Chapter 14 – That’s Like Using an Ox Knife to Kill a Chicken

These days, people didn’t really believe in the supernatural. Besides, judging from Liu Yinshuang’s strange behavior just now, everyone thought she had a few screws loose, so no one took her talk of death and ghosts seriously.

If they had time to worry about that, it was better spent squeezing to the front of the line to buy fabric early. If they waited until it was their turn and the fabric was sold out, now that would be something to regret.

Shen Shaoyuan watched Liu Yinshuang gradually walk away with a thoughtful look, exchanged a glance with Shen Mo’er—one that needed no words—and quietly asked, “Do you know that girl?”

Strangely enough, Shen Mo’er thought about it carefully and realized she should know Liu Yinshuang.

Back in junior high, Liu Yinshuang was one grade above the original host. When the original host was in the first year, Liu was in the second. There weren’t many students to begin with—especially not girls—so they all looked vaguely familiar to each other. Plus, Yangliu Brigade and Songshu Brigade were next to each other, so the two of them often bumped into each other going to and from school. While they weren’t exactly close, they did know each other.

But then… why did that girl say she was a ghost?

Shen Mo’er didn’t have time to think it over. If she didn’t squeeze in now, the fabric would be sold out!

Half an hour later, Shen Mo’er walked out of the supply and marketing cooperative carrying ten feet of fabric she had just managed to grab. Shen Shaoyuan held a thermos and a paper packet of salt. The father and daughter exchanged a glance and smiled in satisfaction.

Their luck was great—they’d managed to buy a thermos and fabric that didn’t require ration tickets. This trip to the cooperative was definitely worth it.

Next, they planned to visit the brick and tile factory’s store to check on prices and buy a few tiles for repairing the house. Once that was done, their mission for the day would be complete.

Liujiao Commune had two collective-run factories: one textile mill and one kiln. The kiln was a converted private workshop, so it had been around for quite some time. Back when Old Master Shen built that row of green-brick, tile-roofed houses, he had bought the bricks and tiles from this kiln.

Because of the kiln, houses in nearby brigades were grander than elsewhere. Almost every brigade had tile-roofed brick houses. Those who couldn’t afford full brick-and-tile houses would at least build half a wall with bricks and roof the main room with tiles.

Outside the kiln’s factory was the store. When the sales clerk heard that they were only buying a few tiles, his attitude was lukewarm. Still, he answered their inquiries clearly: building a new house would cost more than a hundred yuan just for bricks and tiles.

But that was expected. The original Shen Mo’er and Shen Shaoyuan, though quiet and reserved, had secretly paid attention to how much their two tile-roofed houses were worth. They were just confirming whether prices had changed.

Shen Mo’er took the thermos and salt, freeing up Shen Shaoyuan’s hands to carry a stack of tiles, and the two walked out of the shop.

A ring of green brick walls surrounded the kiln factory. Two people were standing by the wall. One was older, wearing a white short-sleeved shirt and dark blue trousers, exuding the air of a leader. The other was a young man, about twenty, holding a bucket in one hand and a brush in the other, complaining to the older man with a drooping face.

“Director, it’s not that I don’t want to work hard. I’ve been practicing calligraphy at home every day. But this stuff—you can’t just improve overnight! And my writing is barely acceptable; drawing’s totally hopeless! How about looking around the factory again, see if anyone has this skill? If not, maybe borrow someone from another unit for a few days?”

“You think I haven’t tried other units? The textile factory’s propaganda officer is Little Guo’s sister—and their whole family got sent for labor reform. You think his sister was spared?”

The older man sighed. “I even went to the commune myself. They do have a staffer who can write and draw, but he said he’s swamped with work from the commune leadership. No way he can help us.”

The young man mumbled, “It’s not that I’m slacking off—it’s just beyond my ability. Maybe we should just slap something together?”

The older man’s eyes widened. “This is about our collective’s reputation—how can we slap it together?! Our kiln is a top unit in the entire county. Leaders come here to inspect, and brother units come to learn from us. If they see our propaganda work looking sloppy, what would that say about us?”

The younger one muttered, “Then why don’t you give it a try?”

That nearly made the older man explode. “I came from making brick billets. If I could write and draw, would I have bothered bringing you into the propaganda office?!”

The younger one grumbled, “Well, I wasn’t trained in propaganda either…”

Just then, someone suddenly interjected from the side: “Comrade, sorry to interrupt—what’s this about writing and drawing?”

The young man turned and saw two people dressed in ragged clothes, carrying tiles and a thermos. Clearly commune members here to buy supplies. He frowned. “We’re discussing work. Don’t stick your nose where it doesn’t belong.”

