Chapter 747

He knew that this house could stand firm in the snow and wind not because of those ration coupons, but because of brothers like Zhao Shuzhuo. Zhao was willing to shoulder his burdens, using calloused palms to crush away any calculation, leaving only a searing sincerity that propped up a bright, clear sky for him on this land. As the whistle from the distant brick factory drifted over, Wang Jianguo took a bite of cornmeal cake, feeling that what it contained was nothing less than the honest, heartfelt warmth offered by the people of Beidahuang. He knew that in this land, camaraderie was never measured in coupons. It was the hand Zhao Shuzhuo clapped onto his shoulder, the eggs Hé Yǔshuǐ hid in his lunch bucket, and the genuine enthusiasm with which all the Beidahuang people treated his affairs as their own. When Zhao Shuzhuo walked out the gate humming a Bangzi opera, Wang Jianguo opened the parcel; the warmth of Zhao’s palm still lingered on the coupons. He remembered Yu Li’s words in the dimension—"human connection is living spiritual energy"—and only now did he understand that the sincerity offered by the people of Beidahuang was more precious than any gold or silver. What he had to do was not measure affection with money, but to carefully masonry this searing warmth into every brick of his new home.