Thinking this, Lu Minggui couldn’t help but sneak a glance at the woman.
Her hair was bright red, her skin almost snow-white with hardly a trace of color, but her neck was a strange blackish yellow, and her eyes jet-black. Her eyelashes were ridiculously long, stretching as if to the sky.
Her thick lips were a vivid red—so striking that she looked like some ghost who had just eaten a child.
This sight terrified Lu Minggui. She completely forgot what the woman had said about the “vegetable market” and the “green arrows” and bolted forward.
At one of the stalls, Zhao Jingquan had just finished weighing cucumbers for a customer when he saw his wife, Zhu Yufang, strutting back with her exaggeratedly red lips.
“Hmph! You really can’t be too kind these days!” she said.
Zhao Jingquan, puzzled, asked, “What happened?”
“I just saw an old auntie dressed in tatters,” Zhu Yufang replied. “She clearly couldn’t read and looked lost, so I tried to point her the way.”
“She just ran off like she saw a ghost! Not even a thank you!”
“Husband, tell me, isn’t that infuriating?”
Zhao Jingquan’s gaze lingered on her face for a moment, then dropped. Both of them came from rural families. Their original conditions were poor, but in Jiangcheng, they had made a living selling vegetables.
Zhu Yufang had always been plain and unsophisticated in her youth, and now she was learning to dress up. She didn’t know much about makeup and refused to buy expensive products, so whatever she could get her hands on, she slapped on her face—red, blue, grey—her face became a canvas.
Today, Zhao Jingquan had nearly jumped out of his skin when she woke him at four in the morning, fully made-up. He had almost thought he’d seen a ghost.
Better that he stifled his scream in time, or Zhu Yufang would have been mad for days.
He didn’t dare tell the truth. Well, they were old married couples now—he would get used to it eventually.
The old auntie she mentioned? She was probably just scared by Zhu Yufang.
Lu Minggui ran as fast as she could, dodging people who stepped aside to avoid her. She dared not look back, but seeing no “ghost” pursuing her, she finally exhaled.
New calls for attention reached her ears, accompanied by a sweet scent of fruit.
“Imported bananas! Sweet and glutinous!”
“Wogan oranges, four yuan per jin, three jin for ten yuan!”
“Winter jujubes! Big, fleshy, sweet to the tooth!”
“Black diamond pineapple, sweeter than honey!”
“Rock sugar core apples!”
She turned toward the sounds and felt dazzled, seeing countless fruits—at least five stalls, each piled with a variety she didn’t know.
What was a banana? What was a Wogan?
Jujubes she recognized, but wasn’t it the wrong season?
Apples even had sugar cores?
And that spiky, yellow, stinky thing… that could really be fruit?
A stall owner noticed her and muttered, “What year is this? Someone dressed like that?”
“Those patched clothes… is it real or cosplay? At this age?”
The voice was quiet, no one else seemed to hear.
Looking at Lu Minggui’s face—dark, lined, clearly elderly—he thought, “Must be a poor old lady. With today’s wealth gap, maybe not so unusual… or is she mentally ill?”
At another stall, someone was slicing cantaloupe samples, toothpicks already stuck into the pieces.
“Fresh cantaloupe! Sweet! Try it! If it’s not sweet, don’t pay! One bite and you’ll want more!”
Seeing Lu Minggui’s patched outfit, the seller hesitated, but still said politely, “Auntie, want to try some cantaloupe?”
Lu Minggui jumped. Auntie? She wasn’t anyone’s aunt!
Cantaloupe? She didn’t dare take the toothpick, and hurried away.
The seller was baffled. “What’s wrong with her? Not eating is fine, but scared like that?”
He raised his voice, “Free samples! No charge!”
Lu Minggui didn’t hear him. She fled forward and saw several more grocery stores.
“New rice from Wuchang! Special price today: 4.99 yuan per jin!”
“Eggs, duck eggs, goose eggs, preserved eggs, songhua eggs!”
“Everything from grains to oils!”
She had no idea how long she had been wandering. Fortunately, her years of farm labor gave her endurance.
Gradually, she calmed down.
This was not the underworld. If anything, it felt like heaven—food everywhere!
Now she stood at the entrance of an egg stall, staring at the neat rows of eggs, round and white, almost glowing.
She didn’t dare ask for the price, but mustered courage…
A customer took a tray of eggs, tapped a black square device on a sign, and then a “ding” sounded. The seller smiled, “Payment received! Come again next time!”
Lu Minggui froze. She only carried two copper coins. People here didn’t seem to use coins, and that black square… what was it?
She didn’t see anyone pay silver, yet the seller received something. What had he received?
She thought of the ritual burning of paper money for the dead.
Could it be that paper money turned into black squares underground?
Was this really the underworld?
The stall owner, Li Zi’an, had noticed her standing there too long.
At first, he thought she might be a beggar and ignored her. But seeing her hungry gaze, he couldn’t bear it.
If a beggar wanted money, none was given. But if they wanted food? Then he must provide.
He approached, enthusiastic:
“Auntie, what would you like to buy? Eggs, rice, oil, soy sauce, salt, MSG—you name it, we’ve got it!”
“All fresh, all guaranteed quality!”
Li Zi’an was tall—about 1.9 meters—towering over her, twenty-something, with a deep, slightly rough voice, almost intimidating.
Lu Minggui shrank back.
She tried to seem calm, but the word “MSG” terrified her. Wait… chickens could turn into spirits?
So this place wasn’t the underworld, not heaven… was it a den of monsters?
Her legs went weak, trembling, yet she felt too powerless to move.