There weren’t many literate rural folks, let alone anyone who could write well or draw.

So his first thought was: busybodies.

Already irritated, he naturally wasn’t polite.

But the older man didn’t react like the hot-headed youngster. Though the pair before him looked rustic, their manners were respectful and composed. A thought crossed his mind. He said, “Our factory has an urgent propaganda task. We need slogans and posters painted on walls and bulletin boards. But we haven’t found anyone with the right skills. Since you asked, do you perhaps have some talent in this area?”

Shen Shaoyuan adjusted the tiles in his arms and said with confidence, “Writing slogans and painting posters won’t be a problem.”

It wasn’t arrogance—he truly wasn’t good at much else, but when it came to calligraphy and painting, he was good. Back in Daliang, even renowned scholars praised and sought him out.

So, painting a poster or slogan here? That was like using an ox knife to kill a chicken.

The young man looked him up and down, unconvinced. “You really know how to paint slogans and posters? You’re not just bluffing?”

After all, since taking on the propaganda job himself, he’d been bluffing the whole time.

Back then, it was only a bulletin board, and everyone in the factory knew the situation. At worst, they just teased him—he was only embarrassing himself inside the factory.

But now the county had mandated new propaganda tasks for all units and emphasized using prominent places like outer walls and gates.

Even if he could keep embarrassing himself, the leadership wouldn’t allow it!

Still, he couldn’t believe this ragged-looking man knew how to write and paint.

The older man immediately snapped, “Xiao Ding, shut up.”

Then he turned to Shen Shaoyuan and said, “Hello, comrade. Let me introduce myself. I’m Xu Weiguo, the director of the kiln factory’s propaganda department. This is our staff member, Ding Lixin. He’s young and impulsive—please don’t mind him.”

Xu Weiguo first apologized for Ding’s rudeness, then asked for Shen Shaoyuan’s background. Though he had already guessed, hearing that Shen was from the Yangliu Brigade still made his eyes light up.

If he were from another unit, they could only try to borrow him temporarily. But a brigade member? If he really had the skills, Xu could apply to recruit him directly.

Maybe not as a permanent worker—but definitely as a temp. That would solve the problem of having no usable manpower in the propaganda office!

Xu Weiguo was already planning in his heart, though his expression didn’t show it. Out loud, he said they really had no one who could do the job right now, and asked if Shen could help them write a few characters on the wall.

Shen Shaoyuan knew this was a test of his skill, so he didn’t decline. He carefully set the tiles down and took the bucket and brush from Ding Lixin.

After confirming what needed to be written, he stared at the wall for a while, dipped the brush into the paint, and began.

Ding Lixin tried to whisper to Xu Weiguo that if this guy messed up the wall, they’d have to repaint it later—what a headache.

But before he could finish speaking, he saw the first character appear on the wall and gaped—his mouth open wide enough to fit an egg!

It was just that good!

And fast!

Usually, when writing on walls, even the previous propaganda worker, Xiao Guo, had to sketch outlines first and then fill them in with paint.

As for Ding Lixin? He couldn’t even sketch an outline properly.

But this shabby-looking man? He was painting characters on the wall like he was writing on paper. No outlines, no hesitation—just stroke after stroke.

And the characters? Beautiful.

Ding Lixin couldn’t describe it, only that he had never seen such fine handwriting in his life.

In almost no time at all, the entire wall slogan was done.

“Wow! That’s amazing! Comrade Shen Shaoyuan, you’re incredible!” Ding Lixin, who had been skeptical earlier, was now cheering loudly.

“Truly well done—your skill is outstanding!” Xu Weiguo was excited too. “Comrade Shen, we really are short-staffed in the propaganda office. Would you be willing to come help us when you have time? Of course, we won’t let you do it for free—we’ll pay you by the hour. And if your work is good, I’ll try to help you get a formal job offer. How does that sound?”

Why not? Shen Shaoyuan had come over to recommend himself precisely because he thought it might lead to an opportunity.

If he could get a job, that would be great. If not, earning some labor fees was good too.

Ten minutes later, the father and daughter returned to the donkey cart.

Aunt Chen had already sold out her basket of melons and was waiting. When she saw how much they had bought, she exclaimed, “You really made this trip worth it! Look at all that stuff—oh my, a thermos and fabric too?!”

Shen Mo’er grinned. “We were lucky—the supply store was selling defective thermoses and fabric without ration tickets.”

Aunt Chen slapped her thigh. “Ah! I missed it! That kind of stuff disappears in a flash! You two really hit the jackpot today—what a harvest!”

Shen Mo’er beamed. “Yes, we were lucky. A bountiful harvest!”

This trip really was worth it. Her father even found a job. Wasn’t that a bountiful harvest?