Chapter 12: Inviting Him to Eat at the State-Run Restaurant

Feng Mian whispered, “Regarding Gu Xiaopang calling off the engagement, Matchmaker Xu felt sorry for me and gave me these things. I don’t like sweets—take them.”

She shoved the items at her and ran off. The old lady was too tired to chase after her.

…

The next day, Feng Mian went to town, originally planning to continue selling rubber bands.

If nothing unexpected happened, she should run into Gu Yuelin and talk to him about the marriage cooperation.

She had already written up the contract last night.

As she arrived at the marketplace, she saw an old man writing Spring Festival couplets, charging twenty cents a pair, and business was booming—there was a long line of customers waiting.

This year was a bumper harvest, and every household had some extra money.

Everyone wanted to buy auspicious couplets to bring good luck.

Feng Mian stood aside watching and noticed the most popular couplet was the boldest one:

“Let the prosperous settle in; sweep poverty out the door.”
Horizontal scroll: “Straight to a moderately prosperous life.”

Though the writing wasn’t neat, it was straightforward and blunt. Even uneducated people understood the meaning immediately and all wanted that one.

Feng Mian used to specially practice calligraphy under a famous master, so writing couplets was easy for her.

She decided not to sell rubber bands that day. Instead, she sneaked into an alley, bought couplet paper, wolf-hair brushes, and ink.

Wrapping her head so only her eyes showed, she set up a stall at another market square in the county town, writing and selling at the same time.

“Auntie, how much are you charging?”

“Auntie?”

Well, auntie it is.

“Twenty cents.”

“What? You also charge twenty cents?” A middle-aged woman scrutinized the couplets and clicked her tongue, clearly disapproving.

“Old Zhu at the opposite market only charges twenty cents; he’s a teacher from a few years ago.”

Feng Mian whispered awkwardly, “Miss, don’t care about his status—look at the writing.”

“I’m just saying—his writing is so much better than yours. Yours looks like chicken scratch, and you want twenty cents too?”

Feng Mian: “…” My writing looks like chicken scratch?

I’m definitely better than that old man. After all, I studied under a famous master and have won awards.

“How about I throw in an extra character for free?” Feng Mian pulled out a “Fu” (福) character.

The woman looked at the character for a long time and asked, “What is this character?”

Feng Mian: “…” You don’t even recognize characters? And you say the old man’s better?

“It’s the character ‘Fu’—means good fortune. Couplets go on the sides, ‘Fu’ goes on the door.”

The woman eyed the pile in Feng Mian’s hand and said, “Give me one more.”

Feng Mian twitched the corner of her mouth, “Okay, one more.”

After all, this was her first sale; if it failed, it wouldn’t be an auspicious start.

The woman finally paid twenty cents and took a set of couplets plus two “Fu” characters.

From then on, Feng Mian sold them bundled like that. People here didn’t care how good your writing was—they just recognized Old Zhu from the opposite market.

If she wanted to compete with him, she’d have to keep giving away extra “Fu” characters.

After selling alone for about an hour, someone familiar stood in front of her.

“Twenty cents a set, with two ‘Fu’s thrown in.”

The man bent down, “You write, I’ll help you sell.”

Feng Mian was startled. She looked up and saw that it was Gu Yuelin.

She had guessed he’d come today—how unexpected.

“Are you done with your business?”

“Yeah, I didn’t see you selling rubber bands earlier and thought you weren’t coming.”

After Gu Yuelin arrived, he took charge of collecting money.

Feng Mian just wrote, and that sped things up quite a bit.

“How do you still know how to write big characters?” Gu Yuelin asked quietly during a lull.

Feng Mian said casually, “My dad was an educated youth sent to the countryside; he taught me. When my mom was still alive, she also sent me to school. I even made it to junior high.”

That was all she could say.

The market days back then weren’t like the later city markets, where peak hours were fixed; here, people were always in a rush, and some who lived far outside the county set off before dawn.

Usually, things started around seven in the morning and by eleven, the streets were nearly empty.

The peak period lasted about three hours, from eight to eleven.

By eleven, there weren’t many people left, so Feng Mian packed up her stall. After counting, she had sold over two hundred sets, making more than forty yuan.

She pulled out five yuan and shoved it into Gu Yuelin’s hand. “You helped me collect the money; this is your pay.”

Gu Yuelin refused to take it. “I only got here near nine, didn’t really help much.”

Then he pressed a warm steamed bun into her hand.

The bun had been tucked inside his clothes for two hours, yet it was still warm.

Feng Mian was a little surprised, and an odd feeling stirred in her heart.

“What do you want me to do with a bun?” She regretted saying it as soon as it came out — how slow-witted of her! If someone gives you a bun, what else could you do but eat it?

“Eat it, you probably haven’t had anything yet, right?”

Surprised, Feng Mian broke open the bun. It still had meat filling inside, which was rare.

She broke off half and gave the rest back.

“I want to go to a restaurant for a meal, so I’m saving room—just eating half for now.”

Gu Yuelin held the other half and felt a strange feeling too.

Feng Mian waved the five yuan in her hand and said, “If you don’t want the pay, I’ll use this five yuan to treat you to a meal.”

“Ah?” Gu Yuelin’s expression grew even stranger. “No need, really.”

“It’s fine, I actually have something to talk to you about.”

She packed up her things and hurried toward the state-run restaurant.

For a big business deal like a marriage cooperation, of course, they had to go to a restaurant.

After hesitating for a bit, Gu Yuelin followed.

At this time, the restaurant wasn’t anything special—kind of like the rural banquet scenes she’d seen in TV dramas.

A big room filled with square tables, no partitions between them, lots of people smoking, and almost all the diners were men.

The decoration was basically non-existent.

The floor was just cement, and the walls were painted with some rough coating.

You had to be careful where you sat—not too close to the walls or you’d get covered in wall dust.

It was just after eleven, and a few tables were still empty. Feng Mian chose a corner table.

The waiter was a woman in her late teens who sized them up and guessed they were a couple pretending to be rich, probably some rich kid’s spoiled children.

Her attitude was not great—she said it bluntly upfront:

“Eating here isn’t cheap.”

“We know, bring us the menu,” Feng Mian replied kindly.

If this were more than a decade later, Feng Mian would definitely have complained about this waiter’s attitude.

But things were different now—in the planned economy era, resources were scarce, and sellers had the advantage.

Being a waiter at a state-run restaurant meant having connections, and the waiters had a decent social status.

If diners were rude, they could even be kicked out.

At this time, private businesses weren’t allowed, and there were no private licenses, so restaurants had to be state-run.

Their county town was fairly big but had only two state-run restaurants.

“Here’s the menu. Can you read? Or should I read it to you?”

Gu Yuelin said, “I can read; I went to high school.”

The waiter looked a bit surprised, glanced at him twice, then tossed the menu in front of him.

“Write down your order yourself.”

“Okay, thank you.”