Chapter 36: Busy Times in the Forging Workshop

The next day, he rose early, washed up, and waited with bated breath until a bleary-eyed Qin Huairu finally brought over her family’s ration books. Time waited for no one, and he had no time to exchange pleasantries; if he arrived too late, the long queue would mean he would leave empty-handed.

Duan Chengliang locked his door and hurried toward Beixinqiao. Upon entering the food market, he couldn't help but drool at the sight of the bean curd and dried tofu in the soy product display case, though he could neither buy nor eat them. Sighing, he thought that in these poor times, he was reduced to eating nothing but meat.

To secure the best cuts, Duan Chengliang had made a point to arrive early, though he was certainly not the first. The Beixinqiao non-staple food market had a strict rule: you had to stand in line in person. Unlike other places where people often used bricks or small wooden stools to hold their spots—a practice that felt like a hooligan’s game, where a marked brick carried the same weight as a human being—this market recognized only people, not objects. Here, if you wanted to buy something, you had to be patient and stand in line yourself. The butchers, however, worked on their own schedule, though thankfully, they arrived just a bit earlier than Duan Chengliang’s own shift.

By the time the butcher finally sauntered in, Duan Chengliang looked back to see the line had already stretched out the door and into the street. Though he was only four or five people from the front, he was anxious about being late for work. He watched impatiently as the burly, dark-skinned butcher slowly set up his tools and meat blocks, then began hacking away with a gleaming cleaver.

First, the butcher set aside the orders for government departments and organizations—pig livers and ribs reserved for hospitals and kindergartens. Next came the "backdoor meat" for various connections who had put in a word beforehand. Duan Chengliang watched the meat on the counter dwindle, the remaining cuts looking less and less appealing. It was a blatant, unspoken rule practiced in broad daylight, yet there was nothing he could do about it. The feeling of powerlessness as the meat you wanted disappeared right before your eyes was maddening. Fortunately, Duan was near enough to the front.

When his turn finally came, he successfully used two ration books to purchase two yuan worth of pork. He asked the butcher, "Big brother, can one just buy bones and offal here?"

Working the meat counter was a lucrative gig. Because Duan had arrived so early, the fatty pork was already scarce—it had been spoken for before it even hit the counter, all part of the butcher’s favors. Bones and offal, however, didn't require meat coupons at the moment and were cheap, provided the butcher was willing to sell them to you.

"Pig livers and bones are a bit more sought-after and cost a little more," the butcher said, though they remained remarkably affordable—a full set of pig bones went for only fifty cents, something even Yan Bugui would splurge on. Pig stomachs and intestines were cheaper still. For the butcher, these uncounted scraps were his most valuable currency for favors. He gave Duan a difficult look. "You need to give me a heads-up next time. There’s none left today."

Only a fool would believe him, but with the butcher’s stony expression and that gleaming bone-cleaver in sight, Duan wisely kept his mouth shut, took his meat, and turned away.

He stopped by the seafood counter on his way out. It was less crowded than the meat stall. The clerk greeted him, "Oh, up early for meat again today?"

"The factory’s busy lately. If I don't eat meat, I won't have the strength to keep up."

"True. With the Great Production drive, everyone’s busy. You need the fuel for your kind of work. The hairtail fish isn't in yet, but don't worry, I’ll set some aside for you when it arrives."

Duan leaned in, lowering his voice. "Do you have a rapport with that big guy at the meat stall?"

"You mean Blackie? Yeah, we're close. Looking to buy meat?"

"I noticed that if you're too far back in line, you never get the good stuff. I work every day and don't have anyone to stand in line for me. If I oversleep, I'm out of luck. Is there a way to give him a heads-up to save me some?"

The clerk smiled. "How much do you need?"

"Two yuan worth a day. I'm picking some up for a neighbor too. If there are bones or offal, I’ll take those too. I'm happy to pay a little extra."

The clerk waved him off. "Don't talk like that. We trade in favors, not money. If someone found out, Blackie would lose his job. Tell you what—from tomorrow, don't bother waiting in line. Come by at noon. I’ll have him set it aside and leave it with me. I’ll keep the bones and offal with it too. Just don't forget your ration books."

This was a stroke of luck. Duan was so pleased he reached for his pockets to offer a cigarette, only to remember he didn't even have any. His life was truly meager. The clerk noticed his awkward gesture and laughed. "Don't bother with the smokes, I don't smoke. Just remember: come by at noon tomorrow, and I'll make sure to save you some hairtail when it comes in."

When Duan exited the market, the sun had risen. Despite the biting cold, the sight of the red sun warmed his heart. He ran toward the factory, pulling out his work permit early to save time.

Old Feng, seeing him dash into the guardroom drenched in sweat, laughed. "What’s with you lately? Always cutting it so close?"

"Don't get me started. Standing in line for meat. I have to get up at the crack of dawn, and by the time I'm done, it's already this late. Luckily, I'm not late yet."

"You're doing alright for yourself, eating meat every day."

"I have to! With the heavy labor I’m doing, I can’t afford to let my health slide. You and your wife, you’re already set, but I’m still a bachelor."

The others in the room chuckled, starting the morning’s arduous work with a joke.

In the forging workshop, the 250kg air hammer was roaring. Six men worked in coordination on a large forging. Liu Haizhong, a level-six blacksmith, stood by with his hands behind his back, supervising. His apprentice, a level-three blacksmith, controlled the hammer, while several trainees moved the red-hot metal with large tongs.

With the grading examination coming up after the New Year, Liu had increased their workload. Today was their first time handling such a large piece. Yan Jiecheng had been designated the lead tong-man, responsible for controlling the forging's position. It was grueling, high-intensity work; if one couldn't keep up with the rhythm of the air hammer, the piece would have to be reheated, wasting time and fuel in the factory’s high-pressure environment.

Yan Jiecheng was on the verge of collapse. He was hungry, sleep-deprived from the tantalizing smells coming from Duan’s room, and the intense heat of the metal was making him dizzy. Liu Haizhong’s constant, harsh berating—"Faster! Are you a woman? Put your back into it! Are you blind?"—only added to his panic.

Exhausted, Yan failed to grip the cylindrical piece firmly during a flip. As the air hammer descended, the forging slipped from the anvil and rolled rapidly away.