Chapter 5: Going to the County Hospital for Treatment

The high-spirited General Lin returned to the earthen house, but her lofty ambitions quickly gave way to harsh reality.

Qiao Chunjin was so sick she was practically skin and bones. How could she have any energy left to fight scheming people? The top priority now was to get her to a hospital. But medical expenses, for the mother and daughter at this point, were a figure as astronomical as the stars.

Qiao Chunjin’s main issue was chest pain—so severe it left her breathless and cold as if she were dead, even sweating profusely in the sweltering summer heat. However, after careful checking, Lin Xiaqing was almost certain her heart wasn’t the issue. The problem likely lay in her ribs—whenever Lin Xiaqing applied the slightest pressure to her ribcage, Qiao Chunjin would writhe in agony and flail on the bed.

As long as it wasn’t cancer, it was manageable. It looked more like a bacterial or viral infection in the chest area.

Zhu Er brought over a bowl of freshly cooked wild veggie porridge and suggested, “Let’s leave at first light—head to the county hospital. It’s twenty li (about 10 km). If I pedal hard, I’ll get you there before the sun really starts to burn.”

Who says rough men aren’t thoughtful? He was worried the scorching sun would make Qiao Chunjin worse. In the height of summer, the early morning was the only time the heat was even slightly bearable.

Lin Xiaqing knew the illness couldn’t be delayed any further. She persuaded Qiao Chunjin not to reject the Zhu family’s help any longer. Trees wither when they stay in one place; people thrive when they move. If Qiao Chunjin kept being stubborn and refused to go to the hospital, her life would truly end in that old house.

As for the cost of treatment—they’d have to borrow money from Zhu Er for now. But in this era, who really had much money to spare? Zhu Er was a widower raising two sons alone, already a challenge. Neither son was married yet, and once they were, the expenses would pile up. Borrowing money for medical care couldn’t be a long-term solution. Lin Xiaqing had no intention of letting good people suffer; she would repay him with interest, no matter what.

The pressure of the situation forced her to act—it was time to “go up the mountain” and earn serious money.

In the world of business, you can’t even chant a scripture without a capital. Right now, she had to rely on the lowest-tier methods to build up that capital—either through physical labor or small ventures with low costs.

After Qiao Chunjin finished her wild veggie porridge and went to bed, everyone who’d been busy all afternoon started preparing dinner. When Lin Xiaqing entered the kitchen, a peculiar mix of stinky yet savory aroma hit her. Lifting the pot lid, she saw a fish covered in chili bean paste being steamed.

Turns out, while she was organizing the items they’d recovered from Wang Aixian’s place, Zhu Er had already cooked dinner in the kitchen. The red-braised pork was ready, but the steamed fish was a surprise—she didn’t even know where he’d gotten it.

The porridge made a hearty evening meal, and paired with the pungent, spicy, salty steamed fish, the taste was divine. Even Lin Xiaqing—who had dined on the finest delicacies at banquets—couldn’t help but pat her belly and sigh: “Even a god wouldn’t trade places with me right now.”

What kind of sauce was this fish steamed with? She’d never tasted anything like it before. The flavor of the sauce was perfect—it masked all the fishiness and made the dish utterly irresistible. Even the famed red-braised pork paled in comparison at the table.

Zhu Chenggang said, “Dad, this is the best steamed fish you’ve ever made. I’ve never tasted anything like this before. Usually, you just toss stuff together and call it cooking.”

Zhu Chengtie practically buried his face in the plate, adding, “Dad, if you’d told us you had skills like this, we could open a restaurant. This fish would definitely be a signature dish.”

Zhu Er didn’t believe it. He had just used a ladle of the homemade fermented bean paste from the yard, same as always. Usually, his sons thought steamed fish tasted too fishy. Now they were just trying to flatter him in front of Lin Xiaqing. Still, the boys weren’t totally useless after all.

He tried a bite himself—and stopped talking.

He chewed slowly, eyes widening, and immediately went in for a second bite.

Lin Xiaqing praised, “It’s really delicious, Uncle Zhu. You don’t believe us?”

Zhu Er explained the credit should go to the homemade bean paste. Fish by itself is fishy and bland; all the flavor came from that sauce. But Lin Xiaqing was skeptical—wasn’t that the same jar of sauce that smelled so bad? How could something so pungent taste so good?

