Canteen System Assistance Notes

Zhao Shitou was a tenant farmer.

Zhao Shitou was originally an ordinary farmer in Weinan. He worked for the Yan family landlord on a thin piece of land that was only a few steps away. In a good year, including the rent he paid, he could only eat for more than a month.

In the next few months, you will have to eat sweet potatoes, and in the next few months...well, you can probably only eat some wild vegetable paste or Guanyin soil.

But what can I do? There are three kinds of unfilial behavior, and having no descendants is the worst. My parents have been gone for a long time, so I have to leave some descendants, right?

Zhao Shitou knelt for a long time at the door of the landlord Yan's house after spending money to find a matchmaker and then spend money to marry a wife. Then, he pressed his fingerprints on many deeds that he could not understand at all. Finally, he watched the smiling lawyer take out the

He had a roll of tattered banknotes - this money was his matchmaking fee, betrothal gift money, wedding money and glory money.

His wife was not very pretty, but she was capable of working and taking care of him. He worked hard to farm and pay rent, farm and pay rent, and watched his wife's belly grow bigger. For a short time, Zhao Shitou seemed to feel that the future seemed promising.

A little bit of false hope.

The only strange thing is that every time I pay back the money, why does it seem to be getting less with the interest rolling in?

And then, and then... Zhao Shitou didn't dare to recall.

At the beginning of October, it was said that the young master of the Yan family was short of money and wanted to cook something. Why was the cooking so grand? But the landlord was really pressing for money. He had to pay back the loan in advance, but he had to pay the wall plaster.

I've scraped it all off, and I really can't come up with any money!

My baby is still in my wife's belly, so I can't sell it!

Zhao Shitou cried and shouted, but it was no use. He was tied to a tree at the village entrance, being whipped mercilessly by the servants with a finger-thick cane. The pain was like a pack of ferocious wild dogs, gnawing at his flesh and the bones beneath his skin. Gradually, as if his flesh had been gnawed clean, he could no longer feel the pain. His wife limped out of the house, her belly bulging as she lunged at him. The servants punched her, and her thin, disproportionate body slammed into the tree, cracking bones.

Then... there was blood, thick and dark blood, which stimulated his dull nerves. The wife murmured and there was no light in her sunken eyes.

——---—-——-

Zhao Shitou is a strong man.

After the death, the servants tore down their own door panels and iron pots, brought in their own tattered straw mats, and rolled up the dead daughter-in-law, dumping her in the weeds outside the village. This kind of thing was so common, no one cared. Zhao Shitou was left hanging from a tree, ignored, and no one in the surrounding village dared to help untie the rope. The Yan family was a powerful force in the village, and no one dared to resist them.

But perhaps because God couldn't bear it anymore, the rotten hemp rope broke in the night, allowing him to escape.

He seemed to have escaped from that nightmare for a short time.

There was nothing left at home, and I was covered in wounds, weak and swollen from malnutrition. Where could I go next?

He was running away desperately in a daze, but who would have known that this did not mean the end of the terror.

In the next township, Zhao Shitou encountered the local headman. Without a word, he led the fierce security team, tied himself up, tied him up with ropes, and marched towards the regimental control area. The people who were also tied up in a chain cried out loudly. One woman grabbed her husband and refused to let go. The militiamen knocked her to the ground with the butt of their rifles and dragged her into the next house like a dead dog.

Then, like tethered animals, everyone was led by the security team on ropes toward the regimental command area next door. That was where the 16th Army's First Reserve Division was stationed. A battle with the Eighth Route Army was about to begin, and the troops were conscripting people to fill vacancies. Once there, he was quickly given a few things—a tattered military cap, a shoulder pole, and a bundle of paper money, which he claimed was his life-saving money. However, within minutes of this meager amount reaching his hands, it was taken away, with the explanation that the country needed to conserve its reserves and that the money would be distributed only after the war was over.

The money was gone, but a lot of goods did arrive. Zhao Shitou, a frail man, hunched over, shackled, carried bags of yellow millet on a shoulder pole, following a line of new recruits. He stared at the millet in the bags with eyes wide open, almost glowing green.

