Chapter 9: Beauty and the Beast

Sharing a hospital room with Jin Yang, Lin Xiaqing quickly realized that she was actually getting a huge benefit out of the arrangement.

As the saying goes, “When one person rises to power, even their chickens and dogs ascend to heaven.” With the “special” attention of higher-ups within the system, the last empty bed in Room 302 remained unoccupied—no new patients were admitted.

Lin Xiaqing had bought a 70cm-wide grass mat to sleep on next to Qiao Chunjin’s bed at night. When accompanying a patient during a hospital stay, you couldn’t expect much—having a bit of floor space to lie down on was already a luxury.

Qiao Chunjin said she was thin enough and didn’t want her daughter suffering on the floor; they could just squeeze onto one bed, one at each end. But Lin Xiaqing didn’t listen. In her mind, some money was meant to be saved, but other expenses were necessary. Poor people often failed to understand the true cost of thrift—excessive frugality could lead to even greater hidden losses. You might save pennies only to lose dollars—not worth it.

After all, the point of being hospitalized was to get better. If the two of them slept poorly on one bed, Qiao Chunjin’s recovery would be slower. To save 35 cents on a mat and end up wasting 1.50 yuan a day in hospital fees? Lin Xiaqing wouldn’t stand for that.

Still, even a cost-conscious person like Lin Xiaqing could miscalculate. Because that grass mat? She never got the chance to use it.

On the very first night, Jin Yang told her to sleep in the empty bed. He knew better than anyone that no new patient would ever move into this room.

Jin Yang didn’t want to move elsewhere, and Director Hao, unable to figure out his true intentions, thought he’d be clever and tried to kick Lin Xiaqing and her mother out of the room. In front of Jin Yang, he scolded the bed-assignment nurse: “Why is there still someone in this bed? Are you out of your mind? Think someone else should be sitting in my director’s seat?”

Director Hao didn’t realize he was shooting himself in the foot.

Jin Yang didn’t pretend anymore and said flatly, “Why not just throw me out with them?”

Only then did Director Hao suddenly realize—so this young master wanted to share the room with the mother and daughter! He quickly plastered on a smile and apologized profusely.

Thanks to not having to sleep on the floor, Lin Xiaqing had a good night’s rest. The next morning, she was worried the nurses would scold her for “invading” the bed, so she fussed over it, straightening every wrinkle as if she was a guilty thief. Her behavior amused Jin Yang to no end.

When Lin Xiaqing got up, Jin Yang was clearly hungry and gnawing on the last apple from the fruit net.

This season, fresh apples weren’t in supply; any available were cold-storage defrosted ones. Zhu Er had bought them at the hospital entrance fruit stand before leaving. Single men shopping were probably seen as easy prey by shopkeepers—ripe for overcharging.

The apples were overpriced and mushy. Even Lin Xiaqing didn’t like them, let alone someone like Jin Yang who grew up pampered.

So Lin Xiaqing went to the canteen to get some food—porridge for everyone, meat buns and fried dough sticks for Jin Yang, plain steamed buns for her and Qiao Chunjin.

Besides the 10 yuan “care fee,” Jin Yang had given her a 50 yuan bill to use for daily expenses.

Lin Xiaqing took the 50 yuan back to the fruit stand from yesterday. After being scammed on apples, she was thicker-skinned now. She boldly asked for change, getting mostly one- and two-yuan notes. Her pants had two hidden pockets sewn by Qiao Chunjin—her own money went in the left pocket, Jin Yang’s in the right. She kept their finances clear and separate.

Every night before lights out, Lin Xiaqing would hold the ledger and read Jin Yang a rundown of the day’s purchases and expenses, matching every cent precisely. Jin Yang found this diligence surprising. He felt Lin Xiaqing had a rare and resilient character—like a mouse taking shelter in the granary that somehow resisted the temptation to steal even a single grain.

Two types of breakfast, two kinds of stuffing: he had meat buns, she had plain ones. Jin Yang thought Lin Xiaqing was silly. Didn’t he give her money? Why wouldn’t she spend it?

