Chapter 10
Buying the fabric cost Xia Shao nearly thirty yuan. Right beside the counter was the shoe section, so she bought a pair of leather shoes as well.
They were red, flat-soled, with square toes and a small strap around the ankle — fifteen yuan a pair.
After all, they’d given her a three-hundred-yuan bride price; she couldn’t very well not buy herself a few new things.
Following Sister Guan’s advice, she also picked up a bottle of Snow Cream — the best brand at the time was “Friendship,” large bottle, five yuan each. The store also sold locally made ginseng Snow Cream, which wasn’t bad either, but it came in packets and didn’t keep well.
Just like that, she’d spent nearly fifty yuan. Beside her, Xia Wanhui, who was holding the packages, gaped in disbelief.
“Things here are this expensive?”
“It’s normal,” Sister Guan said. “Jiangcheng’s a proper city, after all. Not counting other factories, the Forestry Bureau alone has over sixty thousand employees. When I came here, cornmeal back home cost four cents a jin — here it was over five. This year it’s gone up to six point four.”
She pointed at a big glass jar on the counter. “If you think Snow Cream’s too pricey, you can save the empty bottle and refill it later — loose cream’s cheaper.”
The house Sister Guan recommended, belonging to a woman named Xiao Sun, was just a hundred meters from the department store, down a turn and into a neat row of black brick houses.
“See those archways?” she said. “This whole area used to be big family courtyards — some had several compounds. Later they were split into public housing. Now three rooms have to hold two families, but the buildings are solid — all black brick.”
As they walked through one of the arches and entered the left-side main room, Xia Shao couldn’t help noticing how grand it was.
Compared to the small homes she’d seen the day before, this was something else.
The ceiling was high; even with an old layer of red wood flooring, it didn’t feel cramped. The houses here were much wider than the four-meter homes back in the northeast — six or even six and a half meters wide — plenty of room even after building north and south kang beds.
The “Xiao Sun” Sister Guan mentioned was a young woman with a neatly combed short bob. She had a slender, oval face and single eyelids — not exactly pretty, but very lively and neat in her movements.
Her sewing machine sat by the southern kang. Without even looking up, she said briskly, “Give me a moment, I’ll finish this sleeve.”
Xia Shao didn’t mind waiting. She observed the woman’s clothes, then glanced at a finished Zhongshan suit laid out on the table.
The craftsmanship was indeed excellent — the tailoring was neat and well-fitted, and the woman worked quickly. In no time, she’d finished the sleeve.
But Xia Shao wasn’t entirely satisfied with the style. When Xiao Sun asked what kind of outfit she wanted, Xia Shao asked for pen and paper and drew one herself.
It was a trench coat paired with straight pants — the coat had an extra button at the collar, so it could be turned up for warmth or folded down.
“That’s actually really nice,” Sister Guan said, peering over her shoulder. “It’s got a belt too. Warm for winter over a padded jacket, though it’ll use a lot of fabric.”
In a planned economy, wasting fabric was serious business. For someone tall and long-legged like Chen Jibei, one set of clothes took enough fabric for one and a half normal suits.
But Xiao Sun was intrigued. “It won’t take that much. You can piece the belt from scraps — only the hem needs to be a bit longer.”
Then she asked curiously, “You know how to design clothes?”
Xia Shao smiled. “Not really. I just saw someone wearing something like it on the train here.”
There were no televisions, much less phones or the internet, in this era — no one could prove she hadn’t.
As for Xia Wanhui’s outfit, she didn’t change much, just had Xiao Sun leave an extra inch in the sleeves and pant legs.
He was only seventeen; he’d likely grow more, and they could let it out later.
Xiao Sun quickly measured their sizes by hand, drew chalk lines on the cloth, and said, “Seven yuan total.” She even rounded off the small change.
They agreed to pick up the clothes in three days. But before leaving, Xia Shao asked, “Does anyone live in the room across the yard?”
Xiao Sun’s house was the main three-room front building of a large courtyard. The opposite side had another family, and they shared the kitchen. When Xia Shao came in earlier, she’d noticed the opposite door was locked, the stove cold and dusty — clearly long unused.
Sure enough, Xiao Sun said, “You mean the old Wu family? They had a lot of kids. Moved to the countryside a couple years back to open wasteland.”