During this period, he only had 18 taels of husk millet to eat a day, and there were many stones in the rice porridge he shared. He was so tired from traveling that his teeth were about to fall out. The only decent thing he had to eat was a few pieces of unleavened bread with sawdust and a little bit of oil on it before setting off: this was the "benefit" sold by the superiors to the new recruits. The price was ridiculously high, but it finally gave him the strength to carry the load.

Therefore, the fine millet in front of him was such a tempting thing for Zhao Shitou - unfortunately, this was the millet that his superiors used to sell goods, not for him to eat.

During this time, he saw people chopping off their own fingers with axes, blinding their right eyes with burning embers, and breaking their legs by jumping into deep ditches. Some of these people died, while others did not, chained together in human chains, sick and languishing, they might collapse by the roadside at dawn, noon, or dusk.

At such times, the troops bound with shackles and hung by collars and chains had to stop and wait for the soldiers nearby to come and remove the chains and shorten them before they could continue their march. Zhao Shitou was once ordered to carry away those fallen black leg poles. He passed his hands under the old man's armpits and lifted him up halfway, only to feel his body feel empty and light.

What followed was a scene Zhao Shitou still vividly remembered:

The officer pointed to a muddy ditch on the side of the road and said, "Throw it down."

“Throw…throw it down?”

"Just do what I tell you to do, or I'll throw you down with me." "Oh, oh..."

He could only throw the burning body down, like a roll of poor quality cloth, rolling down the ditch. There was a "plop" sound and an inaudible "ah..." "Brother, I had no choice. I'm sorry, I'm sorry..."

Zhao Shitou clasped his hands together and muttered. He didn't resist. He no longer knew what resistance meant.

Zhao Shitou was a soldier of the National Army.

His unit was going to take new recruits to the front line to fight against the Eighth Route Army.

Counting from the time they set out, the team had been around two hundred strong men, and now only about fifty remained. Since becoming a new recruit, he hadn't practiced much, even having been issued a gun a few days earlier. It was a very old, iron-barreled gun he couldn't even name, and it came with 15 rounds of ammunition. All he had learned was to point at someone, pull the trigger, then pull the bolt, then pull the trigger again, and then reload the bullet after firing.

It was already winter, but he was still wearing only thin clothes. Zhao Shitou was shivering with cold. Today's battle came in a hurry, and he didn't even have time to prepare the little food he had in the morning. He was still hungry.

There were sounds of gunfire coming from the front of the team. Among them were the muffled sounds of old-fashioned rifles that he had heard before, sparse and interspersed; there were also more rapid and dense crisp gunshots, like the crackling sound of a bag of grain being shaken open and spilling on the ground; and mixed in with them were rumbling sounds, like thunder in summer.

"Brothers! The soldiers of Temporary Second Cavalry will buy us time. Everyone, hurry up and dig trenches and prepare for defense. The Communist army is about to charge!"

The officer brandished his pistol and shouted, while the company and platoon leaders shouted, herding the new recruits around like ducks. Some were given wooden shovels and told to dig trenches; others were driven into the surrounding houses, relying on the walls and firewood piles for defense.

Zhao Shitou had no idea what to do. He could only hold his iron spear and curl himself up in the haystack, trying to get that little bit of illusory warmth. He thought of the fields in his hometown, his dead wife, and the child in her belly.

Not sure if it's a boy or a girl?

Next year, the interest on the loan will compound, and I'm afraid it will cost even more. It'll take a few more years for the children to be able to help with the work...

Zhao Shitou felt his consciousness slowly drifting upwards, and everything around him began to shake as if in a dream. In his dream, he no longer had to pay the heavy rent, and he went to the fields with a hoe on his back, planting golden wheat. At noon, his children brought him the meal cooked by his wife.

But the baby's face is not clear.

"Oh, it's time for me to go find them, my wife and my baby."

Zhao Shitou was about to take that step when he heard something in his dream, as if someone was celebrating a happy occasion. In the distance, the sound of firecrackers, like frying beans, gradually approached, finally becoming the sound of clattering footsteps. Suddenly, a head leaned over. "Instructor, instructor! There's someone here who's almost fainted from hunger, and they're still breathing!"

"Then why are you still standing there? Fill the pot with something!"

