Chapter 13: Big Shopping Spree in Town and Village

Early in the morning, six villagers who had worked on the repairs arrived at He Zhuzhu’s house. The five-square-meter kitchen was quickly built, completed before the work bell rang.

“Everyone, come for dinner after work tonight,” Wang Shuning waved them off warmly.

“Okay, anything simple is fine. We only worked for a few hours,” He Chunxi said before leaving, chatting with Wang Shuning for a while.

The earthen stove wouldn’t be usable until evening; it was perfect for breaking in.

Wang Shuning first checked the garden to see what vegetables were available, planning her dinner before going out with her bamboo basket.

Passing He Pingping’s house, she ran into Guo Jingyi and Zhang Meili, also carrying baskets.

“Shuning, are you going to town to buy things? Shall we go together?” They had brought supplies from home, but they needed daily necessities.

“Okay,” Wang Shuning nodded, walking beside Zhang Meili.

Zhang Meili asked delicately, “Shuning, how much did the repairs and kitchen cost?”

“A little over seven yuan, plus dinner tonight—under ten yuan. The bricks and tiles were at cost; the iron pot was the most expensive.”

Guo Jingyi, wanting to be less cold, added, “The vegetables at Uncle Pingping’s were ordinary. The village is poor; your dinner doesn’t need to be extravagant; just something with meat. Do you need help?”

Wang Shuning shook her head. “No, I can manage. I’ll buy half a pound of meat, some eggs, and a few vegetable dishes.”

He Zhuzhu’s garden had a variety of vegetables: tomatoes, cucumbers, green beans, potatoes, greens, eggplants—almost everything, plus several large gourds. And she had plenty in her space.

The ox cart to town took forty minutes; walking took an hour.

As they left the village, Lü Beichu and Zhao Heping caught up.

Lü Beichu stopped beside Guo Jingyi. “Comrade Jingyi, why didn’t you call us? Zhao Heping and I went to Uncle Pingping’s to find you and learned you’d already left.”

Zhang Meili rolled her eyes. They were on the train together, but they weren’t close. Women shopping together was normal, but going to He Zhaoyang’s to call the men would cause gossip.

Guo Jingyi said, “I didn’t know you were going.”

Lü Beichu’s eyes lit up. “If you can’t carry everything, Zhao Heping and I can help.”

Zhao Heping, who’d been silent, followed. Why did Lü Beichu want to follow Guo Jingyi and drag him along? How much could they buy that they couldn’t carry?

Lü Beichu and Guo Jingyi talked most of the way, making Zhang Meili quiet.

“I need to send a letter home first,” Wang Shuning stopped at a crossroads.

Zhang Meili smiled brightly. “Jingyi and I need to send letters too. Let’s go together.”

Lü Beichu remembered he needed to send a letter; he’d forgotten.

Since everyone was going, Zhao Heping had to follow.

Wang Shuning gave her letter and money to the postal worker. Seeing Zhao Heping waiting, she asked, “Zhao Heping, aren’t you sending a letter? At least tell your family your address; they can contact you in an emergency.”

Zhao Heping shook his head. “Everything was fine at home. I’ll send one in a few months. A cross-province letter costs eighty cents; I can’t waste money.”

“It’s expensive—enough for a pound of pork,” Wang Shuning said, looking around. Zhao Heping’s family was the poorest; the two yuan monthly rent was a burden.

Wang Shuning saw a scrap yard across the street. “I’ll buy some newspapers to cover the walls. Wait for me.”

Zhao Heping nodded. His and Lü Beichu’s room was fine; the walls didn’t need covering.

The scrap yard was filled with broken things.

An old man in a lounge chair dozed in the sun. “Grandpa, do you have any newspapers? I want to buy some.”

The old man opened his eyes. “Over there. Choose yourself.”

Bundles of newspapers, several months old, were clean and neatly stacked, likely recently arrived.

Wang Shuning took a bundle—about thirty sheets. “How much?”

The old man looked at them. “Twenty cents.”

Wang Shuning frowned. “Ten cents. They’re months old; twenty cents is too much.”

The old man didn’t haggle. “Fine. Pay up.”

Wang Shuning gave him ten cents and put the newspapers in her basket. Guo Jingyi and the others arrived.

Seeing Wang Shuning’s empty hands, Guo Jingyi looked in her basket. “You only bought newspapers?”

“Yes, to cover the walls. The dust is everywhere,” Wang Shuning stepped aside.

“I’ve never been to a scrap yard. Let’s go; maybe we can find something useful,” Guo Jingyi said, entering without waiting for a response.

“It’s all junk!” Guo Jingyi looked at the debris; only newspapers and books were usable.

The old man said, “If it wasn’t junk, would anyone sell it? You wouldn’t find good things here.”

Guo Jingyi was disheartened. In novels, protagonists found bargains in scrap yards. Hers was just junk.

They went to the supply and marketing cooperative. The good pork was gone; only scraps remained, mostly lean meat and offal.

Wang Shuning liked large intestine but hated cleaning it; it was smelly and time-consuming.

A pig’s trotter, a piece of liver, and two pieces of pork—one yuan and thirty cents.

She only had an iron basin; she needed two small basins and a large wooden basin for bathing.

“How much for these three?” Wang Shuning pointed to the red basins.

The saleswoman said, “The small ones are one yuan and twenty cents each; the large one is three yuan, plus industrial coupons.”

Wang Shuning thought it was expensive; three basins almost cost as much as the repairs, and she needed coupons. But they were necessities.

Zhang Meili pulled Wang Shuning aside. “He Qiuqiu next to Uncle Pingping has wooden basins for sale. You can trade grain or money. Jingyi and I bought some last night; they’re much cheaper.”