Inside the house, Luo Wen wasn’t just chatting. He had placed a small plate of peanuts on the table. However, eating them wasn’t as simple as reaching out to grab one—you had to compete in speed and quickness to get your share.

“Come on now, it’s rare for us all to gather like this. The New Year celebrations in the past two years have not been so lively. The kids have melon seeds to snack on, so let’s enjoy these peanuts. Don’t underestimate them—these aren’t like the ones we roasted ourselves. These were brought back by Cheng from the army, and ordinary folks can’t get their hands on peanuts like these.”

Luo Wen spoke with a smile, clearly proud of his son’s accomplishments. He meticulously divided the peanuts, counting out 20 for each person in front of his brothers and brothers-in-law. No one found this odd; given how scarce such treats were, rationing was entirely appropriate.

The adults first talked about the past two years’ harvests, expressing their frustrations. Poor harvests had coincided with continued government demands to supply to the north. The amount of public grain handed hadn’t decreased despite the bad yields.

Eventually, the conversation shifted to Luo Cheng. After all, today’s gathering revolved around celebrating his return from the army.

Speaking of his son, Luo Wen couldn’t hide his pride. His brothers and brothers-in-law took turns praising Luo Cheng. Their compliments, though repetitive and limited due to their lack of education, were heartfelt and sincere. Words like “impressive” and “remarkable” were said with genuine admiration, which made Luo Wen feel deeply gratified as a father.

Pleased with the attention on his son, Luo Wen decided to introduce a new topic: grain coupons.

“You all know about national grain coupons, don’t you? These things are more valuable than money! In the city, people rely on commercial grain—everything is rationed. Each month, they’re allocated a fixed amount of fine and coarse grain. But national grain coupons? With these, you can buy as much as you want. Let me ask you—how much grain do you think 50 pounds’ worth of national grain coupons can get you?”

Luo Wen deliberately built suspense, enjoying the curious looks from the others.

The conversation shifted naturally to the day’s highlight—grain. What happened that morning at the grain station had left Luo Wen astonished. Growing up in the pre-liberation era, he had never dealt with anything like grain coupons.

In practice, farmers rarely obtained grain coupons. Even though they grew food, the system didn’t provide them with coupons. Instead, farmers in need would borrow from relatives or take credit from their local production team.

In better years, families might receive small payments during the harvest, which they could use to buy grain. However, even this required registration with the production team. The grain purchased in this way was called “reclaimed grain”—leftover stock available only in surplus years.

But good harvests were rare. When they happened, people prioritized buying daily necessities like salt and oil. Spending money on reclaimed grain was considered a luxury. Nowadays, with poor harvests and no surplus, even the wealthier farmers had to rely on high-priced black-market grain.

The process of applying for reclaimed grain was convoluted. It required advance planning and literacy, both of which were uncommon among rural farmers. Even when village leaders or production teams explained it, many simply forgot or didn’t understand how to take advantage of the policy.

Still, reclaimed grain wasn’t useless. Even in good years, rural households rarely had enough to eat. While it wouldn’t allow anyone to eat their fill, it could provide some relief.

In the future, Luo Cheng’s earnings could make reclaimed grain more accessible to his family. Though the quantity wasn’t large, the lack of grain coupons made it a valuable option. If Luo Cheng secured a job, he could even purchase reclaimed grain twice a year. Unlike urban dwellers, who often limited their consumption of fine grain, Luo Cheng could afford to be indulgent.

Finally, Luo Wen revealed the answer:

“With 50 pounds of national grain tickets, I got 150 pounds of sweet potatoes, 100 pounds of cornmeal, and some other grains.”

The cornmeal had already been poured into their sturdy old rice barrel, passed down from Luo Cheng’s grandfather. Though it hadn’t been filled in years, the durable barrel was perfect for storing grain. The family never mixed different types of grain, so even during distribution, the barrel remained only partially full.

The sweet potatoes were stored in Luo Bing’s shed, where he slept to keep an eye on them. Even after dividing them with their relatives, the family planned to keep the rest in the shed. If a rat dared to nibble on them, Luo Bing might even see it as an opportunity to catch some meat.

Hearing the figures, Luo Cheng’s uncles were impressed. While sweet potatoes were less filling and water-heavy, they were a lifesaver in hard times. The total haul of around 250 pounds was substantial. Luo Wen hinted that he would share a portion, as evidenced by his earlier suggestion that everyone bring sacks.

After lunch, Luo Wen confirmed his plan:

“Once we finish eating, I’ll give each family 10 pounds of cornmeal and 20 pounds of sweet potatoes. It’ll help tide you over for now. But remember, this is all thanks to Cheng. Make sure you remember his generosity.”

“Brother, don’t worry! Cheng is our nephew—helping him is a given. If he ever needs anything, he just has to ask.”

Luo Wu, the eldest uncle, responded sincerely. Back then, familial bonds were strong, and ignoring a relative’s need would invite social scorn. Yet this sense of duty sometimes backfired during times of famine.

Many families who were slightly better off shared their resources out of obligation, only to deplete their reserves and starve alongside those they tried to help. Ironically, refusing to assist might have allowed one family to survive, while helping others often led to shared tragedy.