He was lifted up by a pair of strong hands, and then something warm was brought to his lips. Zhao Shitou instinctively took a bite and it tasted sweet.

Chapter 289 After the Incident (2) Zhao Shitou is a human

(5K chapter)

"Look, over there, the Red Party helped the brothers dig a pit and bury them. It's a pity that they are a bit crowded."

"It's good to have a place to bury them, which is better than being eaten by wild dogs outside and becoming a wandering ghost... But the brothers at the top have to bear more responsibilities and help everyone stand guard to prevent those evil spirits from running in... The new recruits around him were discussing in whispers. Zhao Shitou and his men were lined up and were being "shot on the head" one by one by the Eighth Route Army soldiers holding a strange pistol. They said it was to measure their body temperature.

An Eighth Route Army soldier stood on a platform, holding a loudspeaker and shouting, saying that this was to prevent and control infectious diseases, and not to be afraid. He also asked if anyone in the team was sick, with a fever, a cold, malaria, etc., and asked them to report it immediately. Then they would not gather with everyone else and could go directly to the hospital.

Who would give medicine to a soldier? The Eighth Route Army commander was really willing to give it. Zhao Shitou smiled bitterly and said to himself that he was lucky to be alive and not have any missing limbs. On weekdays, when you are sick, most of the time you just cover yourself up, sweat, and endure it... Seeing a doctor, what a luxury!

However, his brain began to work, and his previous confused state was greatly reduced. He began to feel that he was driving his legs and following the group of prisoners forward.

The team soon arrived outside a village. There was an open space here. There were many tents in the village. Some were boiling water, chopping wood, and cooking.

Soldiers in the typical dark green uniforms of the Eighth Route Army were walking around everywhere, maintaining order, and all the people were placed next to a cowshed.

"Everyone line up and sit for a while. We'll register your identity while you eat! Everyone gets a piece of food, so don't rush, take your time...

Sugar is powerful. It can save Zhao Shitou from the brink of death and provide energy for his collapsing body, but it cannot solve the problem of satiety.

Now, the stomach that just tasted a hint of sweetness is protesting.

—The cramps made him feel extremely uncomfortable.

Why does eating make me feel worse?

Because the Eighth Route Army's offensive began early in the morning, the entire First Reserve Division of the Nationalist Army hadn't eaten breakfast and was choking with hunger. The pain made Zhao Shitou's body, which had just straightened up, bend over again like a worm, like the desperate waving hands of a drowning man, scratching at his heart, liver, and stomach.

Fire felt like it could burst from his throat, and every lurch in his stomach was like a rope tightening around his internal organs, reminding Zhao Shitou of that terrifying group of servants. He slowly lay down from his sitting position, trying to make himself feel better - after all, the experiences and observations he had recently made him no longer dare to collapse directly.

"What's wrong with you? Are you feeling uncomfortable?" The Eighth Route Army soldier nearby came over, supported Zhao Shitou, and asked with concern.

"It's okay! Commander, I'm fine..." He said it reflexively, so that the tone seemed to jump, "It's just that I'm a killer, I'm really hungry..."

The Eighth Route Army soldier was silent for a moment, looking up and down at Zhao Shitou's sunken body, held up only by his ribs, and his tattered uniform, which looked like it was hanging on a hanger. He sighed, tears streaming down his face. "Ah, ah! Damn you! We're all class brothers. Ah! Eat some of this to hold you over. Dinner will be served soon."

He fished out a small piece of bright yellow cake from his pocket and stuffed it into Zhao Shitou's hand. "Please eat it slowly, eat it slowly, don't choke!"

"They say the Eighth Route Army doesn't hit or curse people, and they're not arrogant. It's really true." "If you can serve in the army here, it's a blessing you've earned in several lifetimes..."

The Eighth Route Army soldier walked away, and the young men around him looked at his broad back, sighing and lamenting.

Whether it was the cooks cooking, the soldiers with glasses registering identities, or the doctors treating patients, all of them were filled with warm and sincere concern, creating a scene unlike anything they had ever witnessed. Amidst this throng of busy soldiers and piles of prisoners, there was not a single high-ranking official walking around in leather boots, hands behind their backs. There were only red-headed soldiers who spoke of "class brothers" and would shed tears over the plight of a poor man.

