"Is Dongzi thinking of working at the coal shop?"
After speaking, eldest brother Li Weiguo scratched his head, looking worried. "The coal shop's positions are all filled now. They're only hiring temporary coal delivery workers. Maybe…"
Li's father cut him off, fuming. "Him, a coal delivery worker? A basket of coal weighs at least 50 jin! Old Third's so useless, he's infamous in Changping—can't even lift a shoulder pole. You're not thinking straight!"
He recalled his first visit to Changping's Zhou village to meet his in-laws. The villagers' gossip about Li Xiangdong was so embarrassing he wanted to crawl into a hole.
Sitting at the small table, Li Xiangdong felt both glum and awkward. He couldn't let his father keep ranting.
"The neighborhood office has job openings at the train station. Do you all know about that?"
His words silenced the room instantly. Even his father stopped glaring at him.
Everyone's eyes fixed on him.
"Is that true?" second brother Li Weimin asked, skeptical.
Li Xiangdong nodded confidently. He remembered this clearly. In his past life, worn down by family pressure, he reported to the neighborhood office and took the popcorn-popping job. Soon after, a childhood friend told him some returned educated youths got train station job quotas.
Reborn, knowing there was a better job out there, wouldn't it be foolish not to try for it?
Li's father frowned. "Where'd you hear this?"
"I figured it out."
Li Xiangdong could only say that. Under their doubtful gazes, he continued, "There are three policies for resettling returned educated youths."
"First, children can take over their parents' jobs. Dad's retiring in a few years, but taking his spot early isn't worth it, so that's out."
"Then there's developing collective enterprises—sharpening scissors, popping popcorn, street barber shops, or, oh, selling big bowls of tea on Qianmen Street since last year. Those are collective enterprises too."
"But those jobs have no future. They'll fizzle out sooner or later. No way I'm doing that kind of work."
"The key is the third policy: government agencies are expanding job quotas, promoting 'one person's job done by three, three people's meals shared by five.'"
"Think about it. Doesn't Beijing Train Station need a ton of workers? Even if they prioritize internal hires, they can't look too greedy. They'll have to recruit some returned youths from society."
"The train station's right near our home. The neighborhood office has some management authority, so it's normal they'd get a few quotas."
His analysis stunned the room. It was the first time their youngest son had spoken so seriously and clearly.
Everyone looked at him differently.
Zhou Yuqin, eavesdropping from behind the inner room's door, felt like she was meeting her husband for the first time.
Ordinary folks like them, busy scraping by, had no time or inclination to ponder policy details. But Li Xiangdong's reasoning made sense. The more they thought about it, the more it seemed spot-on.
Li's father lit a cigarette, took a deep drag, and said gravely, "Old Third's got a point, but this is just his analysis. We don't know if it's true."
"Keep your mouths shut. Don't spread gossip. If it's nothing, fine. But if it's real, the neighborhood office is keeping it hush-hush, so quotas must be limited."
Li's mother and sisters-in-law nodded quickly, understanding the stakes.
"Dear, you've got to ask around fast," Li's mother urged. A train station job was a rare opportunity. Her son in a railway uniform would be so respectable!
Li Xiangdong also wanted a job soon. His pockets were emptier than his face. A grown man with no money couldn't even step outside—it was tough.
Li's father stayed silent. He knew time was critical, but sniffing out such news required a sharp contact. He thought for a moment and asked, "Where are your Grandpa and Grandma? Still not back?"
With no meat at home, the kids kept clamoring for it. The grandparents, doting on them, had gone to the market before dawn. Meat required queuing early—go late, and it's gone. This would ease in January next year when Beijing lifted ticketed quotas for meat purchases.
"They're probably back soon. I'll go to the alley entrance to meet them," said Li Weiguo, heading out.
It had been decades since Li Xiangdong saw his grandparents, and he missed them. His grandfather passed away in 1990, and that night, his grandmother held his hand, sat through the night, and passed away too.
Hearing they'd gone early to queue for meat, Li Xiangdong worried, "They're over 150 years old combined. Why get up so early? Can't they sleep more? What if they fall in the dark?"
Li's mother, unimpressed, shot him a look. "Who're you jabbing at? We've got an idle guy at home, guarding a golden lump on the kang, too precious to get up."
'Cough, cough.'
Li Xiangdong choked. His father and brothers worked, his wife and sisters-in-law tended kids, his mother cooked, but he was the only one sleeping in.
Her sharp tongue always stung with a twist!
"I'll go check too."
Li Xiangdong stood, brushed off his pants, and headed out.
At the screen wall, he met his grandmother, shakily carrying a cloth bag. He hurried over, took the bag, and supported her.
Grandma Li, with silver hair, beamed at her dear grandson, wrinkles creasing her face. "Dongzi, eaten breakfast? You must eat breakfast—it's bad for your stomach otherwise."
"Those years in the countryside, who knows how much you suffered. You were skin and bones when you came back."
If Li's father heard this, he'd faint from anger. He sent money monthly without fail! Plus, educated youths got leave. Li Xiangdong returned home occasionally, and if he couldn't, his letters asking for money did. He wasn't even skinny—he never gained weight, no matter how much he ate.
Feeling his grandmother's love, Li Xiangdong's heart ached. He took a deep breath to steady himself. "Grandma, I ate. Stuffed full. I've gained weight since coming back."
"Gaining's good."
Grandma Li nodded, whispering, "I saved you a boiled egg. I'll sneak it to you later."
Between the main house and wing rooms was a 1.5-meter gap where his father built a wooden fence for chickens. Years ago, raising them was sneaky; now, no one cared, but they kept only five hens between the main house and west wing to avoid the smell.
Li's mother fed the chickens early, cleaned the coop, and collected eggs, boiling them for the kids' breakfast nutrition.
"You went egg-hunting again?" Li Xiangdong chuckled. It wasn't Grandma Li's first time.
"Not early. Your mother was watching this morning. I grabbed it last night after she slept."
Grandma Li truly doted on her youngest grandson, using stealth tactics to ensure he got an egg.