Chapter Twenty-Two: Always Feeling Sabotaged by My Own Son

Just as Qin Jun’s resolve began to soften, his mother launched her heavy artillery.

"I keep telling your father he’s such a miser. We should have steamed a pot of buns this afternoon—must be made with double-milled flour, too, so we’d have enough for dinner tonight."

"After all, with the kiln firing done today, we’ve saved a good chunk of money!"

"But your father insists we have a thin foundation and says we must wait until we’re laying the house foundation to steam buns."

"By then, we’ll have plenty of guests to feed. I’m afraid the little bit of wheat we have won’t last more than a few days."

"Sigh, we’re just poor. It’s all our fault for leaving you in such a difficult spot."

Qin Jun’s expression shifted constantly as he listened, yet he knew well that behind every man in the Qin family hid a "Big Boss." In their home, that was undoubtedly his mother.

But this wasn't the way to live, and it couldn't continue like this.

"Alright, alright! Do I really have to fight for those few buns?" Qin Jun sighed helplessly, but this time, he wouldn't compromise.

Qin Zhihe, his father, was satisfied now. "Exactly! You’ve been out eating and drinking well these past few days, so what does it matter if we don't steam buns at home?"

Qin Jun rolled his eyes. "Sure, you’re always right. But, Second Brother, do you want a large iron pot? Eight yuan, no industrial coupons required. If you want one, I can get you one tomorrow."

"Why does it cost money?" Qin Zhihe glared, ready to flare up.

Qin Jun wouldn't back down this time. "Which family buys a pot without paying?"

"Didn't you make it yourself?" Qin Zhihe persisted.

Qin Jun lied without batting an eye. "I made it, yes, but I was doing it for someone else. The finished product doesn't belong to me; otherwise, how would I even know how to do it?"

"Huh? You mean you don't know how to make everything just by looking at it once?" Qin Zhihe was stunned.

"You believe that? I made that up. If no one taught me, how would I know how to do anything? Pots like this are made specifically to trade for grain, though money works too," Qin Jun said smugly.

"I find that hard to believe. Tell me, who did you make it for?" Qin Zhihe still had a bit of cunning, though only a little.

Lying was easy for Qin Jun; it came naturally. "I can't say. Someone taught me, anyway. Do you think this kind of skill is something anyone can just pick up? I could let you watch for a year, and you still might not be able to pull it off."

"Is it really money only?" Qin Zhihe asked, sounding dejected.

"Grain works too," Qin Jun replied, feeling triumphant. He wasn't a child anymore; surely he could handle his own father.

"How much grain for a trade?" Qin Zhihe asked, unwilling to let it go.

He certainly couldn't bear to part with cash, so trading grain was the more economical choice. Even though their grain supply was low, they were in desperate need of an iron pot. If they ran out of grain, the production team would distribute more next year. An iron pot that didn't require coupons was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. It was even more important than building the house, as the materials for the house could be purchased with a letter of introduction from the team, even if it meant waiting in line.

Iron pots, however, were different; they required industrial coupons. And those? Not just anyone could get them. They were usually issued alongside a worker’s salary—one coupon for every twenty yuan earned. Even a worker earning forty yuan a month only got two coupons.

Those coupons were in high demand for everything from soap to daily necessities. Clearly, ordinary farmers had no channel to obtain them. Usually, the village or commune had to apply on their behalf to purchase industrial goods, and those were strictly limited to essentials. Even then, items were distributed through the brigade to the team, and finally to the individual. With so many hurdles, could you really be sure you’d get what you wanted?

Having weighed these facts, Qin Zhihe steeled himself. "How much grain for one pot?"

"Forty catties of wheat. It’s a six-inch large iron pot."

"Six inches? That doesn't sound right. Let me measure it!"

Qin Zhihe was serious about business and carefully measured it with his hands. "It’s not even three spans across. It’s definitely not six inches. It’s not worth forty catties of wheat. You know forty catties of wheat can sell for eight yuan without ration coupons!"