Zhao Shitou slowly unwrapped the oil-paper-wrapped cake. It was a bright yellow, oily, glutinous rice cake, with a faint tooth mark from a large bite taken by the previous owner. It had clearly been kept in a pocket for a long time, squashed and tumbled, and crumpled into a smaller ball, like a yellow dumpling.

He carefully picked up the fallen crumbs and ate them under the envious eyes of others. But before he could taste the wonderful aroma of sugar, honey and eggs in the trough cake, a rude and sarcastic remark came from the side.

"Look at you poor bunch! The bandits gave you some sweet treats, and you forgot your roots! Humph!" The soldiers around him hurriedly moved away, like a school of fleeing fish. Someone came over. "Shouzi Zhao! Shouzi Zhao!"

The man who was speaking wore a greasy apron, smeared with soot from the bottom of a pot, with thick lips and dark circles under his eyes. As he spoke, he exhaled a thick white mist, which reminded Zhao Shitou of the stubborn donkey he had borrowed from the village. In front of the millstone on a winter day, he stood there, kicking and refusing to be harnessed.

"Communist bandits...what did Master Ba give you? Take it out!"

"Deputy...Deputy Head...is..."

This man was a regimental commander, the one who had told Zhao Shitou to throw out the "corpse." Normally, he'd be called "Lei the Regimental Captain," and anyone who called him that wrong would be beaten. But today, instead of showing any satisfaction, he lunged forward, terrified.

"You little rabbit Huizi, you're trying to kill me! Remember, I'm a cook, okay? A cook! I boil water and cook!"

"I wonder if you'd be this flustered too," Zhao Shitou thought. But the accumulated prestige still lingered, and his instincts took over even faster: Zhao Shitou didn't flee, but simply curled up and endured it. "It's nothing...it's nothing, sir, it's nothing..." He hugged the half-eaten cake tightly in his arms and huddled closer to the pile of straw.

"fart!"

The group's voice was a little louder, and he raised his head. Then, as if afraid that the Eighth Route Army soldier would hear him, he lowered his voice. "I clearly saw that Eighth Route Army soldier give you a cake! It was as big as a small fist. Take it out, quickly!"

His tone was vicious, but he didn't dare to speak louder, "Hurry up!"

"This idiot has been arrested by the Eighth Route Army, yet he's still so arrogant..."

Someone muttered something in a low voice, and the group leader's eyes immediately glared, with dark circles covering the bloodshot whites of his eyes. He instinctively stood up and raised his chin.

But he quickly shrank back and turned around to look around, just like a trapped turtle.

When he found that the Eighth Route Army soldiers were all far away, he laughed with satisfaction: "You bunch of poor guys! What are you so proud of? What's the big deal if the Eighth Route Army catches me? They still can't kill me, right? "When the time comes, be careful, you will be beheaded and skinned by the red-headed guys, buried alive and have your tendons pulled out!"

"The Eighth Route Army doesn't mistreat prisoners! They just said they welcome us to be Eighth Route Army soldiers." Someone shouted from behind, but the lack of confidence in their tone was quickly noticed by the scheming villain. He put one hand on his waist and pointed with the other, "You guys still want to be Eighth Route Army soldiers? You guys still want to ride on my head?"

"Ah? You really think the Eighth Route Army wants a bunch of you black-legged people who run away at the slightest gust of wind and get sick at the slightest rain? Why don't you open your eyes and look at the soldiers of the Eighth Route Army boss. Every one of them is tall, strong, and has a natural look of good fortune? "Do you know how much the Eighth Route Army's food can be sold for on the market? Even if you sell yourselves, you can't afford it! Don't you even take a piss and look at yourself to see if you have enough food to eat!"

He kicked Zhao Shitou and punched him, "Take it out."

Zhao Shitou didn't say anything, but gritted his teeth and endured it.

"Give it to me!" The ball was furious. He looked around and found it was safe, so he reached out to grab it. "Give it to me!" "No, I won't give it to you! This is for me!"

