Chapter 5

When Jiang Manyue was searching for tools to give herself a complete makeover in her hidden space, Lu Qingyou had already rushed to the county town.

He headed straight to the post office, pulled out a piece of paper from the pocket on his chest, and handed it to the telegraph operator.

“Comrade, hello. I’d like to send a telegram to this address. Please help me out.”

The telegraph operator confirmed the address, and Lu Qingyou carefully dictated the seven words Li Guifen had instructed him to send.

“That’s seven characters in total—twenty-one cents,” the operator said.

Lu Qingyou quickly paid. After receiving the money, the telegraph operator verified the content of the telegram with him again, filled out the form as a receipt, and sent the telegram.

“This is your receipt. Please keep it safe,” the operator said as he handed over the two-part telegram slip.

Lu Qingyou folded it up and put it back in his chest pocket, thanked the operator, and then headed to the state-run department store.

Meanwhile, the post office at the Yunzhou military district received the telegram and quickly delivered it to Lu Lin.

Lu Lin was puzzled as to why his parents suddenly sent him a telegram asking him to come home on leave to get a divorce. Although he had long had thoughts of ending the marriage, he was about to go on a mission and couldn’t return home just yet.

He had no choice but to go to the post office and send a telegram back, explaining that he was about to carry out a mission and promising to come home as soon as it was over.

Unaware of all this, Jiang Manyue was wandering through the black market in her newly transformed appearance.

Strictly speaking, she wasn’t just wandering — she was checking the prices of goods.

Here, purchases didn’t require ration tickets, so prices were higher. For example, rice at the state grain store cost about 15 to 17 cents per jin (half a kilogram) with a ticket. On the black market, where no ticket was needed, it cost 30 to 35 cents per jin.

It was more expensive, but not as outrageous as Jiang Manyue had imagined. If ordinary families were short on ration coupons and had the guts, they could come here to buy.

They could even exchange tickets—like trading industrial coupons they didn’t need at home for food coupons. There were people who specialized in that kind of business.

After making a full round of the market, Jiang Manyue got a good grasp of the situation and now had a solid plan for her business.

Staples like rice weren’t very valuable in the black market. If she was going to sell, she’d sell the expensive stuff—like canned meat and leather shoes. First, she’d focus on clearing out the stock from the supermarket.

During her inspection of the supermarket yesterday, Jiang Manyue had found a pile of men’s and women’s leather shoes in the clothing section, clearly unsold for a long time.

She remembered seeing these same shoes when shopping in the modern day—they were old-fashioned and overpriced, hardly anyone would buy them, maybe two pairs a year at most.

But what modern folks considered outdated would be cutting-edge fashion in this era. These leather shoes were bound to be a big hit.

Jiang Manyue thought for a moment and sought out the person responsible for maintaining order in the black market.

“Do you have anyone here who does big business? I’ve got a deal—some top-grade, brand-new leather shoes from Shanghai. Wondering if anyone’s interested.”

The man grinned. “Of course, we’ve got folks doing big business. If you’re in here, you’re one of us. Come with me.”

The black market required a password to enter, and it changed daily. Generally, only trusted people could get in, so the man wasn’t worried about Jiang Manyue causing trouble. He led her to the real traders.

After winding through alleys, they arrived at a hidden courtyard.

“Hey folks, got a big deal here—leather shoes straight from Shanghai!”

The mention of Shanghai shoes got everyone’s attention.

But Jiang Manyue was a new face. One man, with a scar on his face, eyed her lazily and said, “Let’s see the goods?”

Without hesitation, Jiang Manyue pulled a brand-new pair of women’s leather shoes from the large bag slung over her shoulder and placed them on the low table in front of them.

The shoes were black with crystal-like plastic embellishments on the toes. They sparkled and looked very stylish.

“Tsk, that’s real fashionable stuff. Things from Shanghai are always different—looks way better than anything in the state shops here.”

“Just the leather, the feel of it, and that design—say it’s from Shanghai, and the women will go crazy over it.”

Everyone marveled at the shoes. The scar-faced man turned to Jiang Manyue, “How many pairs do you have, and how much per pair?”

Calmly, she replied, “About a hundred pairs of women’s leather shoes, and roughly the same for men’s—common sizes all included.”

In fact, the supermarket stock was much more than that. Jiang Manyue planned to release them gradually to make it look like she had a continuous supply from elsewhere and to build a long-term business.

“As for the price—regardless of men’s or women’s—I’ll give them to you for 15 yuan a pair. However much you sell them for, that’s your business.”

She pointed to the shoes still being passed around, “Latest styles from Shanghai—no one else has them. You’re getting a great deal at 15 a pair.”

The scar-faced man thought for a moment and agreed.

He had plenty of connections. If he bought the whole batch, he could resell them elsewhere. Even at 16 or 17 yuan per pair, he’d make a few hundred yuan—guaranteed profit.

“Alright, it’s a deal. I’ll come find you in three days. We’ll do a cash-and-carry trade.”

Three hundred or so pairs of shoes meant nearly 5,000 yuan in total. Jiang Manyue gave him three days to gather the money and set the formal deal for then.

The man agreed, and Jiang Manyue left empty-handed, not even taking the display pair with her.

Having just secured a deal worth nearly 5,000 yuan, Jiang Manyue was in a great mood. She even hummed as she walked down the street.

In the 1970s, 5,000 yuan was no small sum. A factory worker might only earn 20–30 yuan a month, so 5,000 was equivalent to more than a decade’s salary.

Happily, she returned to her temporary hideout to change back into her regular outfit and then headed off to the scrap recycling station.

The recycling station was small and rundown. An old man sat at the entrance, squinting as he basked in the sun.

When Jiang Manyue tried to enter, the old man called out, “Anything you dig up gets weighed on the way out—one cent per jin.”

One cent per jin was dirt cheap. Jiang Manyue nodded at him and went in.

The inside was a mess, but at least the books and illustrated materials were all kept in one room, which made her search easier.

She rummaged through the room for a long time but didn’t find anything useful.

She had heard stories of people finding valuable calligraphy or paintings in 60s–70s-era junkyards, but judging from this place, that was basically nonsense.

Besides piles of old newspapers, there were only some tattered books with faded text—no famous artworks, not even a single comic book.