017 Contracted land

In the swift-flowing canal, the turbid and viscous waters of the Yellow River flowed like a colossal python.

Zhang Wenjie handed a cigarette to each person present and remarked, "The water is not insignificant, quite abundant indeed, must be around 100, wouldn't you say?"

He was referring to the water flow, with 100 liters flowing out of the sluice gate per minute.

A person holding a cup of water took a sip and said, "Oh, come on, it's said to be 100, but even if the water managers deduct a bit, it's probably only around 80."

Another person joked, "Wang Tiancai, aren't you good at negotiating? Why don't you go and talk to them? It might count as a great deed for us peasants."

Wang Tiancai spat out a piece of chewed tea leaves and said, "Talking nonsense. Who's going to give me a smoke?"

Zhang Wenjie chuckled and said, "All crows are black under the sky. It's all the same, all the same. In our area, it's probably not even 80."

At that moment, someone in the distance waved and shouted, "It's done, change the water, change the water."

Another person stood at the end of the field, spat into his hand, and used a shovel to redirect the water flow to another plot of land.

Wang Tiancai looked us up and down and asked, "Haven't seen you before. Not locals, are you?"

Zhang Wenjie replied, "Oh, we're from Pucheng County, here to see if there's any idle land available for lease, planning to grow spring-melon greenhouses covered with four layers of film."

Wang Tiancai shook his head, furrowing his brow, and said, "Oh dear, that might be tricky. Growing watermelons damages the land. I'm afraid no one would be willing."

This statement was not unfounded. Those who have grown watermelons or have experience in rural life know that growing watermelons can be particularly harmful to the land. Often, after growing one crop of watermelons, the land needs to rest for four or five years before watermelons can be grown again.

Zhang Wenjie chimed in, "Exactly right, Wang Shifu. You're absolutely right. There's no available land in our area, so we came here to check."

Wang Shifu is a local honorific title for people. If the surname is Li, they would be called Li Shifu, and if Zhang, they would be called Zhang Shifu.

Wang Tiancai pondered for a moment and said, "There are indeed a few families in the village doing business in Xijing City, leaving their land fallow. It's currently managed by the village, but we'll need to ask the village chief about it."

"Wang Shifu, could you take us to see the village chief? If this works out, your family will get free watermelons next year."

Wang Tiancai remained silent, smiling at us.

In this day and age, nothing gets done without profit. I pulled out two boxes of Monkey King brand cigarettes from my pocket and handed them over.

Wang Tiancai didn't hesitate to take them and examined them in his hand. He said, "Oh, they're the hard ones."

During that era, Monkey King brand cigarettes came in two types: soft and hard. Soft ones cost 2.8 yuan per pack, while hard ones were four yuan per pack. Some families only bought soft ones for the New Year, so hard ones were considered good cigarettes.

As we spoke, we arrived at the village chief's house. There were five children, three boys and two girls, playing outside. The girls were kicking a shuttlecock, while the boys were playing with mud, making loud splashing sounds as they fell, covered in mud.

Wang Tiancai mentioned that all five children were the village chief's offspring. There was even white paint on the wall with the words: "The population alarm clock rings every day. Whether it's a boy or a girl, having fewer births means better births. Just have one good child."

Leading us to the place, Wang Tiancai didn't enter, saying that a boar from a neighboring village had broken free from its reins and ran into someone else's pigsty, impregnating over a dozen sows overnight.

The boar's owner wanted to collect stud fees, but the sow's owner claimed that their sows had already been bred. This could lead to miscarriages, and not only would they not pay, but they would also demand ultrasounds for the sows.

I took out a plastic bag from the motorcycle's trunk, which contained a pack of hard Monkey King cigarettes and a bottle of Xifeng brand liquor, and walked in with Zhang Wenjie.

The village chief's house was indeed grand, occupying the space of three family courtyards, all interconnected. The courtyard was as large as an acre.

At that moment, the village chief was sleeping in a recliner, basking in the sun. With his eyes half-closed, he crossed his hands over his belly, twiddling his thumbs, appearing utterly content.

On the nearby round table, there was also a teacup and a semiconductor radio playing a selection from the famous Qin Opera piece "Three Drops of Blood."

"In Han City, Shaanxi Province, there's a village called Xinghua, where a tale of love and betrayal unfolds..."

Zhang Wenjie walked over, bowing slightly, and called out, "Village Chief, what refined taste!"

The Village Chief slowly opened his eyes and looked us up and down.

"Whom are you looking for?"

Zhang Wenjie took the cigarettes and liquor from me and placed them on the round table. The Village Chief, having seen much of the world, glanced at them but remained unmoved.

"Speak quickly, or hold your tongue. Spare me the pleasantries."

At this moment, five children came running in, clamoring around the Village Chief, asking for two yuan each to buy Tang's raw meat and Divine Turtle sour plum powder from the village store.

Seeing this, Zhang Wenjie didn't hesitate and immediately gave each of them a ten-yuan banknote. The children cheered and flew away like a flock of birds.

As the saying goes, one can't fault generosity. With this move, the Village Chief straightened up.

After explaining our purpose, considering the land's susceptibility to melon cultivation, we offered two hundred yuan per mu of land. The Village Chief was taken aback.

During that era, leasing land for cultivation barely fetched fifty jin of wheat per mu per year. Our offer was nearly four times the going rate.

Worried that the Village Chief might grow suspicious, Zhang Wenjie only mentioned that the spring watermelons were destined for a large supermarket in Xijing City, selling for two yuan per jin to wealthy customers.

The Village Chief immediately called the landowners and negotiated, eventually settling on 150 yuan.

By the afternoon, everything was settled. We leased a total of twenty-eight mu of land, paying for thirty mu. The Village Chief was so happy his grin reached his ears.

"Village Chief, there's one more thing. We need a place to stay."

The Village Chief pondered, "You can stay at Old Man Yang's house. He went missing a few months ago, and there's been no news of him. Even his milk goat is gone."

Upon hearing this, I grew nervous, glancing at Zhang Wenjie. He subtly shook his head, signaling me not to panic.

"How can a grown man just vanish?" Zhang Wenjie tentatively asked.

The Village Chief explained that Old Man Yang was a lonely old man who relied on a milk goat for income. The goat's milk provided him with sustenance in exchange for his care. Two months ago, Old Man Yang disappeared without a trace, and despite a day-long search, he was nowhere to be found. It was speculated that he had gone to find his adopted son elsewhere, and so the villagers ceased looking for him.

Since Old Man Yang's body had not been found, the tomb robbery seemed safe.

After settling in, Zhang Wenjie rode his motorcycle to buy supplies, while I wandered around the dilapidated old house.

I noticed newspapers on the wall covered in various numbers, with a "clear" character written next to them. Every ten days, the numbers incremented, but they abruptly stopped on the day Old Man Yang was killed.

These must have been records of Old Man Yang's milk sales. Seeing this filled me with a sense of sadness.

The next morning, bright and early, the motorcycle's engine roared to life.

"Don't sleep in. Come with me to the field."