Chapter 56: Solving the Problem of Coal Briquettes
Even if Chen Ming managed to find a relatively comfortable arrangement in the countryside, staying out there for a few years in a place rife with petty, hostile calculations would ensure he paid a heavy price for any small comfort he secured.
On her way to the factory the next morning, Sheng Wanyan stopped by the post office to mail her letter to Gu Tingxiao. It took more than half a month for mail to travel from Chengdu to the northern military base, and if there was a logistics delay along the route, it could easily take a full month.
“That will be eight cents,” the postal clerk said, taking her envelope and affixing a regional routing label stamped North.
Sheng Wanyan pulled eight cents from her canvas bag and handed it over. Noticing a fresh batch of commemorative stamps behind the glass, she bought a few sheets for her collection as well. Checking the time, she realized she was running dangerously close to her shift, so she quickly mounted her bicycle and pedaled hard for the factory.
The moment she arrived at the office, Wu Jiaxiu pulled her into a quiet corner to give her the update on the heating fuel.
“Wanyan, the coal briquettes are sorted out,” she whispered excitedly. “My husband says we can buy them through the factory’s internal employee quota. We don’t even need coupons; we just have to pay a little extra cash. That’s how their internal staff operates.”
Coal briquettes weren’t nearly as scarce as raw cotton. After all, the country’s annual cotton yield fell drastically short of what the population required. Coal was entirely different; anyone could press a proper batch of briquettes with a little time and manual labor.
“Sister Jiaxiu, please help me secure five hundred briquettes,” Wanyan requested.
Five hundred briquettes wasn’t an extravagant amount; since the Sheng household was small, they tended to burn through fuel at a slower rate. They generally used their coal stove three times a day for meals and to boil water, averaging about five lightings a day. While five hundred was a modest stockpile, it was more than enough to ensure her grandparents wouldn’t suffer from the damp chill this winter. Between what they already had stored on the balcony and the infinite reserves hidden inside her spatial dimension, her family was perfectly safe.
“Alright,” Wu Jiaxiu nodded. “The internal price without coupons is two yuan per hundred briquettes.”
“That works out beautifully.” Sheng Wanyan knew the price was incredibly fair. Even with standard coupons, buying a hundred briquettes at the state cooperative cost 1.60 yuan, so paying a tiny premium to bypass the ration system was an absolute steal.
She quickly extracted a ten-yuan bill, handed it over, and finalized the order for the five hundred briquettes.
“My husband is off shift tomorrow afternoon,” Wu Jiaxiu added. “I’ll have him haul them straight to your building.”
While hiring a laborer to cart a heavy load across town normally cost a decent fee, Wu Jiaxiu flatly refused to charge Wanyan for the transport. She intended to have her husband pull the flatbed cart himself. Sheng Wanyan had helped her family source rare goods so many times; if she turned around and acted so ungrateful as to nickels-and-dimes her for a bit of physical labor, she wouldn’t be fit to be called a human being.
Wu Jiaxiu then counted out the cash to settle her own debt for the cotton and pork, and Wanyan meticulously verified the bills right there in front of her. No matter how deep their personal friendship ran, Sheng Wanyan believed that clear financial boundaries kept a business relationship healthy. The total came to exactly 132.50 yuan, based on the agreed black-market rate for the pork and her employee-discounted rate of 2.50 yuan per kilogram for the raw cotton.
Wu Jiaxiu was entirely aware that the cotton price Wanyan provided was a few cents lower than the standard underground market rate. She knew Wanyan was quietly doing her a massive favor; otherwise, trying to buy clean, uncompacted cotton on the open black market would easily cost upwards of three yuan per pound.
“I’ll bring your cotton and pork to that clearing on the back hill first thing tomorrow morning,” Wanyan instructed softly.
“Perfect. My man and I will meet you up there at dawn,” Wu Jiaxiu beamed. She was practical overflowing with joy; her household could finally sew plush new winter quilts and warm clothes, ensuring they could sleep through the winter freeze in absolute peace.
Having finalized the time, the two women immediately broke apart and went back to their desks. After all, they were still on the factory floor and couldn’t risk drawing attention.
The following morning, Sheng Wanyan arrived at the base of the hill well before sunrise, the sacks of cotton and the fresh cuts of pork securely balanced on her bicycle. A short while later, Wu Jiaxiu emerged from the mist alongside her husband.
After checking the inventory, Wu Jiaxiu clasped Wanyan’s hand and firmly insisted that she leave her lunchbox at home today. “We’re taking you out to the State-Owned Restaurant for noon break. It’s my treat. You’re always the one buying the meals.”
“No, let me handle the bill,” Wanyan countered with a smile. “You’re already doing me a massive favor with the heating fuel.”
“Absolutely not!” Wu Jiaxiu flatly refused, determined to maintain an honorable balance in their friendship. “You’re the one who pulled strings to get me these winter provisions. Let me cover the restaurant this time, otherwise my conscience will bother me all day.”
