Chapter 10

The crops in the test field were in full harvest, fruits hanging heavy on the branches.

Tang Yajun noticed there wasn’t a single fallen melon on the ground and couldn’t help being surprised.

Her senior’s new variety really was extraordinary—once ripe, the fruit automatically stopped drawing nutrients and wouldn’t drop.

She fetched two baskets from the utility room, worked until nearly noon, then grabbed a casual bite in the breakroom before hauling the baskets out of the space.

At present, the economy hadn’t been officially opened up yet, but in private, people often sold the extra vegetables grown in their yards on street corners.

They were cheaper than the supply and marketing cooperatives and didn’t require ration tickets—though one had to watch out for inspectors.

She strapped the full baskets to either side of her bicycle and rode off to an alley near the textile factory gate.

Parking the bike at a distance and locking it up, she only carried the baskets to the alley corner—this was where the workers passed after their shifts.

Tang Yajun arranged the melons into small piles of three to five, then stuck a piece of cardboard with the price written on it: “Ten cents a pile.”

Workers gradually streamed out of the factory, cycling home.

From afar, they caught a whiff of an unusual fruity fragrance and followed it over.

Tang Yajun smiled brightly as they approached:
“Big sis, these are homegrown melons and fruit. Want to buy some?”

One woman glanced at the setup, then kindly warned her:
“You’d better be careful. If the inspectors come, they’ll confiscate everything—and if they catch you, you’ll be written up.”

“I’ve really got no other choice,” Tang Yajun sighed. “My man hurt his leg, he’s stuck at home recuperating.

The whole family is counting on me selling a bit of melon to buy rice. If I don’t sell anything today, we’ll only have cold water for dinner.”

For the job, Tang Yajun had dressed in old, dirt-stained clothes.

Her clear eyes carried a pitiful grievance, her pale face looking as if she hadn’t eaten in days.

The woman sighed, clearly moved, but as a factory worker, she didn’t dare openly break the rules. She was about to leave when Tang Yajun caught her sleeve.

“Big sis, you look kind. How about this—you can taste before you buy. I’ll give you two, if you like them, you can pay.”

Despite her protests, Tang Yajun stuffed two melons into her cloth bag. Embarrassed, the woman finally relented.

Soft-hearted, she gritted her teeth:
“Alright then, give me a pile. I’ll pay.”

Tang Yajun had been waiting for that—quickly filling her bag.

In this way, she sold a few piles.

Still, she couldn’t help sighing inwardly.

If her senior knew that his painstakingly cultivated new variety was being sold so cheaply, and still hardly finding buyers, he’d probably be furious.

Thinking of that, she felt a pang of longing for her teachers and colleagues back at the research institute.

She waited a while longer, but most people only glanced as they cycled by—few dared buy.

Tang Yajun packed up her baskets, preparing to leave.

From a distance, she suddenly saw a group of women rushing out of the factory gates.

Assuming someone had reported her to the inspectors, she turned to flee.

But the lead woman shouted:
“Comrade, don’t run! I brought people to buy your melons!”

Recognizing the big sister who had bought from her earlier, Tang Yajun smiled in relief.

The woman had brought several coworkers, each with cloth bags in hand, crowding around to buy.

The big sister explained:
“I washed a few of the melons you sold me and shared them with my coworkers. Everyone said they were delicious.

Sweet and crisp—almost like sugar. None of us have ever eaten melons this good.”

Tang Yajun nodded silently—these were her senior’s carefully bred fruits, naturally of top quality.

“As long as you like them. These are just what we grow at home, we can’t finish them ourselves.”

In no time, the baskets were empty.

The women paid in turn, then bustled back into the factory.

Tang Yajun looked at the wad of worn bills in her hand, her feelings mixed.

At this rate, she figured it would still take her a whole month of selling just to save enough money for her brother.

While she was fretting, footsteps suddenly sounded behind her.

An old man came running with two men in uniforms.

He pointed at her and shouted:
“That’s her—illegal profiteering and black-market trading!”

Tang Yajun stacked the baskets together, slung them on her back, and bolted down the alley.

The wind roared past her ears as she glanced back—her pursuers were hot on her heels.

She darted toward the crowded main street, weaving in sharp zigzags, nearly stumbling several times.

Suddenly, she spotted a familiar jeep parked by the curb.

Without hesitation, she yanked the door open, threw the baskets onto the passenger seat, and jumped into the driver’s seat.

Clutch, gear, gas—the vehicle shot forward at once.

She only wanted to escape, every nerve focused, the jeep speeding down the street.

Not far away, Ma Ming—the driver who had just stepped out to collect some papers—watched in shock as his jeep was stolen.

Who could be so bold? Didn’t they know the Major General was sitting in the back seat?

Following her memory of the route, Tang Yajun steered the jeep straight to the courtyard gate.

She cut the engine, exhaled sharply.

“Catch me? Not a chance!” she cheered, bouncing her shoulders up and down, celebrating her narrow escape.

From the backseat, Lu Chongjin gave a small cough.

Her bright eyes widened in disbelief—looking up into the rearview mirror, she met the man’s gaze, his expression struggling to suppress a smile.

Karma for never checking the rearview mirror—if she had looked even once while driving, she wouldn’t be in such an awkward spot now.

Slowly, she turned her head, thoughts racing, and preempted him:
“What are you doing in the car?”

Lu Chongjin’s expression cooled.
“Shouldn’t I be the one asking you that?”

Tang Yajun fell silent, opened the door, got out, shut it, and walked back toward the courtyard—all in one smooth motion.

At the house entrance, she remembered his legs hadn’t healed yet.

Sighing in resignation, she resolved—no matter what he asked later,

Whether why she knew how to drive, why she was dressed in filthy old clothes with baskets, or why she was there—she would deny everything.

When Lu Chongjin saw her return, his expression softened slightly. He was about to speak when Tang Yajun lifted her head:

“Don’t ask. Let me think it over. When I’ve figured it out, I’ll tell you.”

With that, she turned and went next door to the Lu family courtyard, calling a few people to help carry him down.

She wheeled him into her own courtyard, leaving him be.

Inside, she pulled all the bills from her clothes and counted carefully—six yuan and eighty cents in total.

Tang Yajun laughed, burying her forehead in her palms, laughing so hard she could hardly breathe, as if already imagining her senior fuming with rage.

Laughing, a single clear teardrop fell onto the table with a soft plop.

Hearing her movements inside, Lu Chongjin wheeled himself over.

Noticing the faint water mark on the table, he handed her a handkerchief.

Tang Yajun looked at him and sighed from the heart:

“Why is it so hard to make money?”