Early the next morning. The thin mist had not yet dispersed.
Under the crooked-neck tree at the village entrance stood a dilapidated ox cart. Driving it was the village’s solitary old man, Grandpa Mute.
Su Nianqiu wore the largest gray coat from the original owner’s wardrobe, her head wrapped in an earthen-colored scarf that covered most of her bright and beautiful face. Li Xiulan helped her onto the ox cart and tucked two boiled sweet potatoes into her arms.
“Take it slow on the road. Come back early after seeing the doctor.”
“I know, Mom.”
The ox cart swayed slowly out of the Red Flag Brigade, following the dirt road toward town.
From the village to town, the ox cart ride took about an hour and a half. Su Nianqiu leaned against the haystack, resting with her eyes closed. In her mind, she repeatedly rehearsed the plan for what came next.
At nine in the morning, the ox cart stopped at the entrance of the town’s supply and marketing cooperative.
The town was small, with one main street running east to west. Most of the buildings on either side were made of gray bricks and blue tiles, their walls painted with slogans characteristic of the era. Pedestrians on the street wore a uniform palette of blue, gray, and black, with the occasional person in military green striding purposefully.
“Grandpa Mute, please wait for me here. I’ll go to the health center and buy a few things, then come right back.” Su Nianqiu jumped off the cart and handed a sweet potato to the old man.
Grandpa Mute smiled and took it, pointing to the steps of the supply and marketing cooperative to indicate he’d be sitting right there.
Su Nianqiu turned and left. She didn’t head to the health center but instead ducked into an empty dead-end alley.
Making sure no one was around, Su Nianqiu moved quickly.
She pulled out a tattered, patched-up men’s coarse cloth jacket she had prepared in advance from her cloth bag and slipped it on over her clothes. Next, she took out a long strip of cloth and tightly bound her chest flat. Her figure was already tall and slender, and since she wasn’t yet showing signs of pregnancy, the loose, ragged jacket completely concealed any feminine curves.
Then came her face.
She grabbed a handful of dry dirt from the ground, mixed it with a bit of soot from a pot bottom she had brought with her, and evenly smeared it over her face and neck. Her originally fair and delicate skin instantly turned sallow and rough. She gathered all her hair up and stuffed it under a greasy, worn-out felt hat, pulling the brim low to cover her eyebrows and eyes.
Finally, she picked up a charred piece of wood from the ground and drew a faint “scar” at the corner of her mouth.
In less than ten minutes, a weathered, gaunt, and shriveled old man from a remote mountain gully appeared in the alley. Su Nianqiu deliberately hunched her back, slightly bent her knees, and dragged her feet as she walked. This technique of altering her posture for disguise was something she had learned in her previous life after finding short videos on the topic interesting—she never expected to use it now.
Fully prepared, Su Nianqiu walked out of the alley and headed toward the west side of town.
The original owner’s memories held no specific location for the black market. But Su Nianqiu knew the tropes of stories set in this era. Black markets were usually situated in places with multiple escape routes, convenient for fleeing, and hidden by abandoned buildings.
On the west side of town stood an abandoned textile factory left over from the War of Resistance. It covered a large area, with half of its back wall collapsed, connecting to a maze of residential lanes.
Su Nianqiu lingered at the entrance of the lanes for a couple of rounds. She quickly noticed a pattern.
Every few minutes, someone carrying a basket or a backpack would hurriedly walk into a dead-end alley. At the end of the alley was a broken wooden door, with a burly man squatting at the entrance smoking a pipe.
This was the place.
Su Nianqiu lowered her hat brim and walked over.
The burly man didn’t even lift his eyelids, simply extending one hand.
Su Nianqiu understood the rules. She fished out two dimes from her pocket and placed them in the outstretched hand.
The burly man’s fingers twirled the coins, and the wooden door creaked open a crack. “Keep your voice down inside. If the Red Armbands show up, follow the crowd and climb over the east wall.”
“Understood.” Su Nianqiu deliberately lowered her voice, making it sound coarse and raspy.
Squeezing through the door, she found herself in a surprisingly spacious area. On the grounds of the abandoned factory, dozens of people squatted in small groups. In front of them lay burlap sacks and bamboo baskets covered with tattered cloth.
No one was loudly hawking their wares. If someone spotted something of interest, they would approach, lift the cloth for a quick look, then bargain using hand signals or whispered exchanges.
With her hands clasped behind her back, Su Nianqiu strolled leisurely around, quietly gauging the prices.
Fine grains like rice sold for fifty cents a catty here—no ration coupons needed—compared to fourteen cents at the state-run supply and marketing cooperatives, which required grain coupons.
Pork was priced at one yuan eighty cents here, also without coupons, while the cooperatives charged eighty cents with meat coupons. Fatty cuts even cost extra here.
Cloth coupons, grain coupons, and industrial vouchers were especially hard currency, with some people specifically exchanging cash for them.
This was a vibrant yet perilous underground market.
Su Nianqiu wasn’t in a hurry to take out the ginseng. In the black market, ginseng was a rare commodity. Ordinary speculators couldn’t afford it, and even if they could, they wouldn’t offer a fair price. She needed to find a truly big fish.
She walked to a relatively open corner and squatted down, leaning against a broken wall. Her eyes scanned the entire scene.
Half an hour later, her gaze locked onto one person.
It was a middle-aged man in his fifties. Though dressed in an ordinary gray Zhongshan suit, the fabric was wrinkle-free Dacron. His leather shoes were polished clean. Most tellingly, he looked extremely anxious, ignoring all the grain and meat stalls, instead repeatedly inquiring at a few herb vendors’ setups.
“Brother, this angelica root isn’t old enough. Do you have any wild ginseng? Aged ones! Money is no issue!” the man in the Zhongshan suit whispered, his tone tinged with urgent pleading.
The herb vendor shook his head. “Old-timer, you must be joking. Aged wild ginseng is a life-saving miracle herb. You might not come across it once a year in the black market.”
The man’s face fell with disappointment, and he let out a heavy sigh before turning to leave.
Su Nianqiu knew her chance had come.
She stood up, brushed the dust off her pant legs, and casually walked onto the path the man was bound to take. As he drew near, she lowered her coarse, raspy voice and uttered two words:
“Need ginseng?”
The man in the Zhongshan suit halted abruptly, turning to stare intently at the withered “old man” before him.
“You have it?” The man’s voice trembled.
Without wasting words, Su Nianqiu reached into her tattered cloth bag and pulled out a third of the small bundle wrapped in cotton cloth.
She lifted a corner of the cloth slightly. An incredibly pure, rich, and unmistakable ginseng fragrance instantly wafted into the man’s nostrils. The amber-colored skin and forked fine roots, even just partially revealed, were enough to drive any connoisseur wild.
The man’s expression grew agitated, his breathing suddenly rapid. Instinctively, he reached for his pocket, pulling out a bulging envelope stuffed with ten-yuan bills.
“Brother, let’s talk somewhere private!” The man grabbed Su Nianqiu’s arm and pointed toward a concrete pillar deep in the factory ruins.
Su Nianqiu tucked the bundle back into her coat, a faint smile curling at the corner of her mouth.