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That morning, Qiao Chunjin had her drainage procedure and finished two bottles of antibiotics. Lin Xiaqing asked the doctor and confirmed it was okay to leave her for a few hours. So she informed Jin Yang she’d be out after lunch and back before dinner—he’d need to manage on his own for a while.

Money-making was a priority!

Especially after seeing the pile of cash in Jin Yang’s pocket last night, Lin Xiaqing’s desire to earn money had gone into overdrive. All she could think of was making enough so she could eat what she wanted for breakfast, pay off medical debts, and move out of the dilapidated mud-brick house in Qinghe Village.

She told herself that current hardships didn’t matter. One day, she’d drive a nice car like Jin Yang’s and live in a beautifully decorated home with her mother. She had built her fortune from scratch in her past life—this time, she’d reclaim everything she lost.

And she’d be more cautious. No more selfless hard work for others only to end up discarded when no longer useful. This time, she’d be her own boss.

Her research on selling soybean paste was entirely hands-on, relying on legwork and her chirpy mouth.

She had figured it out: if she wanted to sell her “stinky paste” well, she had to see where other people’s paste sold best. As a total newcomer, she’d start from scratch—couldn’t beat them, so she’d join them. With thick skin and a good sense for customer behavior, she’d park herself right where people were comparison shopping. Better to ride the traffic flow than set up in an obscure corner and get ignored.

She scouted multiple markets—both free trade ones and state-run vegetable stores. She focused on the late afternoon peak between 4:30 and dinner, when people got off work to shop. Though she couldn’t cover all markets, it was enough to see that state-run shops had clearly less foot traffic than the free markets.

The tide of history was unstoppable. Having endured cold, indifferent service at state-run stores for years, the people were now warming to the lively free markets in this early phase of reform.

Lin Xiaqing took plenty of rejections from state-run clerks but stayed calm. Those arrogant, snobby workers might sneer now, but a few years from now, with China’s doors fully open and competition fierce, they’d be hit hard by mass layoffs.

After scouting locations, she settled on a site in the city’s west—a free trade zone surrounded by large state-owned factories and powerful government offices, full of mid- to high-income earners. Since her stinky paste was priced higher than regular sauce, it needed wealthier customers.

Tomorrow, she planned to go to a glass factory in the southwest to order jars for packaging. If all went well, the day after tomorrow she’d return to the village, bottle the paste, and bring it back to the west market for sale. In three days max, she’d be seeing real cash.

After an afternoon of running around, she was soaked with sweat. But the thought of finally making money exhilarated her. Even her swollen calves felt lighter.

She passed a state-run restaurant as the setting sun illuminated the Russian-style smoked sausages hanging in the window. They glistened with oil and looked delicious. She stared at them like a starving cat, her nose pressed against the glass.

One side: mouth-watering sausages that looked expensive. The other: her own reflection, poor and dull. She cursed silently—money really knew how to humiliate people.

Her grandma’s patched floral shirt, oversized faded work pants—it all made her look completely out of place in such a fancy restaurant.

If she lingered, she’d probably get chased off by a snooty waiter.

“Move it! If you can’t afford it, don’t block the view.”

A sharp male voice from behind startled her.

The man was hot-tempered and kept scolding: “Good dogs don’t block the road. I saw you lurking outside forever.”

Irritated, Lin Xiaqing turned around—she had merely stood by the window, how was that in the way? Clearly, this guy was in a bad mood and taking it out on her.

The man was well-dressed, but his arrogant face and nasty attitude ruined the look. Clearly a regular here.

Lin Xiaqing sneered inwardly: A bear in a monk’s robe—what a waste of nice clothes. A grown man with no manners only made his average looks seem even more brutish.

Behind him stood a beautiful girl in a bright red checkered dress. Her long black hair cascaded down her back, tied loosely with a red ribbon. Her refined scholarly aura made her look like a true fairy.

The girl’s expression was cool and detached. She was clearly used to the man’s rudeness and paid it no mind, lost in her own world.

Lin Xiaqing exclaimed in her head: Beauty and the Beast!
Such a gorgeous flower stuck in a pile of dung.

Then, her mind suddenly blanked. Her eyes widened in shock, her body trembling.

She swallowed hard.

The beautiful girl behind the beast… wasn’t that the original body’s long-lost Aunt Lin Shurong?