In the early morning, the first rays of sunlight filtered through the torn window paper and fell upon the earthen kang.
Su Nianqiu turned over and sat up, intending to get up and wash as usual. Her eyes inadvertently swept over the small round mirror on the windowsill.
Reflected in the mirror was a face of striking impact. The original host’s features were already delicate, but after drinking highly concentrated Spirit Spring Water for three consecutive days, her entire appearance had undergone a dramatic transformation. Her skin was so fair it seemed to glow, like the finest mutton-fat jade, without even the tiniest pore visible. Her lips were naturally rosy without any rouge, and her peach-blossom eyes, even when gazing plainly, exuded a captivating charm.
It was a beauty that bordered on ostentation.
Su Nianqiu couldn’t help but frown.
In the past, she would have been overjoyed, but in this era of the 1970s, where wearing a new piece of clothing could make one the subject of gossip for half a month, parading around the village with such an overwhelmingly beautiful face was definitely not a good thing. Even with her father, the brigade leader, to protect her, idle talk and rumors were impossible to guard against completely.
Su Nianqiu put down the mirror. The Spirit Spring Water could cleanse the meridians and refine the marrow, and its effects had exceeded expectations. But to avoid trouble from now on, she would have to drink it diluted, in small amounts and multiple times, and could no longer guzzle it like plain water.
After a moment’s thought, she got out of bed and walked to the stove in the corner, pinching a small amount of black soot. She poured a few drops of hair oil into her palm, mixed it evenly with the stove soot, and then gently patted it along her hairline, neck, and the edges of her cheeks.
After this series of actions, that luminous, dazzling glow was subdued. She still looked like a pretty girl with outstanding features, but now it was merely a matter of “good complexion, fairer skin,” lacking that bewitching, almost demonic allure.
Once properly tidied up, Su Nianqiu took out the roll of Dacron fabric and the fine cotton cloth from yesterday’s string bag.
“Qiu’er, why are you up so early?” Li Xiulan pushed the door open and entered, carrying a basin of hot water. “Hurry and wash your face. I steamed white flour mantou for breakfast.”
“Mom, let me take your and Dad’s measurements.” Su Nianqiu turned around with scissors in hand. “The fabric I bought yesterday is just enough to make two new pieces of clothing.”
“Make clothes?” Li Xiulan stared wide-eyed. “But this is Dacron fabric, so slippery. We don’t even have a sewing machine at home. Can you sew it properly by hand? Better take it to the commune tailor shop. Don’t ruin the material.”
Su Nianqiu didn’t respond. Instead, she pulled Li Xiulan’s arm to stand straight and swiftly measured her shoulders and waist with her hands. In her previous life, she had been an internationally renowned haute couture designer. What top-grade fabric hadn’t she cut? Human proportions were like a precise ruler in her eyes.
No chalk lines were needed, nor a measuring tape.
Su Nianqiu picked up the large, rusty scissors and, with a “snip,” made the first cut directly.
Li Xiulan was startled and tried to stop her but couldn’t.
Su Nianqiu’s wrist turned deftly as the scissors glided swiftly over the Dacron fabric. Smooth arcs, precise armholes, and the bias-cut collar were all completed in one go. In less than five minutes, the front and back pieces, sleeves, and collars for two shirts were all cut out.
“This…” Li Xiulan stared at the neatly piled fabric pieces on the kang, speechless with her mouth agape.
Su Nianqiu threaded a needle. The bright red cotton thread darted between her fingers. Her starting stitch was extremely even, the stitches fine and uniform. She worked back and forth at a rapid pace, and after a whole day of busy work, the two pieces of clothing were finally finished.
When Su Jianguo returned from work, he saw two garments neatly laid out on the square table.
They weren’t the oversized, sack-like standard-issue shirts sold at the supply and marketing cooperative. The men’s version had subtle adjustments at the shoulders, making the wearer look sharp and upright; the women’s design featured discreet pleats at the waist to cinch it in, hiding the belly while accentuating the figure.
Li Xiulan slipped on the new shirt and walked around the room.
“Good heavens,” Su Jianguo stammered, holding half a steamed bun as he stared at his wife. “Xiulan, you look just like a clerk from the city’s supply and marketing cooperative in that outfit.”
Li Xiulan grinned from ear to ear, smoothing the crisp collar. “Qiu’er’s skills are miraculous. It fits better than anything made by the old tailor in town!”