Seeing her friend’s stubborn look, Sheng Wanyan let out a soft laugh and relented. She possessed enough emotional intelligence to realize that aside from securing the internal employee coal, Wu Jiaxiu often felt she lacked the leverage to help her in any other meaningful way. Meanwhile, Wanyan was constantly supplying her with prime meat, quality fabrics, and raw cotton. Treating her to a nice lunch was Wu Jiaxiu’s way of keeping her dignity intact. Wanyan knew exactly how to respect that boundary.
“Alright, just this once,” Wanyan smiled, waving her hand.
In truth, Wanyan never underestimated the value of an ordinary colleague like Wu Jiaxiu. Sourcing five hundred bulk briquettes during the peak winter rush was no small feat. If interpersonal relationships were managed with genuine care and mutual respect, it eliminated endless friction and brought immense convenience to one’s life. Besides, the political landscape was volatile, and no one could predict what tomorrow might bring. As long as she harbored no active malice toward someone, she refused to make unnecessary enemies. If you could get along with a person, you nurtured the bond; if you couldn’t, you politely maintained your distance. There was absolutely no sense in manufacturing resentment. Sometimes, a silent, unseen grudge was far more devastating to a person’s life than an obvious enemy.
Sheng Wanyan bid the couple goodbye and pedaled home to catch up on her sleep. It was barely five in the morning, leaving her with two glorious hours of rest before she had to clock in.
Before ducking into her bedroom, she warned her grandparents that Wu Jiaxiu’s husband would be delivering their bulk fuel after his factory shift ended that afternoon.
“Don’t worry, I’ll keep an eye on the courtyard and open the gates for them,” Grandma Sheng nodded.
Under normal circumstances, Grandpa and Grandma Sheng strictly kept their front door closed. They particularly loathed leaving it open during communal cooking hours, terrified the savory aromas of their premium dinners would drift down the corridor and spark neighborhood envy. Furthermore, an open door in this building was viewed as an open invitation for nosy neighbors to stroll in, flashing an unpatched piece of fabric and begging to borrow Grandma Sheng’s prized sewing machine.
If they encountered reasonable neighbors, it was fine, but the building was full of parasitic opportunists who would shamelessly use up Grandma Sheng’s private needles and fine thread without a second thought. They always claimed they were merely “borrowing” the supplies, but the return date remained an eternal mystery.
Consequently, Grandma Sheng preferred to avoid the headache entirely. She would much rather save her leftover fabric scraps to sew delicate lace trim onto Wanyan’s collars or craft a beautiful new headband for her granddaughter. At worst, she could stitch the scraps together to use as clean rags!
The city Shengs lived their daily lives behind firmly closed doors. Over time, the rest of the residents accepted that the Sheng family preferred their privacy, and the steady stream of annoying drop-ins completely dried up. No one was truly shameless enough to pound on a closed door without a valid reason; the family’s boundaries were entirely clear.
At noon, Sheng Wanyan joined Wu Jiaxiu at the State-Owned Restaurant. They ordered a beautiful braised fish and a platter of pork stir-fried with hot green peppers, polishing off a bowl of white rice each until they were thoroughly full.
Later that afternoon, right as the daylight began to fade, Wu Jiaxiu’s husband arrived at the tube-shaped building, flanked by two burly coworkers who were helping him haul the flatbed cart piled high with five hundred coal briquettes.
Father Sheng happened to be walking into the courtyard from his own shift at the steel mill. Spotting the heavy cart and recognizing Wu Jiaxiu’s husband, he instantly understood the situation. He sprinted upstairs, dropped his lunch container on the kitchen counter, and ran back down to help move the heavy loads.
Upstairs, Grandma Sheng moved quickly, brewing two large ceramic mugs of hot water and stirring in a generous spoonful of white sugar for the working men.
“Here, comrades, have some sweet water and catch your breath,” the old woman urged warmly, pressing the mugs into their hands the moment they carried a load across the threshold.
Wu Jiaxiu’s husband and his coworker were deeply parched. Running up and down those narrow, steep concrete stairs while balancing heavy crates of coal was exhausting work. They accepted the mugs without pretense, took a massive gulp, and instantly smiled at the rich, sweet flavor.
You can tell at a single glance that the Sheng family is a deeply respectable, kind household, the coworker thought, wiping his brow. They were a far cry from the stingy, suspicious families that populated the rest of the building.
The two men frequently delivered internal coal to factory families across the district. The more decent housewives might offer them a cup of plain boiled water, but the viler ones wouldn’t even grant them a gesture of appreciation. Instead, those women would loudly complain that the deliverymen’s boots were tracking coal dust across their clean floors. It was incredibly frustrating, but for the sake of working harmony, they always had to swallow their anger and avoid fighting with a colleague’s wife.
The deliverymen left the Sheng apartment harboring an exceptionally high opinion of the family. Before heading back down the stairwell, they turned to Father Sheng with broad grins, telling him to contact them directly the next time the household ran low on fuel.
“We certainly will. Thank you for your hard labor, comrades,” Grandma Sheng beamed, stepping forward with a small paper sack. “Here, take these fruit candies back home to sweeten your children’s mouths.”
She handed each man ten pieces of premium, brightly wrapped hard candies. When it came to navigating the complex social graces of neighborhood life, the old matriarch possessed a flawless, ironclad instinct.
