Chapter Seventy-Three: Buying a Knife (Three updates today, please keep reading)

After listening, Han Li looked at the thin, insecure young woman and said, “There’s really no need for this. It’s only natural for us educated youth to help one another.”

Qi Zhaodi replied, “No, I feel like it’ll take me a long time to repay your money, so I wanted to help you with something.”

Seeing how she lowered her head whenever she spoke, her mood so downcast and self-effacing, Han Li frowned and said, “I’m not sure what makes you so lacking in confidence, but I can tell you there’s no need for it. If I need help, I’ll definitely ask you. In fact, I have something right now I’d like you to help me with.”

“What is it?” she asked.

Han Li pointed to the cloth bag and explained his idea of sewing it shut.

“No problem,” Qi Zhaodi said. “I’ll go get a needle and thread and make sure it’s stitched up tight.”

She hurried off, and Han Li, thinking about it, decided not to do anything else.

Very soon, Qi Zhaodi returned with needle and thread, deftly sewing up the mouth of the cloth bag. Han Li did not hold back his praise, telling her she was skilled and clever, and that he would surely ask for her help with similar tasks in the future.

Qi Zhaodi had never received such praise since childhood; in her memories, she was usually scolded or disliked. Han Li’s words left her stunned, a warm feeling rising in both her heart and eyes.

By the time she came to her senses, she was already holding some wrapped wild grapes, leaving Han Li’s house.

As she walked into the compound for the educated youth, Han Li’s words as he saw her out still echoed in her ears: “I can see you’re a wonderful young woman. You’re not inferior to anyone. You should give yourself more confidence. If you ever face difficulties or feel unhappy, you can always come to me. I’ll help if I can.”

The next day, Han Li waited for the bus at the entrance to the village with everyone else.

Along the way, they spotted Comrade Zhang San gathering manure on the roadside; none of his clients bothered with manure bags for their livestock. It seemed Zhang San’s attempts to procure manure at the commune were not going well, so now he was scavenging along the road.

When Han Li and the others arrived in town, they separated. He headed straight to the post office to send his package home.

Hao Hongmin and her friends went shopping for personal items, and none of the girls wanted to accompany him.

It was all because of Han Li’s big cloth bag, even though it only contained ordinary mushrooms.

While the girls still relied on supplies from their families, Han Li was already mailing things home.

Anyone in their place would feel a bit wistful, but this suited Han Li’s intentions perfectly.

His current identity was merely that of an educated youth sent to the countryside; frequent visits to the county town were unrealistic.

Since he’d managed to come this time, Han Li planned to stock up on supplies for himself.

So, as soon as he arrived in town, he sent out all six sparrows, hoping to locate the black market here.

When filling out the parcel slip, Han Li considered for a moment, then wrote Han’s mother as the recipient.

Her workplace was near their home, making it convenient to bring the package back. With her temperament, she would open it at home after receiving it.

But Han’s father was different—he would open it immediately. Some things are better kept discreet.

The town itself wasn’t large, and sparrows fly swiftly.

By the time Han Li left the post office, the sparrows had already located two black market sites.

One was in an alley beside the county hospital; the other was in a small grove near the abandoned factory in the north of town.

The first was a bona fide black market, with someone guarding the alley entrance and a wide range of goods inside.

The second was more like a rural bazaar, unattended and unregulated, not really a black market.

Most of what was sold there were mountain goods, cats, dogs, and other small animals; Han Li would have to see for himself.

He tightened the straps on his basket, packing some broken rice and sugar inside, covering them with mushrooms as camouflage.

Mushrooms were common in this area, easier to obtain than vegetables, and wouldn’t attract attention.

His primary goal this time was reconnaissance, to learn the going rates inside, and if he happened upon something he fancied, all the better.

Of course, if the timing and motivation were right, he didn’t mind replenishing his supplies.

To be safe, Han Li stretched his arms and legs from a distance.

The walls here weren’t tall; if anything went wrong, he wanted to be sure he could climb and escape swiftly.

When Han Li arrived at the alley entrance, he was stopped and the guard demanded five cents in a gruff voice.

But when he saw Han Li’s basket full of mushrooms, a look of scorn crossed his face.

There weren’t too many people at this black market, but the whole alley was extremely quiet.

Even the haggling voices were hushed, and Han Li’s arrival attracted many glances.

Like the guard, when people saw his basket full of mushrooms, they lost interest.

Han Li wandered slowly through the alley, stopping at the last stall.

A knife on the stall caught his eye, and he picked it up for a closer look.

It was a compact knife, about thirty centimeters in total length, with an eighteen-centimeter blade.

The sheath was battered, but when Han Li drew the blade, he saw the “Ka-bar” mark engraved on the handle.

Ka-bar referred to the Ka-Bar 1217, standard equipment for special forces in the United States.

Introduced in World War II, it remained in use through the Gulf War—a perennial favorite among military knives.

Its design was ingenious, blending the features of a hunting knife, fighting knife, and machete into one.

The blade was thick and sturdy, ensuring durability and making it reliable for chopping, hacking, and thrusting.

The back of the blade featured a false edge, raised like a fish’s dorsal fin, which increased the knife’s piercing power while preserving tip strength—making it deadly in a single strike.

A knife is an extension of one’s fists. Han Li gave it a gentle swing and found it exceptionally handy.

He pressed his thumb lightly against the blade—it was razor-sharp, and a layer of grease coated the blade, indicating excellent preservation.

As Han Li examined the knife, the stall owner spoke in a near whisper, “This knife was a war trophy brought back from Korea by a family member. It passed to me when he died. If my family weren’t waiting for rice to cook, I wouldn’t dream of trading it.”

“How do you want to trade?” Han Li asked.

“Five jin of fine grain, and it’s yours.”

The knife’s provenance was likely genuine; those foreign letters alone would be enough to baffle their family otherwise.

For various reasons, Han Li had no intention of bargaining.

“I have rice of excellent quality, though it broke a bit during processing. Is that acceptable?”