Chapter 14: Shopping Spree

Wang Guifang grew a little worried when she heard this. “Going into town again? Should I go with you?”

Song Miaomiao reassured her, “It’s fine. I told Auntie Li already. I’m going with Uncle Wang’s family—they’re taking the cart they use to sell tofu.”

Only after hearing she was going with Wang Erniu and his family did Wang Guifang finally feel more at ease.

The next morning, just as dawn broke, Song Miaomiao was already at the village entrance waiting.

When Wang Erniu and his father, Wang Tie, passed by with the ox cart, she hopped on.

There were a few other villagers hitching a ride as well. Upon seeing Song Miaomiao, they greeted her warmly.

“Miaomiao, going to the market? Where’s your basket? What are you selling?”

Only then did Song Miaomiao remember she had left a basket in the bamboo grove. Looks like she’d have to buy another one later.

She politely answered everyone’s questions, “Yes, I’m going to the market—to sell some menu drawings.”

“Menu? What kind of menu?”

Song Miaomiao pulled out a cloth-wrapped bundle and showed them her illustrated menus. Everyone was immediately intrigued.

“You drew this? Just looking at it is making me hungry! How much can you sell this for?”

Song Miaomiao knew better than to flaunt her wealth, so she quoted a modest number—still enough to surprise the group.

“Kids raised in rich families really are different. With that kind of skill, you’ll never starve anywhere. Way better than us selling mushrooms.”

The villagers started bombarding her with questions about her past life in the Song household. Did she really wash her face in golden basins? Eat with silver chopsticks? Song Miaomiao struggled to keep up with their curiosity.

Finally, they reached town. As soon as they arrived, she practically jumped off the cart like she was escaping.

Wang Erniu called after her, “We’ll probably be selling tofu for about an hour and a half. Keep an eye on the time so we can head back together.”

Song Miaomiao replied, “Alright, will do.”

She didn’t dare ride back on a stranger’s cart.

She even kept her distance from those friendly-looking drivers.

She went into a woodworking shop and handed over her design sketches, drawn in charcoal, to a craftsman and asked if it could be made.

The craftsman saw it was just a small trinket and wasn’t very interested at first. But after a closer look, he found the design a bit clever.

“Huh, this is pretty novel. I can make it—50 wen.”

Song Miaomiao was taken aback. “That expensive?”

The craftsman took the drawing back. “This is my first time making something like this. There’s bound to be some trial and error. If you’re not willing, go find someone else!”

His tone turned unfriendly.

After thinking for a moment, Song Miaomiao obediently chose to try another shop.

Shop around and compare prices, right? That’s what the saying goes.

The craftsman had assumed, from her fair and delicate appearance, that she’d be too soft to say no.

To his surprise, she turned around and walked out without hesitation.

He hurriedly called her back, “Alright, first customer of the day—I’ll give you a discount. How about 40 wen?”

Song Miaomiao continued walking, determined.

“30?”

“25! Lowest I can go. You won’t find a better deal anywhere else.”

Hearing his firm assurance, Song Miaomiao finally chose to stop, paid a 10-wen deposit, and said she’d pick it up the next day.

After leaving that shop, on a whim, she stepped into another carpentry store. That shop quoted her 80 wen after seeing the same drawing.

A subtle sense of satisfaction settled in her heart.

Smiling, she carried her newly bought little basket and headed to the bustling morning market.

There were all sorts of vendors—pork, mountain goods, herbs, handkerchiefs, even flower seeds.

Farther in were the more permanent shops: fabric stores, cosmetic shops, and grain stores.

On the way, she spotted a roadside stall selling wontons.

The delicious smell made her mouth water.

She had gotten up so early and hadn’t had breakfast yet. Since leaving the Song estate, she hadn’t eaten wontons at all.

She walked over and asked, “How much for a bowl?”

The vendor cheerfully replied, “Ten wen per bowl—ten pieces in a bowl.”

