BKM 2

 

Chapter 2: A Gentleman’s Revenge Can Be Anytime

Qiao Mingyu was the kind of character who could find something to laugh about no matter how dire the situation.

Even if the sky were to fall, he’d hope to die in a cool, heroic pose.

Mo Zheng fumbled through his pockets and pulled out a few crumpled banknotes, placing them on the small table.

This was all he had—only 30 cents.

“For the next month, we’ll need to stick together and get through this until the summer harvest. Everyone, take out whatever money you’ve got. Tomorrow, we’ll try our luck at the market, see if we can get some cornmeal,” Mo Zheng said, looking around at the group.

The four male educated youths barely managed to scrape together a single yuan between them. Thankfully, the two girls contributed over two yuan, bringing their total to a little over four yuan after pooling everything.

Mo Zheng stared at the crumpled notes, lost in thought.

---

At the crack of dawn the next day, the six educated youths were already on their way to the market.

After trudging through five or six miles of mountain paths, they arrived at Qinglong Bay Commune.

There wasn’t much of a market in Qinglong Bay. The only relatively decent buildings were the Commune Revolutionary Committee office, a supply and marketing cooperative, a health clinic, a post and telegraph office, and a grain station.

Outside the supply and marketing cooperative, a few farmers were gathered in small groups, selling eggs or duck eggs from their homes to exchange for daily necessities like thread, oil, salt, and soy sauce.

After wandering around, they still didn’t spot anyone selling grain on the black market. Just as they were looking around near the grain station again, a thin, dark-skinned man approached and quietly asked, “You kids looking to buy grain?”

“How much are you selling for?” Mo Zheng nodded, trying to sound composed.

“Rice is 25 cents a pound, white flour 23 cents, cornmeal 16 cents. Five pounds of cornmeal can be traded for five pounds of sweet potatoes,” the man replied.

“Why don’t you just rob us? The grain station sells cornmeal for 9 cents a pound, and you’re asking for 16?” Qiao Mingyu retorted.

“Nine cents is the government-set procurement price for grain quota holders. Do you have grain quota certificates?” the man patiently explained.

Mo Zheng sighed bitterly and shook his head. Every trade had its own rules, and the black market for grain was no different.

The so-called grain quotas were originally meant to help farmers get through the spring shortages before the summer harvest. However, these quotas were almost always controlled by village party secretaries, who sold them to grain dealers. The dealers then sold the grain on the black market at a markup. While risking being labeled speculators and profiteers, most of the profit still went to those with power and influence.

Mo Zheng didn’t bother haggling. He decisively said, “Give us 20 pounds of cornmeal, half of it swapped for sweet potatoes!”

The group carried their spoils—10 pounds of cornmeal and 50 pounds of sweet potatoes. They also stopped by the grain station and the supply and marketing cooperative to buy half a pound of oil and two pounds of coarse salt. By the time they were done, their collective pockets held less than 60 cents.

Mo Zheng felt a heavy weight in his heart. These supplies might last them a week, but what about after that?

He desperately wanted to take everyone away from this godforsaken place. If they could just return to the city, with his skills, he could easily find work at a machinery plant or steel factory, helping them with technological upgrades. Survival wouldn’t be an issue.

But every time he closed his eyes, his mind played out, scene by scene, how Liu Su had been pushed to the brink of despair.

If fate had given him a second chance, then he would make sure to settle all debts—avenge every wrong and exact retribution for every injustice.

A gentleman’s revenge could be carried out at any time, from dawn till dusk!

Whether it was the mastermind behind the truck crash that killed him or the scum who had used despicable means to drive Liu Su to her tragic end, Mo Zheng wouldn’t let them go.

For now, though, all he could do was survive.

---

After wandering around the market for a while, Mo Zheng thoughtfully walked into the supply and marketing cooperative. He spent the remaining 60 cents on a spool of nylon thread and some sewing needles.

“Old Mo, what the hell are you doing? Sixty cents could’ve bought us almost four pounds of cornmeal, enough to last another three days. Why waste it on this stuff?” Qiao Mingyu asked suspiciously.

“Ugh! Eating wild vegetables, sweet potatoes, and corn mush every day—by the end of the month, we won’t even have the strength to walk! As long as He Youde is still the party secretary of the Erchahe brigade, life won’t get better. He’ll keep finding ways to deduct our food rations. We need to find a way to save ourselves!” Mo Zheng sighed deeply.

“It’s all my fault, dragging you all into this…” Tears welled up in Liu Su’s eyes.

“It’s nothing! What’s a little hardship?” Mo Zheng, trying to cheer her up, mimicked Vasily from the movie The Dawns Here Are Quiet, patting her shoulder with a spirited air. “Bread will come…”

“Milk will come. Everything will come!” The others chorused in unison, instantly recognizing the iconic line.

“Stand back, everyone! Let Comrade Mo Zheng go first…” Qiao Mingyu stepped forward, pretending to block the others with a serious expression.

“You’ve finally shown your Novikov face!” Mo Zheng quipped, laughing as he playfully chided Qiao Mingyu.

"He's obviously a traitor hiding among us!" Ye Ziyu seized the opportunity to tease.

"If I'm Novikov, then you're the femme fatale Fanny Kaplan! We're clearly a match made in heaven!" Qiao Mingyu quipped, never missing a chance to banter with Ye Ziyu.

"Who wants to be a pair with a traitor like you?" Ye Ziyu feigned outrage and moved to smack Qiao Mingyu, sparking another round of laughter from the group.

Despite the hardships—living meal to meal—their youthful spirit remained undaunted.

---

Back at the youth station, Mo Zheng quickly delegated tasks.
"The girls will cook. Mingyu, you and Luo Yajun go dig up worms—small ones are better! Chen Yang, go chop two bamboo poles from the hill."

"Old Mo, have you gone mad? Just because you're craving something doesn't mean we should eat worms!" Qiao Mingyu grimaced theatrically.

"Worms are great! They're packed with protein," Mo Zheng replied with a mischievous grin.

"Gross! Let me be clear—I’d rather starve than eat that!" Ye Ziyu chimed in, for once aligning with Qiao Mingyu's opinion.

"What are you thinking? The worms are for bait!" Mo Zheng couldn't hold back a laugh.

"Bait? You think we can catch fish with sewing needles? Do you think you're Jiang Taigong or something?" Qiao Mingyu stared incredulously at the packets of sewing needles on the table.

Without responding, Mo Zheng grabbed a pair of pliers. He heated the sewing needles red-hot and bent them into makeshift fishhooks. Aside from lacking barbs, the improvised hooks were surprisingly similar to the real deal.

Next, Mo Zheng picked up the bamboo poles Chen Yang brought back. Using a machete, he shaved them into thin slats. Then, he took the flexible outermost bamboo layers, splitting them at the nodes to create strips with pointed ends that were flat and slightly curved in the middle.

After preparing the bamboo slats, he boiled them along with straw for seven or eight minutes. Satisfied, he fished them out and cut the straw into 0.5 cm pieces at the base. Threading the worms onto the bamboo skewers, he inserted the skewer into the straw segments to create simple latch-style hooks.

"Old Mo, you seriously think this will catch fish?" Qiao Mingyu asked, skepticism written all over his face.

"Why don't we test it and find out?" Mo Zheng replied confidently.

He then attached the makeshift sewing-needle fishhooks and the bamboo latch hooks to nylon lines, each about 30 cm long, using a mixed and parallel rigging technique.