A "six-inch" pot typically referred to a diameter of sixty to seventy-two centimeters. Qin Jun’s pot, with a diameter of forty-nine centimeters, was closer to five inches. Qin Zhihe really knew his stuff!

"Heh, if you pay with money, it’s eight yuan each," Qin Jun said, sitting firmly in the driver’s seat. He wasn't worried about the sale. "Don't think it's expensive. We’re just talking business at home; if we were outside, even trading for grain would require caution."

Seeing his father hesitate, Qin Jun decided to turn up the heat. "I remember Grandfather saying that back in the sixties, a six-inch iron pot cost six yuan. It’s twenty years later now—why hesitate over eight yuan for a pot that requires no coupons?"

Qin Zhihe hesitated because he felt like he was being swindled by his own son. Fortunately, Qin Jun didn't hear his father’s inner thoughts, or he would have said, "It’s not your son swindling you, it’s your eldest daughter-in-law!"

"This isn't a six-inch pot," Qin Zhihe gritted his teeth.

"Forget it, my uncle’s family needs a pot too," Qin Jun said with a mischievous grin.

"Your eldest brother needs one, too!" Qin Zhihe raised his hand, tempted to strike Qin Jun, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. Only Mother Qin had the heart to hit the children; the men in the family never laid a hand on them.

"Don't worry about my eldest brother. My sister-in-law already spent sixteen yuan to buy two pots—one for themselves and one for her parents' home. They’re always bringing bags back and forth; if they didn't bring something back, wouldn't they be ungrateful wretches? Father, don't you agree?"

"What? Your sister-in-law bought them? And at eight yuan each?" Qin Zhihe looked at his eldest son and his wife with a pained expression. They were too honest—had they been hoodwinked by the third son?

"Are we trading or not? If not, there won't be any left later." Qin Jun was not one to indulge his father.

With no choice, Qin Zhihe hardened his heart. "Trade!"

Once the deal was struck, Qin Jun released the pot. Mother Qin grabbed it, beaming as she examined it closely. Qin Zhihe joined her, tapping and inspecting it. After five or six minutes of careful study, finding no flaws, he finally looked up.

"Eldest, Second, go weigh the grain for this ungrateful wretch," Qin Zhihe said gruffly.

Qin Jun rolled his eyes, accepting the title. "I’m the ungrateful one? Eldest brother, Second brother, after you finish dinner tonight, go to Grandfather’s place and mill the flour. We’re having white-flour buns tomorrow."

Qin Zhihe had wanted to scold him, but the words choked him, and he nearly collapsed. Once he recovered and caught his breath, he realized his third son had already vanished.

"Alright, don't be angry. You were a bit excessive before. We really should have steamed buns long ago. If it were me, I’d be angry too," Mother Qin said, patting his back once Qin Jun was out of sight.

"What did I do? It was all to save money for the house! When people come to help, it would be shameful if we didn't serve buns!" Qin Zhihe sighed.

"I know, but that’s not how you save money. We have to keep our word," his wife replied.

"Fine. Starting tomorrow, we’ll eat three-grain buns until the house is finished," Qin Zhihe decided, his eyes darting. He couldn't outsmart his third son, so he might as well agree. Besides, they would be eating the forty catties of wheat just weighed out anyway.

As long as life improved, it didn't matter to Qin Jun. He had arrived at Qin Han’s house, having been dragged along by him. He had just washed his hands and intended to refine his tools when Qin Han, who had just dropped off the pot at his own home, came back to haul him away.

Stepping into the fenced yard, he looked at the low, dilapidated house. It was a thatched hut that looked like it would collapse in a stiff breeze. Despite his fear of the structure failing, Qin Jun had to steel himself and enter.

Once inside, however, the room suddenly brightened. Qin Jun was stunned to see a lightbulb glowing in the center of the ceiling.

*Old Ninth Uncle’s family has this hidden gem? If you had electric lights, you should have flaunted them! Then maybe the kids wouldn't have to keep going on blind dates!*