There was plenty to eat in the mountains — Jiangcheng lay near the Changbai range — much better off than the grain-short inland cities during the famine years. But food was still limited, and some families had to give up their jobs and move to the hills to grow crops.
The Wu family was one of them. But when grain supplies normalized this year, Old Wu regretted it.
He’d come back several times, but someone else had long taken over his position. No one would give up a “iron rice bowl” job.
With no work, there was no point keeping the expensive housing. He’d just returned the place to the housing bureau a few months ago.
Now Xia Shao had an idea. She thanked Xiao Sun and left.
That evening, Chen Jibei arrived punctually to pick her up, with Lu Zetong in tow. He’d even found a few houses for them to see.
Considering Lu Zetong was a factory director and knew a lot of people, Xia Shao didn’t say much and followed to check them out.
To be fair, they were better than what she and Chen Jibei had seen yesterday — but not by much.
The best was a small two-room annex house. It wasn’t as bright as a main house, and the courtyard was a mess. To live there, they’d have to clean it up, rebuild the wall or fence — a lot of work.
“Why don’t you stay here for now?” Lu suggested. “I’ll find something better later.”
He wasn’t very satisfied either. The wedding was only a few days away — they couldn’t stay in his house, and certainly not in Chen’s tiny dorm room.
The one least willing to stay at Lu’s was Chen Jibei. Frowning, he inspected the annex again.
Xia Shao said, “I saw a place today — not sure if it’s available, though.”
In this era there were no real estate agents; everything relied on introductions. Lu Zetong doubted she could have found anything worthwhile on her own, but since it wasn’t far, he agreed to take a look.
To his surprise, it was indeed better than the others.
Though shared housing, it was well maintained; the small front courtyard was tidy and open. Beside the house was a small vegetable patch, and under the window sat a chicken coop with a few hens clucking softly.
After walking around, Lu asked, “A relative helped you find this?”
“No,” Xia Shao said. “They’re busy lately. A lady who took me to make clothes this morning told me about it.”
She hadn’t planned to discuss her engagement openly, but she didn’t want too much contact with the Li family either. They’d seize any excuse to impose on others — who knew if they’d one day try to use her name to ask Lu for favors?
That answer genuinely surprised Lu Zetong. “You found it yourself?”
Chen Jibei, who knew she wasn’t as timid as she looked, said simply, “We’ll take it. It’s near the grocery and my work.”
Lu nodded. “Didn’t expect little Xia to look so quiet but handle things so neatly.”
Since the housing was government-owned, rent was cheaper than private rooms, but you still needed an allocation.
Lu Zetong had no trouble arranging that. The next morning, Chen brought her the keys. With a government subsidy, their 3.6 yuan rent was reduced by about forty cents.
Xia Shao and Xia Wanhui went to the department store for a bucket and mop, tied old towels on their heads, and started cleaning.
The previous tenants had taken all their furniture, leaving the rooms bare. Two windowpanes were broken, the kang paper torn, and the walls blackened with grime — everything had to be re-pasted with newspaper.
She borrowed a measuring tape from Xiao Sun next door to measure the glass.
“You’re quick,” Xiao Sun said. “Just asked yesterday, and today it’s rented.”
“I’m getting married soon,” Xia Shao replied, calling out the measurements for Wanhui to note down.
He repeated them twice, took her money, and went to have the glass cut.
When Xiao Sun learned it was for a wedding, she went inside and soon came back with a stack of old newspapers. “These are leftovers from when we redid our walls at New Year. Might not be enough, though. If you can, get more from a work unit.”
Xia Shao had already noticed how straightforward the woman was, and she liked her for it.
Smiling, she thanked her and asked, “How long have you lived here?”
“Not three years,” Sun said, stretching her back. “Got married here myself — right during the famine. We didn’t even have a wedding feast, just moved in. Looking back, should’ve waited; could’ve saved two years of hardship.”
Women were like that — happiest before marriage, always more to worry about after.
Xia Shao said gently, “Early or late doesn’t matter. As long as the days are good.”
“That’s true, but when you marry early, the family keeps pushing for kids. Those famine years — my husband and I went to bed hungry most nights, drinking cold water to fill our bellies. Who had the strength to think about children then?”
