Chapter 11: I Don’t Regret the Man I Chose

Zhan Nanhui stepped into the shack and saw that the small space was already full of people. Three or four sturdy women were sitting inside, while Yi An’an was busy combing someone’s hair.

Zhan Nanhui looked up and gazed at Yi An’an.

Yi An’an said, “Can you please get a charcoal stove and place it in the shack for me? Oh, and find a metal hook too—bring it along.”

Zhan Nanhui hesitated for a moment, then nodded and bent down to leave.

Over an hour later, Yi An’an was smiling and bowing as she saw the women off, reminding them, “Remember, once you wash this hairstyle, the curls will be gone. Don’t wash your hair for half a month. If you want curls again, just come find me, or I can curl it for you when I come by.”

The three or four women all grinned and nodded, leaving together.

Once the women had gone, Zhan Nanhui stepped back inside.

“This is a draft notebook and some pencils—should be enough for you for now,” Yi An’an said. “There’s also two catties of grain over there. It’s enough to get us through today.”

Zhan Nanhui asked, “They were…?”

“Here to get their hair curled,” Yi An’an replied calmly. “You don’t need to worry about these side things. Just study that book properly and review. The news about the resumption of the college entrance exam should reach Yanjia Village soon!”

Zhan Nanhui’s eyes flickered.

Indeed, the news had already reached the town. By tomorrow, Yanjia Village would hear about the reinstatement of the college entrance exam. But with his status as a labeled “bad element”…

“Don’t worry. I’ll find a way to help you register for the exam. You just need to focus and prepare,” Yi An’an reassured him.

Zhan Nanhui had no choice but to nod.

Early the next morning, Yi An’an took a burlap sack and went to the scrap collection station.

She had already noticed last time that there were leftover fabric scraps from a garment factory—just a few centimeters wide. Useless to most people, but to Yi An’an, they were treasures.

Yi An’an sorted the fabric into two piles. The prettier, patterned ones she stuffed into the sack. The plain, absorbent ones she put in a separate pile.

“What are you going to do with this stuff?” Fan Dani asked in confusion. “These fabric strips are too narrow—not even enough for a rag.”

“I’ve got big plans!” Yi An’an said with a smile. “From now on, if you see fabric like this, just save it for me!”

As she spoke, Yi An’an found a few sticks and iron rods and began making mops on the spot.

Fan Dani, being strong, helped her tie the mop heads. In no time, they had five mops assembled.

Yi An’an slung the mops over her shoulder, dragged the sack, and left the scrap station.

Instead of going home, she headed to a small road near the supply and marketing cooperative. There, she set up the mops and began hawking them loudly:

“Newly made mops—fifty cents each! Strong, absorbent, and easy to use! Perfect helper for cleaning your floors!”

It was 1977—before the economic reform. Everything was state-owned: barber shops, restaurants, supply cooperatives… Even buying a box of matches or a bag of salt required money and ration tickets. People were scared to sell things casually, fearful of being accused of promoting capitalism.

Still, Yi An’an’s shouting drew a lot of attention.

“Hey, little girl, you’ve got guts. Aren’t you afraid someone will arrest you?” a man on a bicycle stopped and asked.

Yi An’an saw he was well-dressed and obviously had a formal job. His home was probably clean too. She immediately stepped forward with a mop and said, “What can I do? I can’t starve to death, right? If you need one, buy it quickly and go. I make some money, you get what you need—win-win!”

The man laughed, nodded, and handed her fifty cents.

Yi An’an quickly picked the biggest, sturdiest mop and strapped it onto the back seat of his bicycle.

“You’re quite the businesswoman,” the man commented as he pedaled away.

Getting started was always the hardest part. Once the first mop sold, the rest followed smoothly. People were a bit wary, but they truly needed the product. At fifty cents, it wasn’t cheap, but it wasn’t expensive either. In no time, the remaining four were gone.

Yi An’an’s loud hawking even reached inside the supply cooperative.

“Go take a look! Bold enough to engage in capitalist activities right outside!” the manager barked, displeased, and sent someone out to check.

Yi Jixiang was selling pickled vegetables. Hearing the manager’s anger, she looked up—and instantly recognized Yi An’an. She quickly lowered her head, afraid of being implicated.

Before the man sent out could reach the spot, Yi An’an had already packed up and left.

“In the future, if that person comes again, keep an eye out. We can’t allow this precedent,” the manager said coldly.

Everyone quickly agreed.

Yi Jixiang didn’t dare say a word, silently cursing Yi An’an in her heart.

“She must be doing this to spite me,” she thought. “She knows I sell at the cooperative, couldn’t get the job herself, so now she’s sabotaging me!”

Yi An’an, having sold five mops and earned two and a half yuan, used the black market to exchange for a meat ration ticket and bought a pound of meat from the meat plant.

As she carried the meat home and approached the village entrance, she ran into Yan Dabao.

Still sporting a swollen mouth from the last beating by Zhan Nanhui, Yan Dabao stared at Yi An’an with burning eyes.

Yi An’an wore a gray cotton-padded jacket and black trousers—nothing fancy—but her snow-white face and long black braids were more than enough to make every woman in the village pale in comparison.

Yan Dabao couldn’t help but swallow hard. Such a beauty had almost fallen into his hands… but she slipped away!

“Yi An’an, you’re really cheap. Buying meat to feed a man, huh?” Yan Dabao shouted. “I heard you’ve fallen so low you’re picking trash at the scrap yard. That meat from the trash too?”

Yi An’an sneered, “What I do is my business. Mind your own, Yan Dabao!”

He was stunned. He hadn’t expected such a pretty girl to have such a sharp tongue—it only made him more interested.

As Yi An’an tried to leave, Yan Dabao stepped in front of her, reaching out to block her path.

“Don’t think everything’s settled just because your family repaid the money,” he said. “Let me tell you, that man of yours is labeled a bad element. He’ll drag you down sooner or later. When you regret it, I’ll still want you—but not as a proper wife. You’ll just be my concubine.”

He reached out, trying to touch her face.

Yi An’an raised her hand, and pain shot up Yan Dabao’s arm. He quickly stepped back and saw the screwdriver in her hand.

She had found it at the scrap station earlier. It felt just right in her grip—perfect for self-defense!

“Yan Dabao, listen carefully: I don’t regret the man I chose. Don’t worry, I’ll live a good life with him—definitely better than with you!” she declared, then looked up and saw a familiar figure in the distance.

It was Zhan Nanhui.