It was He Caiwei’s first time riding this kind of bus—one that moved so slowly.
This type of bus wasn’t fast at all. It had windows but no glass, and at the very back there was even a space like a small open balcony. The vehicle itself was quite long, even longer than ordinary buses today. If it were connected to overhead wires, it would look a bit like the old trams of Shanghai.
This route ran from outside the city into the city, so the bus was packed with elderly people, children—and even chickens, ducks, and geese. The smell was… self-explanatory.
He Yuping held her daughter and deliberately chose seats as far away from the poultry as possible. Sitting together, mother and daughter looked out at the streets, breathing in what felt like the air of freedom.
After swaying along for half an hour, the bus finally arrived at Pingcheng No. 1 Department Store. To He Caiwei, it felt like Liu Laolao entering the Grand View Garden—everything was new and fascinating.
The department store had three floors.
The first floor sold vegetables, meat, eggs, oil, salt, soy sauce, vinegar, and tea. The space was large, so each counter occupied a generous area.
The second floor sold sweets, snacks, and daily necessities—White Rabbit milk candies, chocolate, milk powder, malted milk drink. He Caiwei suddenly noticed something strange that looked like a baby bottle, but the nipple was flat and slightly yellowish.
The bottle itself was made of glass, with a peace dove and the words “Peace Dove” printed on it, along with a red dove. At this time, it wasn’t yet the era of ration coupons—if you had money, you could buy whatever you wanted.
Earlier downstairs, they had seen someone selling bamboo baskets, so they bought one large and one small. Now the mother and daughter each carried one on their backs, strolling leisurely as they planned to browse from the third floor downward.
The third floor sold clothing—shoes, socks, cosmetics, bicycles, sewing machines, radios, and watches. All the items that seemed like luxuries in this era were gathered here. There were also several counters selling tonics: ginseng, bird’s nest, deer antler, and snow frog oil.
He Caiwei gradually realized that the medicinal ingredients she had found in her scumbag father’s secret room were all available here as well—and extremely expensive.
Take bird’s nest, for example. Just ten simple pieces placed in an exquisite box, lined with fine silk, cost sixty silver dollars—about the price of a small courtyard house.
He Yuping bought a wool coat in her own size, then saw a matching one and bought it for her daughter as well. They each got a pair of small leather shoes, two pairs of thin socks, two towels, two lidded cups, toothpaste and toothbrushes, and an enamel basin. Before long, both baskets were completely full.
On the way downstairs, they still needed to buy oil, salt, soy sauce, and vinegar, so they bought another basket. But after all the effort of hauling everything home, they realized they had forgotten to buy them after all—so they couldn’t cook.
“Ah, forget it. Let’s rest for a bit, change clothes, and eat out instead. I’ll take you to Mingqu Restaurant. Their head chef is excellent—this place used to belong to the Qu family before it was handed over. I don’t know if it’s still the same chef. He’s a descendant of an imperial chef invited at great expense by Old Master Qu. His cooking is outstanding, especially the pastries and soup-based dishes,” He Yuping said, suddenly craving that familiar taste.
“A descendant of an imperial chef? I’ve never tried that before—I definitely want to!” In her previous life, she had heard of many restaurants claiming that title, but they were so expensive that, as an orphan, she couldn’t even afford the seating fee.
Now that she had the chance to try food made by a real imperial chef’s descendant, she certainly wouldn’t miss it.
Since they were going to a restaurant, He Yuping changed her outfit again. This time, her appearance was completely unrecognizable.
She now looked like a wealthy lady, wearing one of the elegant dresses she had taken from the new house, along with a small white handbag.
He Caiwei was also dressed up again, turning once more into a delicate little princess. Watching her mother, she couldn’t help but think that if her mother lived in modern times, she would definitely be a top-tier makeup artist—capable of creating any look using just the few cosmetics from her dressing table. It was almost magical.
After locking the door and stepping out onto the street, a rickshaw puller approached and asked where they were going.
“To Mingqu Restaurant,” He Yuping said, then led He Caiwei onto the rickshaw.
It was He Caiwei’s first time riding one, and she found it fascinating.
The distance from their residence to Mingqu Restaurant wasn’t short—it took about forty minutes to arrive.
He Caiwei saw her mother take out a silver dollar from her white handbag and hand it to the puller. The man seemed about to give change, but her mother pulled her inside without waiting.
“Hello, madam. How many guests? Do you have a reservation?” The waitress, dressed in a light blue qipao, had excellent posture and service manners.
“No reservation. Just the two of us—please find us a quiet place,” He Yuping said, taking her daughter’s hand and following the waitress.
The sharp clicking of her high heels contrasted with the otherwise quiet dining hall.
There were over twenty tables in the main hall, all fully occupied. The waitress led them to a small private room—the smallest in the restaurant, just right for the two of them.
“Weiwei, what would you like to eat? The superior broth cabbage here is very good, and the pigeon soup is excellent too. Excuse me—are you still using the same head chef?” He Yuping asked midway through ordering.
“Yes, madam, it’s still Chef Gao. The taste is exactly the same—please feel free to order,” the waitress replied immediately, recognizing her as a regular.
The chef hadn’t changed—only the restaurant’s ownership had. But that didn’t affect their wages, so no one had bothered to ask further.
“In that case, one superior broth cabbage, one pigeon soup, two bowls of polished rice, one braised pork dish. Pack two servings of osmanthus cake, one baked cake, and two puddings. Also one roast chicken and one roast pigeon. The takeaway can be packed later—serve the dishes first.”
Hearing that the chef was the same, He Yuping felt reassured.
After a long day, she didn’t feel like cooking dinner, so she decided to pack extra food for the evening. With all that takeaway, they wouldn’t need to cook at all.
“Certainly, madam. Please wait a moment,” the waitress said with a bow before leaving.
The portions in such restaurants weren’t large. A serving of pigeon soup was just two small delicate bowls. The two bowls of rice were also modest—together not even two taels of rice.
Even so, with two dishes, one soup, and rice, the mother and daughter ate their fill.
After everything was packed, He Caiwei learned that the meal—including the takeaway—had cost eight silver dollars. It was astonishingly expensive. Ten such meals would equal the price of a small courtyard house.