Just as they were celebrating, the courtyard gate creaked open.
Aunt Zhang from next door walked in carrying a basket of string beans, just in time to see Li Xiulan stepping out of the main room to pour water.
Aunt Zhang froze in her tracks, her eyes fixed on the new clothes Li Xiulan was wearing. The fabric was crisp, the waistline snug, and the collar stood smartly upright, revealing a fine texture when the sunlight hit it.
“Xiulan… have you struck it rich?” Aunt Zhang’s voice dripped with envy, her eyes practically glued to the Dacron fabric. “Did you buy this in the county town? This must’ve cost over ten yuan, right?”
Li Xiulan puffed out her chest proudly. “You couldn’t find such a perfect fit in the county town. My Qiu’er made it for me herself.”
Aunt Zhang gasped and turned to look at Su Nianqiu, who was sitting in the yard sorting vegetables.
How could a disgraced woman who failed to drown herself afford such expensive fabric from a trip to town? And how could she make such beautiful clothes?
“Oh, Nianqiu has really made something of herself now,” Aunt Zhang said, sidling over with a wide, shameless grin. “Nianqiu, my Dayong is meeting a potential match next month. I happen to have bought two feet of coarse cloth—could you make me a piece while you’re at it? I won’t ask for free labor; I’ll treat you to a bowl of cornmeal porridge, how about that?”
A bowl of cornmeal porridge in exchange for custom tailoring?
Su Nianqiu didn’t even look up, continuing her work as she replied in a clear, pleasant voice, “Sure, Auntie. But I have strict rules for making clothes, and my labor isn’t cheap. I don’t want your porridge—double the price of the commune tailor shop, two yuan per piece. Leave the money first, and you can pick up the clothes the day after tomorrow.”
Aunt Zhang’s face immediately fell. Two yuan? That could buy half a month’s worth of food in the village.
“You’ve really become money-obsessed, girl. We’re neighbors—helping out is just what we do,” Aunt Zhang grumbled, pursing her lips.
“Exactly. These are my hands, and I’ll only help if I feel like it,” Su Nianqiu said, looking up with a bright smile but delivering a ruthless reply. “If you think it’s too expensive, the commune tailor shop only charges one yuan and even throws in a button.”
Aunt Zhang felt a knot of frustration in her chest and stomped off angrily with her basket of beans. Even from a distance, her muttered complaints could be heard: “What’s she so proud of? Acting all high and mighty just because she has a bit of money.”
Su Nianqiu paid no mind. Once her reputation spread, there would inevitably be jealous people. But in these times, only genuine skill could help one stand firm. Once the social climate loosened a little, her needlework would become a steady stream of income.
As night fell, Aunt Zhang, still carrying her basket of beans, stewed with resentment after leaving the Su family’s courtyard.
Two yuan for a piece of clothing? That’s robbery! How dare that disgraced woman put on airs.
Her eyes darted around, and instead of heading home, she took advantage of the moonlight to skirt around two dirt alleys, heading straight for Old Mrs. Su’s house at the eastern end of the village.
Old Mrs. Su was Su Jianguo’s biological mother. In earlier years, she had favored her younger son, Su Jianjun, and when dividing the family property, she drove Su Jianguo and his wife to a dilapidated house at the western end of the village, while she herself lived in a large tiled house with her younger son. Over the years, Su Jianguo had become the village chief, and his life had improved considerably. Old Mrs. Su had taken advantage of various excuses to visit and mooch off him more than once.
Aunt Zhang pushed open the loosely closed courtyard gate of Old Mrs. Su’s house and raised her voice to shout, “Old sister! Are you home?”
Old Mrs. Su was sitting in the main room, picking through soybeans by the light of a kerosene lamp. Her triangular eyes narrowed sharply. “What’s all this shouting about?”
“Oh, old sister, you’re still here picking beans? Your eldest son, Jianguo, has struck it rich!” Aunt Zhang leaned in, lowering her voice and adding fuel to the fire.
“I just went to their house to borrow something, and guess what I saw? Xiulan was wearing something so crisp and neat—a brand-new Dacron fabric outfit! And on the table, there were big white steamed buns! Yesterday, someone saw Nianqiu, that girl, bringing back two large net bags full of good stuff from town—big chunks of pork belly and ribs! They’re feasting behind closed doors, and you, as his own mother, haven’t even had a sip of meat broth, have you?”