The topic was a bit too adult, and as an unmarried young woman, Xia Shao didn’t quite know how to respond. But it was true — back in her old hometown, she herself had been so malnourished that she’d stopped menstruating for over a year.
By the time Chen Jibei came at noon, the big earthen stove in the kitchen was cleaned up, and the wooden floors inside shone with a damp gleam.
Xia Wanhui was helping her install the new glass, though clumsily — he nearly dropped it on her a few times.
Chen set his things down and stepped forward, taking the hammer.
“Careful,” Wanhui warned, still anxious.
In two strokes, Chen nailed the frame tight, even bending the sharp ends neatly into the wood so they wouldn’t cut anyone. A task that had taken Wanhui half a day, Chen finished in minutes before moving on to the next pane.
Wanhui stared wide-eyed. “How come you’re so good at this?”
Chen didn’t answer — just frowned and said, “Go eat.”
Wanhui, seeing he couldn’t help anyway, washed his hands and opened the lunch boxes Chen had brought.
Both aluminum containers were still warm. One held bean rice, the other side dishes — bright green pickled cucumbers, glossy stir-fried mustard greens, and over half a box of sauerkraut stew with thick slices of pork belly.
Oil was scarce these days, so the white fat gleaming on top was mouthwatering. Wanhui swallowed hard.
He hadn’t liked his future brother-in-law much at first — seemed cold and hard to get along with, especially since Aunt Tian had introduced him.
But after a few days together, he realized the man was quiet but generous — certainly kinder than the Li family, and much less spoiled than Li Baosheng. That guy couldn’t even fix a window!
On account of the meat, Wanhui decided to raise Chen’s score by one point. No — two. But that’s it!
Once the glass was in, Chen and Xia Shao washed up and sat down to eat.
He spoke little and ate quickly. Soon he’d put down his chopsticks, picked up the tools again, and went inside to scrape the thick old newspaper off the walls.
The Wus must not have cleaned for years — the paper was layered nearly a centimeter thick. It all had to come off before new paper could go on.
When Sun Qing came out to wash dishes and saw him, she grinned. “That your fiancé?”
Xia Shao nodded.
Sun gave a big thumbs-up. “You two — where does heaven find such a good-looking pair?!”
Clearly a member of the “good looks club,” she even joked that if they had a child, she wanted to be the godmother.
But her newspapers really weren’t enough. After finishing, Chen glanced around, said nothing, and headed to his workplace.
That evening, as soon as work ended, He Erli noticed Chen carrying a bundle of newspapers in one hand and a lunch box in the other, leaving earlier than usual.
Given that he and his sister-in-law didn’t get along, it was strange — normally he’d avoid going home.
He quickened his pace to catch up. “What’ve you been up to lately? Mysterious — off the moment work’s done.”
“Something to do,” Chen said without looking back, though his pace slowed slightly.
He Erli snorted. “What could you possibly have to do? Don’t tell me your sister-in-law’s picking on you again? You should talk to your brother. He doesn’t seem unreasonable.”
At the mention of Liu Tielping, Chen’s face darkened, his voice colder. “No need.”
“Yeah, well, you’re still living in their house. Your household registration and job both came through your brother — got to give him some face.”
He was about to say more when suddenly he swore. “Damn — speak of the devil, there’s your sister-in-law!”
He pointed toward the factory gate. “What’s she doing here? We don’t have any women your brother knows here!”
Indeed, the food factory had no one her husband was connected to — Liu Tielping was there for Chen Jibei.
She was wearing a new dress she’d had made that year. Seeing him, she smiled unusually sweetly. “Jibei, just got off work?”
He stopped, his tone icy. “What is it?”
Of course, she had something in mind.
Lu Zetong had forbidden her from interfering in his marriage, but what if Chen himself had taken a liking to Yang Qiaojun? What if he was forced into the match?
They weren’t married yet — not until the registration the day before the wedding. If something changed before then, at worst they’d lose part of the bride price. That little Xia girl was from out of town — what could she really do to them?
Putting on a warm smile, Liu Tielping said, “Your brother’s son Jian’guo is having his full-month celebration today. Your brother asked you to come for dinner.”
