033. Shopping Bag, Confront!

“No bags?” Jing Qingsin gazed at the pile of goods stacked on the wooden cabinet, puzzled.

The female shop assistant smiled broadly. “Hehe, comrade, is this your first time shopping? Here, everyone brings their own market basket or bamboo backpack. Where would we get bags to give out?”

“Jing, I’m so sorry—it’s all my fault. I got excited and forgot, and I didn’t expect we’d buy so much. How about I run home and fetch one? You wait here,” Li Xiaomei said apologetically. Usually, she only bought a few things at a time, which her basket could easily carry, except during the New Year’s shopping.

Jing Qingsin quickly caught Li Xiaomei, who was already turning to leave, and smiled. “No need, it’s not your fault. I should have thought of it.”

She turned and began stuffing the bagged items into the clay pot. The pot’s mouth was a bit wider than a basketball, with a capacity of six or seven liters. Fortunately, it wasn’t too small and could fit quite a lot. As for the rest? Jing Qingsin flipped the lid over to use as a tray, placing the remaining items on top. It was a tight fit, but just barely enough to carry everything.

“Xiaomei, could you help me with the pot lid?” Jing Qingsin asked.

“Jing, let me carry the whole pot. I’m stronger,” Li Xiaomei offered, reaching for the heaping clay pot.

But Jing Qingsin stopped her at once, laughing. “It’s fine, I can handle it. Would you help with the rest?”

“Jing, are you sure you can manage?” Li Xiaomei asked with concern. The pot was already heavy, and now it was full to the brim. Jing had grown up in the city, surely used to a softer life, unlike the village girls who’d been working the fields since childhood and built up their strength.

“No problem. I’ve got plenty of strength,” Jing Qingsin replied cheerfully. She wasn’t joking—though she looked delicate, her father had always made her and her brother exercise since they were young. He worried she’d be bullied as a girl and even taught her some self-defense techniques.

With that, Jing Qingsin picked up the clay pot with both hands and led the way out. Li Xiaomei hurried after her, thinking that if Jing grew tired, she’d take over halfway.

The two of them walked back toward the village, arms full, chatting idly. At this hour, most of the villagers were out working the fields, so the road was quiet.

“Xiaomei, do you have much fine grain at home?” Jing Qingsin was mentally calculating their food supply.

“When the army first came, they gave us a hundred jin of coarse grain and twenty jin of fine grain. There’s about ten jin left. My mother rations the rice, so we have white rice once a week,” Li Xiaomei replied honestly.

“Where can you buy fine grain? And does anyone in the village sell chickens?” Jing Qingsin asked quietly. She knew that at this point in time, private business was still frowned upon. There were no self-employed vendors, and personal trading was considered profiteering—a serious offense. Only state-run stores could sell openly.

But people have to live; there’s always a need for daily goods, and where there’s demand, there will be a market. Otherwise, how would anyone get by?

“Fine grain is precious now, only sold at the town’s grain station. Every family in the village keeps a little, but not much. Jing, did you want a hen or a rooster? My family has chickens,” Li Xiaomei said directly.

“A hen—for making soup,” Jing Qingsin answered.

“We’ve got an old hen that stopped laying eggs a couple of weeks ago. Is that all right?” Li Xiaomei asked in a low voice. Her family’s hen hadn’t laid eggs for half a month. It wasn’t as good as a young layer, but it was still meat, and her mother had been planning to take it to town and sell it for cash.

Even though they now worked under the household responsibility system, the grain earned through work points was limited. Every family had a small private plot and many mouths to feed, so they all tried to supplement their income by growing vegetables or raising poultry, though not in large numbers.

Most families kept three or four chickens, mainly hens for their eggs, but rarely ate them. Eggs were valuable, often saved as gifts or traded at market for other foods.

“That’s perfect!” Jing Qingsin agreed readily. Old hens made the best soup—the broth would be rich and flavorful.

Li Xiaomei brightened. “Great, I’ll talk to my mother when we get home.”

They hurried on. Li Xiaomei was eager to sell the old hen and earn a bit for her family, so her steps were light. Jing Qingsin was thinking of Gao Shen waiting alone at home, and wanted to get back quickly now that their shopping was almost done.

But since both were carrying heavy loads, even their brisk pace didn’t get them home much faster. As they neared the village center, two girls about seventeen or eighteen came toward them. One wore blue cotton clothes, the other a white synthetic shirt—outfits that marked them as different from the other village girls. Most noticeably, both had neat, chin-length haircuts and carried themselves with a touch of proud confidence.

Jing Qingsin glanced at them briefly, then looked away. She’d caught the proud look on one girl’s face—a sign she wouldn’t be easy to get along with. Since they weren’t acquainted, there was no need to strike up a conversation.

But life rarely goes as one wishes.

“Xiaomei, where have you been? You bought so much!” the girl in blue asked with a smile, but her eyes were fixed on the goods in Li Xiaomei’s hands.

“Back from the commune. These aren’t mine,” Li Xiaomei replied, lowering her head.

“Oh, you’re that one, aren’t you? The one looking after the soldier with the broken leg?” the girl in the white shirt asked, chin raised, her eyes scanning Jing Qingsin’s clothes.

A flash of jealousy crossed her face. She thought: This woman must come from a well-off family. She’d seen her wearing a long dress that morning, a style she’d never even seen before, and now, just half a day later, she’d changed again. So flashy! And even though they both wore white shirts, her own looked shabby by comparison. How could she not be annoyed?

As expected, one glance was enough to know she’d be difficult. The moment she spoke, she made people uncomfortable. Jing Qingsin replied coldly, “First, my name isn’t ‘hey’—I have a proper name. Second, the soldier you mentioned should be called Company Commander Gao. His rank is recognized and protected by the state, and he was injured in the line of duty. It’s not for you to talk about so carelessly. Careless words bring trouble, you know? And his leg is injured, not broken!”

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