Chapter 38: Cemetery Transaction

Wang Shuning found a spot, moved the goods from her space, hid behind a tombstone, turned off her flashlight, and waited.

The cemetery was surrounded by trees. The wind howled at midnight, and the dry leaves rustled. The fallen leaves on the ground were blown along the ground.

Wang Shuning didn’t believe in ghosts; she was a staunch upholder of socialist core values. But after a while, the eerie atmosphere was strangely reminiscent of a murder scene in a suspense thriller, and her mind began to conjure images.

She hugged herself, huddled behind the tombstone, her legs tense. Wasn’t it midnight yet?

Why weren’t they here yet?

“It’s so creepy here. Trading in a cemetery—how did that person come up with this?” Song Wen pushed a cart, holding a flashlight. Either the battery wasn’t full, or it had been used for too long; the light was dim.

“Don’t mention it. As long as we can make money, I’d go to the underworld, not just a cemetery,” Song Qian said, holding her son’s arm. With someone to accompany her, she wasn’t as scared.

They arrived at the cemetery. The flashlight swept across hundreds of mounds and tombstones.

Song Wen didn’t see anyone. He frowned suspiciously. “Where is she? Mom, you weren’t scammed, were you?”

Song Qian snatched the flashlight from him and shone it carefully. “How could I be? I didn’t give her any money. Why would she scam me?”

Wang Shuning didn’t go out immediately. After confirming that only two people had arrived, she turned on her flashlight and emerged from behind the tombstone.

Because Song Qian’s flashlight was dim and couldn’t illuminate far, they couldn’t see clearly behind the cemetery.

Another beam of light suddenly appeared, startling them. They quickly shone their lights to see.

As the distance shortened, a dark face appeared before them. Especially illuminated by the flashlight beam, it was terrifying.

“Ghost!” Song Wen’s legs went weak, and he almost collapsed.

He abandoned his mother and ran back. Without a flashlight, he stumbled in the dark, colliding with a mound, rolling several times before collapsing, his limbs drawn in like a turtle, prostrate on the ground. “King Yama, I’ve never done anything bad in my life. I’m a great good person. Please don’t kill me.”

Song Qian wasn’t scared by Wang Shuning but by her son.

“I’m not a ghost; I’m a person,” Wang Shuning said, seeing one person frozen like a mummy and the other prostrating himself on the ground. Was she that scary?

Song Qian’s voice trembled slightly. “Girl, why are you so dark again?”

Wang Shuning’s only white features were her teeth. Dressed in black, she looked like a floating head.

Wang Shuning’s eyebrows twitched. It was too dark; she hadn’t noticed when she darkened her face. “The goods are here. Hurry up and check them.”

Hearing his mother talking to a ghost, Song Wen gradually stopped trembling, looked back, and saw the black-faced girl with a ponytail.

He felt a chill, thinking his soul had almost left his body for a few seconds and had just returned. He got up. “Trading at midnight in a cemetery. Aren’t you scared, a young girl?”

Song Qian slapped Song Wen on the back. “You abandoned your old mother when you were in danger. If I rely on you for my old age, I’m afraid I won’t even get a grain of rice.”

Song Wen felt a little guilty. “Mom, I was really scared. I fell to the ground before I could react.”

Song Qian scoffed. “A grown man can’t even compare to a young girl. Hurry up and get the scale.”

Looking at the large amount of goods, some fruits illuminated by the flashlight were still glowing.

Song Wen propped up the cart, picked up the scale he had dropped, and began to weigh. His gaze swept across the fruits; behind him were tombstones, like offerings.

With three people and two flashlights, the task was arduous. It took Song Wen and Song Qian an hour to finish.

According to the agreed price, Song Wen said, “It’s a few taels more than agreed upon—a total of 546 yuan and three cents.”

Wang Shuning: “Let’s round it up to 550 yuan.”

Song Wen stopped counting. Song Qian immediately said, “No problem. 550 yuan. If you have more good goods later, remember us. Big Aunt will give you a good price. Just find me at that black market.”

“Okay, but it’ll be a while,” Wang Shuning said, counting the money.

Song Qian nodded. If the girl didn’t have a source of goods, she must have a supplier. It seemed there would be more later.

“I’ll go first,” Wang Shuning said, preparing to leave.

The two didn’t stop her, waving goodbye. They had to transport the goods back cartload by cartload while it was still dark.

Wang Shuning returned home in the dark, washed her face, took off her clothes, and went to bed—it was really cold.

Goudan , eating in the yard, stared at the closed door. He finished his last bite. “Mom, it’s noon. Why hasn’t Sister Shuning gotten up yet? She’s really going to sleep in for a long time, huh?”

He Zhuzhu instructed, “Don’t talk nonsense, especially in front of others. Your Sister Shuning might not be asleep; she’s probably just resting in her room.”

Goudan  sniffed. “Resting with the door closed? So boring.”

He Zhuzhu took the dirty bowl to the well. This child really could sleep.

Wang Shuning didn’t wake up until a little after one in the afternoon, hungry.

After eating, she sat in the yard to bask in the sun. Staying up late was exhausting; her head ached, and she was sleepy!

Goudan  and Mingming, carrying firewood, found Wang Shuning asleep in the yard under a thin quilt. Wasn’t the sun warm?

Sister Shuning was a sleepyhead; she couldn’t wake up no matter how much she slept.

That night, Wang Shuning went to bed early and woke up very early the next morning.

After a bowl of hot tomato and egg noodles, the effects of staying up late finally passed.

At noon, Wang Shuning went to another banquet—this time a full-moon celebration—again cooked by Guo Jingyi.

During the slack season, there were many celebrations in the village, with feasts almost every few days.

Wang Shuning gave two dimes for feasts with abundant food and one dime for those with less. She could enjoy feasts cooked by a seven-star chef without having to interact with Guo Jingyi. Why not?

He Fengfeng came to find Goudan  to play every few days, and if Wang Shuning was free, she would join them.

The river level dropped in the cold winter. They not only hunted birds, picked mushrooms, and searched for bird nests in the mountains but also went to the riverbank with baskets to catch fish. Seeing that they hadn’t caught any for a long time, Wang Shuning secretly moved two fish from her space into the water and, before they reacted, stunned them with a blow.

They roasted the fish on the pebble-covered riverbank, listening to the sound of the water and enjoying the scenery. Wang Shuning asked Goudan  and Mingming to go home to get salt and chili powder to sprinkle on the grilled fish; the aroma wafted far away.