Only when Ying Sisi’s heart finally settled did she take out a pack of cigarettes and push it into the other person’s hand.
“Thank you, big brother. Please accept this small token of appreciation.”
The man accepted the cigarettes, his attitude becoming noticeably more friendly. He reminded her, “Once you go in, if you hear people outside shouting ‘run,’ don’t care whether you’ve bought anything or not—just run toward the east.”
“Alright.” Ying Sisi thanked him and stepped into the market.
Rice, flour, cooking oil, meat ration coupons, non-staple food coupons, books, stationery, daily necessities—all could be exchanged at equivalent value.
Ying Sisi wandered around and finally stopped at a noodle stall.
Suddenly, someone bumped into her arm, making her stagger several steps.
“Sorry, sorry.”
She steadied herself and turned back. An older woman was apologizing with her head lowered, and a stamp album had fallen open on the ground.
The colorful stamps were beautiful.
The buildings and scenery on them looked very much like the landscapes the educated youth often described.
She remembered hearing from them that stamps had great collectible value—rare old ones were priceless.
If you met someone who understood their value, they could be worth a fortune.
She was immediately drawn in.
The woman looked up, saw Ying Sisi staring at the stamps, and quickly said, “Girl, want to buy stamps? These are old items from sixty or seventy years ago. One album has over a hundred stamps—only eight yuan.”
“Can things from sixty or seventy years ago still be used? And you dare ask eight yuan? At the scrap station, they wouldn’t even bother paying two cents.” the nearby stall owner said.
The woman shot back, “I didn’t ask you to buy. I’m asking this girl.”
Ying Sisi did want them, but the price was too high. She only had three yuan on her. “Can I take a closer look?”
“Of course. These are my family’s private collection. If it weren’t absolutely necessary, I wouldn’t sell them.”
Ying Sisi flipped through them one by one and confirmed they were indeed old items. “Would you sell them for three yuan? That’s all I have.”
She honestly took out all her loose change—money she had secretly saved from buying groceries for Song Hanmei.
The middle-aged woman hesitated.
The noodle stall owner said, “Girl, you don’t look like a rich person. Spending three yuan on something you can’t eat or use—won’t your family beat you for it?”
Hearing this, Ying Sisi wavered. Her entire understanding came from the educated youth in the village.
If she couldn’t turn the stamps into money, then they were basically worthless.
“I…”
The woman hurriedly stuffed the stamps into her arms. “Three yuan it is. I’ll take a loss.”
The stall owner said, “Girl, think it through carefully. Don’t get scammed.”
After careful consideration, Ying Sisi finally said, “I’ve made up my mind.” She handed over the money.
The woman both pleased and regretful said, “These were collected for decades—didn’t expect they’d only be worth three yuan in the end.”
“Then maybe…” Ying Sisi hesitated, touching her now-empty wallet, suddenly regretting it.
She had fought so many battles of wits just to save this money.
And now it was gone—what was she supposed to do next?
“I still have things to do. I’m leaving.” The woman left in a hurry.
Ying Sisi had no way back now. She tucked the stamps away and walked home.
Before she even entered, she was stopped by Father Li, Li Junlu, who had just returned from work. He frowned and questioned her coldly, “You finally know to come back? You went out with your mother and didn’t even say anything when you left—made your mother and sister look for you all afternoon. What kind of daughter or sister are you?”
“I—”
Li Yuwei quickly cut in, “Dad, it’s New Year’s. Let it go. Sister didn’t mean it.”