you write a letter to appoint San Gouzi to fill the position? As for the rice matter, don’t rush. I’ll give it some thought," Zhu Shijun had become the mainstay for the village chief, who, after hearing the suggestion, also thought it made sense. San Gouzi was a native of Ge Village and had seen the world, more articulate than himself. Having a strong man in the village as a role model might encourage the young people who had gone out to work to return, and then the village would truly thrive.
That night, while eating dinner, Zhu Shijun still had the village’s eleven thousand pounds of rice on his mind. Selling to the Agricultural Grain Station was not an option, as it would perpetuate the exploitation of the farmers’ grain. The issue of transportation costs also needed to be addressed. Going up and down the mountain, if San Gouzi’s truck wasn’t used, it would be a significant expense, a considerable sum for each household to bear.
Zhu Shijun immediately ruled out selling the grain to the Agricultural Grain Station. Although the state did not currently require farmers to sell grain to the Grain Station, privately selling such large quantities of rice might attract unwanted attention from relevant departments, creating a troublesome situation.
"Grandpa, Sister-in-law Lian fried a pound of red-skinned peanuts with vegetable oil a few days ago, said it was for your drinks. I’ll go get you some liquor." After finishing a bowl of rice, seeing Zhu Shijun worried about the village affairs again, Xiao Xian busily rummaged through the cupboard and brought out a bag of fried peanuts.