Maybe it was like stinky mandarin fish or fermented tofu—the stinkier, the tastier.

She had originally sworn she’d have trouble sleeping tonight with the hard brick bed, the heat, and the foul-smelling sauce jar in the yard. She’d even planned to throw the whole thing out. But now, it had become a jar of gold.

An idea sparked in her mind—her first pot of gold would come from that jar of sauce.

It had a unique taste, unlike any other homemade paste in the countryside. In business lingo, this was a product with high value. Lin Xiaqing believed she could sell the entire jar. But not just sell—it had to be sold strategically. As the saying goes, a woman fears marrying the wrong man, and a product fears being sold to the wrong crowd.

In the countryside, this sauce would be sold cheaply—farmers are frugal, and they can make their own with homegrown ingredients. Price it too high, and they won’t buy. But in the city, it’s a different story. Urbanites chase trends and value rarity. They’d never tasted stinky paste before—initial resistance was natural, but once they tried it and got hooked, just like the Zhu brothers did, the rest would be left to market forces.

There’s no such thing as a product that can’t be sold—only salespeople who aren’t creative or hardworking enough. Her job now was to make people want to try stinky sauce. Once she cracked that, loyal repeat customers would follow.

Honestly, she knew they were so poor now they couldn’t even keep the pot lid down. The most valuable thing they had was that big jar of lard. Selling it would get them money the fastest. Right now, peanut oil was 0.80 yuan per jin, but lard went for 1.40. Rural families scraped by all year and were lucky to save a hundred yuan. Asking them to eat lard was like asking them to carve off their own flesh.

The jar Zhu Er had brought was at least ten jin—worth 20 yuan! If he wasn’t hinting that she should sell it for medical expenses, Lin Xiaqing wouldn’t believe it.

She suddenly felt deeply moved. People in the past were truly kindhearted and full of humanity. She didn’t think of herself as a good person, but there were some lines she would never cross.

She wouldn’t sell that lard. Zhu Er had just given it out of kindness—it would be despicable to turn around and sell it.

No. She’d find another way to make money.

She wanted to live with integrity. Take the hard but honest path. Clumsy maybe—but with a clear conscience. Lin Xiaqing was determined to walk through life with her head held high.

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Before dawn, with just a sliver of light in the east, Zhu Er showed up with his three-wheeler as promised.

The Zhu brothers had to tend their butcher stall during the day, so Zhu Er came alone. Seeing the Lin family courtyard undisturbed, he finally breathed easy.

He had planned to stand guard all night, afraid that madwoman Wang Aixian would retaliate in the dark. But Lin Xiaqing told him it wasn’t necessary—Wang’s family was likely busy trying to figure out how to get Wang Yumei and her son out of trouble with the police.

Now that he thought about it, the girl really had a good head on her shoulders. Calm, bold, and clear-eyed. She probably slept soundly last night—had to, because today they’d be fighting a tough battle at the county hospital.

Zhu Er was initially worried for the mother and daughter, but now he felt reassured. He squinted at Lin Xiaqing and smiled in satisfaction.

Yes, Chunjin’s daughter was outstanding—brave, smart, and tougher than his two sons.

The three-wheeler was wider than average, giving Lin Xiaqing and Qiao Chunjin a comfortable ride. It was harvest season in the countryside—fields newly shorn of wheat, a rare moment of calm in the farming calendar.

In the early light, dewdrops clung to roadside weeds. Lin Xiaqing noticed patches of water celery growing in roadside ditches. Though not as tender as in spring, they’d still make a delicious stir-fry with smoked tofu—a dish full of rustic flavor.

The sun rose in an instant, and Lin Xiaqing realized she hadn’t seen a proper sunrise in ages. In the city, skyscrapers and factories lit up the sky day and night—sunrise was easy to overlook.

As the morning brightened, she looked around and saw the countryside anew—flowers in every color, buzzing flies on cattle that somehow didn’t seem so annoying.

Flocks of birds soared from the trees. White clouds drifted lazily across the sky.

Like something out of Ludovico’s White Clouds—melancholy and beautiful. Lin Xiaqing plucked a dogtail grass, stuck it between her lips, leaned back with her hands behind her head, and gazed carefree at the sky of the 1980s.