Zhao Shitou blurted out these words through gritted teeth, then tensed his body, mustered up the courage that had disappeared to who knows where, and forcefully stuffed the piece of glutinous rice cake in his arms into his mouth.

He finally began to resist timidly, and even this kind of defiance made the man stunned for a moment. Seeing his trough cake being eaten by the strong man in front of him, he muttered, "Coward! You son of a bitch, you are tired of living..."

Then, a gun butt flew over.

"Oh shit!"

"Ahem, ahem, ahem... Damn it, who's this short... Oh, oh, it's the Red... Eighth Route Army boss!"

The butt of the rifle struck him hard in the chest, causing him to cough uncontrollably. The regimental commander's rage was like a volcano about to erupt, but then, like a duck with its neck pinched, he let out a strange, artificial laugh, "You're here, sir, you're here..."

Several Eighth Route Army soldiers rushed in with a clatter, all carrying rifles, and a few without them also came in. One of them was glaring at the group, his eyes wide open, and he seemed to be gripping his Mauser with all his strength, so tightly that it made a rattling sound.

"Instructor, I saw this fellow from the Nationalist army was starving, so I gave him a piece of trough cake," the man shouted to the man next to him, his voice breaking. "And then this guy came and snatched it away, even trying to hit me!"

The regimental commander's eyes turned, and his expression immediately changed. He said to the "instructor" aggrievedly:

"'Boss, Boss of the Eighth Route Army, you can't wrongly accuse a good person! Zhao Shitou and I were good friends in our previous unit! I haven't eaten all the way here, and I'm starving! I was just asking him to give me half of that egg cake." The deputy regiment commander hurriedly defended himself, his tone as if filled with a whole box of Taikoo sugar. He then looked at Zhao Shitou, "Shouzi Zhao, you mean it, don't you?... You're talking!"

The instructor without a rifle squatted down, looked at the two men, and then turned away, separating them. He looked at Zhao Shitou's tattered clothes and the shoe prints on them:

"Little brother, tell me what happened just now."

"Yes, yes, have a good talk with the Eighth Route Army commander and tell the truth." The regimental commander, upon hearing this, echoed it with a stronger tone, emphasizing each word. Immediately, several soldiers grabbed him and dragged him aside, separating the two. Seeing this, the regimental commander immediately began to cry out for his grievances.

The instructor seemed to be deaf to the harsh voice and continued to ask:

"Little brother, your last name is Zhao? Are you from Weinan? Ha, similar to me, although not from the same place, but my hometown is Luonan. Both places have the word "Nan" in their names, so we can be considered half fellow villagers." "Yeah, yeah, yes... yes, the Eighth Route Army boss."

"Don't call me boss or not. We are all heroes who fought against the Japanese with guns. We were just deceived by our superiors and came to the wrong place. Come on, tell me slowly.

What on earth just happened?"

He was cowering in fear, not daring to speak, his eyes constantly glancing at the cook behind him. The instructor then smiled and consoled him, saying, "Why, I'm not a man-eating tiger. Are you afraid I'll steal your trough cake? Hey, don't be afraid. We Eighth Route Army soldiers have plenty of trough cakes. We farmers grow crops, grind flour, raise chickens for eggs, and even use the eggs to feed bees! Look, you can eat as much trough cake as you want, until you're full!"

"Instructor, don't ask anymore. It was this bastard cook who stole other people's things. I saw it clearly!"

The soldier holding the gun saw the "cook" in front of him still complaining about his grievances and resisted the urge to kick him: "This guy, I'm afraid he is actually a bully in the army!"

"Brother Zhao, just tell us what you saw. Don't be afraid. We are a group of poor people, and we support the poor. There are no big landlords or warlords here, and no one dares to bully you."

Should I tell it or not?

The strong stimulation and sharp contrast drove Zhao Shitou to use his brain for one of the few times in his life.

If he spoke up, he'd likely face retaliation from the gang in the prisoner-of-war camp, and be looked down upon by others. This represented uncertainty and change, and peasants hated uncertainty and change the most. Zhao Shitou was the same; he longed for better days, for them to last forever—so, why not keep quiet? He'd still be bullied, but at least it wouldn't be as bad. It would be just like before, nothing much had changed.