Carrying a Jurassic on me
Chapter 959 - 518

Chapter 959: 518

As the new year approached, another heavy snowfall descended upon the Sancha River area. While some would say that auspicious snow heralds a bountiful year, it also meant that traveling had become a challenge for the rural populace.

However, this did not deter the migrant workers, who, after toiling away for a year, were eager to return home.

Although there were not many young people working outside, their return brought with them news from the outside world, making the changes out there feel tangible to the villagers.

Seeing these young people returning home, each dressed in new and stylish clothes, like actors from TV and movies, and listening to their tales of the bustling big cities, with skyscrapers taller than the largest pagoda tree at the village entrance, roads wide enough for several cars to drive side by side, and a world of glitz and traffic, many in the village, especially the youths, were restless with longing.

In Guan Village, a young man was animatedly sharing his experiences: "Out there, money is nothing special; there are so many rich people. The streets are full of cars, not like the ones we have here—just a couple hundred thousand at most. Over there, some cars cost millions..."

His words immediately elicited admiration and curses from a group of young people: "Damn, that’s way too rich. They say driving a car is like sitting on a building, but how many buildings are they sitting on?"

The migrant young man dismissed their comments with disdain: "What you’re talking about must be the buildings here, right? The ones outside are like what we see on TV, many of them dozens of stories high, not something you can compare to just one car!"

As he spoke, the young man skillfully picked up a corn cob and tossed it into the stove: "In the big cities, they don’t use these stoves, it’s all central heating. As soon as you enter a home, you have to take off your clothes, or you’ll start sweating. Even if it’s icy and snowy outside, the plants and flowers inside the house are all green..."

A bunch of kids had no clue that this guy was bluffing. He worked in the south; how often does one encounter icy and snowy weather in decades? And for a worker like him, living in a factory dormitory, it would be surprising if they had heating.

In reality, these migrant workers were not well-educated, and most of them worked in industrial areas on the outskirts of the city, or even in places that are considered remote today. They seldom had the chance to experience the dazzling nightlife of the cities.

At most, they might take a bus to the city when the factory gave them a day or half-day off, but they wouldn’t even dare to enter a large restaurant—although there were female migrant workers who did visit big hotels. However, those who returned from work usually claimed they just did factory work and would not talk much about how glamorous and dissolute city life was.

That’s understandable. Young people returning from working outside never boasted about how they had to work from dawn to dusk on construction sites, toiling like oxen and horses for the lowest wages, sometimes even having to step on their dignity to make money. They only spoke highly of their experiences outside, as if they hadn’t gone to work, but had been vacationing in seaside villas.

Life was already tough, and talking this way allowed them to bask in a bit of envy from others, providing a salve to their wounded souls. It made all their year’s hardships bearable, even comforting for their weary hearts, and was truly an unobjectionable thing to do.

As the stories flowed, finally, a young man couldn’t hold back and asked, "Brother Da Song, how much did you make this year? Can you share with us brothers, or can’t you?"

Da Song laughed a little sheepishly: "I tend to spend a lot, a bit carelessly. I spend quite a bit of my salary every month. I also bought some stuff this time when I came back, and in the end, I only had three to four thousand yuan left."

The atmosphere suddenly turned awkward.

When he mentioned the three to four thousand yuan, Da Song’s voice rose just a tad, and he glanced around with slight pride afterward, wanting to see the envy in the eyes of those around him—carrying three to four thousand yuan back home would’ve been decent if he had a good job, but for someone like him doing mainly manual labor, that meant he probably didn’t even indulge in the canteen’s braised pork.

He had thought he would invoke envy by revealing his year-long frugality, but instead, everyone seemed stunned, with some casting glances toward a young man who had been mostly silent and who would just offer a genuine, simple smile whenever someone talked to him.

Da Song couldn’t help but ask, "What’s going on with you guys?"

They were all young people who had grown up together in the same village, practically knowing every mole on each other’s butts, and the awkwardness dissipated after a moment. One of the youths pointed at the simple young man: "He’s been earnestly working at the cattle farm, and he’s made quite a bit this year. This guy is so stingy, he just won’t tell."

Da Song was surprised, then chuckled: "Come on, if he won’t tell, what can you do, put him on trial?"

The group of young men were momentarily stunned, then the scene turned lively, with them clamoring over to Guan Shi: "Honest Shi, just tell us how much money you brought back for your mom? If you don’t spill, we might not be so kind!"

But although they were clamorous, few were actually making a move. Da Song was still not pleased: "You guys just make noise, huh? Come on, lend a hand..."

Guan Shi looked at his childhood friends surrounding him and noticing the bravado underneath some of their expressions, suddenly felt as though he wasn’t fitting in. He held out his hand and gestured: "About this much, and actually my salary isn’t that much. Brother Fei said it was for the New Year’s bonus, so he gave me an extra two thousand yuan."