Song Miaomiao put down her basket. “One bowl, please.”

She was now someone with a fortune of 1,200 wen. She could afford a ten-wen bowl of wontons.

In no time, a steaming bowl of wontons was placed on the table.

Song Miaomiao used a porcelain spoon to scoop one up and blew gently on it. The skin was thin and translucent; the plump filling was clearly visible.

She bit into it, and the savory broth filled her mouth. It was a bit hot, but far too delicious to resist.

“So good!”

The girl’s eyes squinted with joy as she ate.

After paying, Song Miaomiao went to the fabric store and spent 200 wen on a bolt of cotton cloth that was softer than hemp.

Hemp fabric was uncomfortable. She wanted to make two cotton undergarments for daily wear. Her outer clothes could still be made of hemp.

She also bought some embroidery threads, plain handkerchiefs, and bamboo hoops for embroidery.

She figured she could do some needlework in the evenings when there was nothing else to do.

She thought there was no salt left at home—better buy some.

Her mother had asked her to buy meat so she could cook red-braised pork. So she bought a bit of pork and sugar.

She sensed her monthly period was about to arrive. This time she didn’t want to use ash—she’d buy some soft cotton instead!

Back at the Song estate, everything had been prepared by the housekeeper. She rarely left the house. This was her first time experiencing the joy of shopping.

In less than an hour, her bamboo basket was full to the brim. She had spent more than 400 wen in one go.

Before leaving, she passed by a pastry shop. The pastries looked delicious, but when she asked the price, it turned out to be over 100 wen per jin—an astronomical price for her current means.

But after hesitating for a while, Song Miaomiao still added two packs of pastries to her basket.

She remembered her mother mentioning that Lu Zheng seemed to have a nephew.

He had helped her many times. She had promised she would repay him.

But giving something too personal between a man and a woman would be inappropriate. Giving snacks to a child, however, would be perfectly fine.

And she couldn’t forget Uncle Wang’s family, either.

Previously, when her mother was injured, Auntie Li had even given them a hundred wen. It was only right to return the favor.

Song Miaomiao didn’t know how to recognize mushrooms or cook, but when it came to social etiquette, she understood well enough.

Because the Song family was a merchant household, they were especially attentive to such things.

Her adoptive mother had made a point of teaching her.

After Wang Tie and Wang Erniu finished selling their tofu, Song Miaomiao carried her full basket of goods back with them.

When the two saw the precious cotton cloth in her basket, they couldn’t help but click their tongues. Such a large bolt must have cost several hundred wen.

But they weren’t the type to pry or gossip. After the initial surprise, they said nothing more. Instead, it was Song Miaomiao who noticed that about one-fifth of the tofu on the cart was still unsold.

“Uncle Wang, didn’t sell it all?”

Wang Tie, a quiet and reserved middle-aged man, nodded silently, then without hesitation wrapped up two blocks and handed them to Song Miaomiao.

“Take it home to eat.”

Song Miaomiao’s face flushed immediately, and she waved her hands quickly. “That’s not what I meant.”

Wang Erniu quickly chimed in, “Just take it, Miaomiao. It’s hot today—this tofu will spoil fast. We won’t be able to finish it all ourselves anyway.”

So Song Miaomiao had no choice but to accept. “Thank you, Uncle Wang.”

Wang Tie gave a brief grunt in acknowledgment.

They made the journey back in silence. Once they returned to the village, Song Miaomiao took out the pastries she had bought earlier and handed them to Wang Tie.

“When my mother was sick before, it was thanks to Auntie Li bringing us that hundred wen that we got through it. Please take these pastries home and have a taste.”

Wang Tie responded with a few curt words, “No need.”

But Song Miaomiao placed the pastries on the cart anyway. “Yes, there is. The books say that when others show you kindness, you should repay it—otherwise, it’ll make them feel disheartened.”

Hoisting the now-heavy basket on her back again, she waved goodbye to the Wang father and son, then set off along the field path toward home.