“A little stutterer?”
The restaurant owner froze for a second, then immediately realized they were talking about Lin Yun and her daughter. Grinding her teeth, she snapped, “What can two paupers do? Came begging for wages—making a fuss over one yuan! I kicked her out on the spot. Let her go home and drink the northwest wind!”
She’d been humiliated, so she twisted the story—claiming she’d fired Lin Yun herself.
Gu Jingxiu’s expression darkened slightly. In the Su family, only Su Weihua earned money. There was a bedridden son, too. Lin Yun had no choice but to work to supplement the household income. Now that she’d lost her job, life would only get harder.
Yang Muqing narrowed her eyes. “Jingxiu, your little stuttering fiancée’s family is that poor?”
Before he could answer, the owner snorted. “Poor? They’re practically starving! The husband’s just an ordinary worker, the son’s crippled, the daughter stutters, and now the wife’s jobless. What are they going to eat?”
Yang Muqing curled her lips into a smile. “That poor—and still so proud?”
She liked poor people. Especially watching their pride bend.
Back home, Su Jinle immediately took out the scrap fabric she’d bought the day before. One pile for her mother, one for her brother. With both of them helping, the speed more than doubled.
Lin Yun knew how to use a sewing machine. The three of them worked together—one cutting and detailing, one at the machine, one stuffing cotton and shaping wire. In just two hours, they made more than twenty keychains, along with several hair ties and cloth pouches.
But it was obvious—the keychains were the real hit. Hair ties and pouches could be small bonuses. That way, the girls would like them even more.
When it was time to set up the stall that afternoon, Lin Yun wanted to go with her.
Su Jinle pointed at the remaining fabric scraps. “Mom, you and Brother keep making keychains. I’ll go alone.”
She wasn’t afraid anymore.
Lin Yun hesitated, glancing at the bundle of goods. “Lele… we made so many in one go. Should we keep making more? What if they don’t sell?”
Twenty-plus keychains at fifty cents each—that was over ten yuan. How could they possibly sell out in a day?
Su Jinle just smiled. “They will.”
By the time she reached the stall, it was already five in the afternoon.
Aunt Pang had switched from selling eggs to goose eggs today. She waved energetically when she saw Su Jinle. “Come quick! This big girl’s been asking for you all afternoon—afraid you wouldn’t show up!”
Qiao Fengxia twisted the hem of her shirt shyly. “I wasn’t afraid… I just really wanted to see the new dress.”
She’d been restless all afternoon, even dreaming about wearing it. After yesterday’s disappointment, today’s anticipation had doubled. She’d swapped shifts and arrived before three to wait.
Su Jinle carefully took out the tailored suit-style dress from the paper bag. “Look. It’s done.”
Qiao Fengxia’s eyes widened instantly.
The dress was green—prettier than the sketch she’d seen. Not stiff cotton, but flowing dacron fabric, lined with soft white material. The sharp oversized lapel framed the neckline. The wide belt tied into a bow at the back.
Compared to Su Jinle’s blue-and-white checkered outfit, this dress carried a touch of fashionable sensuality.
“The belt is adjustable,” Su Jinle explained gently. “If you wear white heels, it’ll look even better.”
Qiao Fengxia rarely wore dresses. She had a fuller waist and hips, and ready-made sizes at the supply store never fit. She was too embarrassed to have clothes custom-made—the shopkeepers’ slow, assessing looks made her feel ashamed.
But even a fuller girl loves beauty. What girl doesn’t want to look pretty?
Aunt Pang clucked her tongue. “Heavens! If I’d had a dress like this when I was young, I’d have married a high official! Girl, hurry and pay and go try it on. With your height, you’ll dazzle those young men!”
Tall girls were beautiful too!
As if waking from a dream, Qiao Fengxia paid excitedly and ran home hugging the dress.
“Wait!” Su Jinle called, grabbing her.
Qiao Fengxia was strong—she nearly yanked Su Jinle off her feet.
“There’s this too,” Su Jinle said quickly, handing her a green-striped headband. “Sorry the dress took a day. I added tassels at the back—you can braid your hair and let it fall over your shoulder…”
Qiao Fengxia suddenly scooped her up in a hug. “You must be a fairy from a picture book!”
She left glowing with happiness.
Su Jinle couldn’t help smiling. This was why she loved making clothes—because everyone deserved something that suited them.
Soon it was quitting time. The small street filled with people.
Aunt Pang started shouting, “Goose eggs! Goose eggs bigger than washbasins! Dresses prettier than fairy skirts!”
Across the way, the meatball-faced shoe vendor yelled, “Black cloth shoes, floral cloth shoes—walk like the wind in these good shoes!”
Other vendors joined in, voices loud and cheerful.
Su Jinle gathered her courage and called out, “C-custom clothes! Cute keychains!”
From the corner by the wall, Song Shixu commented dryly, “Too soft. Quieter than a mosquito. No strength at all. Still too delicate.”
Before he finished speaking, a group of female factory workers on bicycles suddenly flooded in from the street entrance—all heading straight for Su Jinle’s stall.
Seeing the crowd surge forward, Song Shixu’s face hardened. Without thinking, he leapt from the corner and stepped in front of her protectively.
Su Jinle blinked at the tall figure blocking her. “Brother Song?”
“Too many people,” he said firmly. “Pack up. We’re leaving.”
She looked at him helplessly. “I’m selling things. More people is good.”
Before he could respond, the women were already talking over each other.
“You promised to save me a pink lamb yesterday! No one better snatch it!”
“I want two—one for me, one for my boyfriend! Hey, who are you? Don’t block the stall! We ordered these!”
The two women at the front shoved Song Shixu aside suspiciously. “Don’t try to抢! There aren’t many—we’ve been waiting two days!”
The honest, chubby little lamb keychain—with its single round stitched eye—had taken the nearby factories by storm in just two days. The girls who’d gotten one flaunted them deliberately.
They were irresistible. Clip one of those pastel lambs onto a cloth purse and suddenly it looked stylish. In Hong Kong TV dramas, those glamorous ladies with high heels and big waves always hung charms on their handbags.
Within minutes, all twenty-plus keychains were snapped up.
Fifty cents wasn’t exactly cheap—but for young women earning their own wages, it was manageable. Skip a couple of chicken legs, and there it was.
Some girls even bought matching pairs—blue and pink—for themselves and their sweethearts.
And just like that—
Twenty-something keychains still weren’t enough to sell.