A few days later, Shen Qingsong brought back some glass jars for Shen Qinghe. She examined them—they were the perfect size, sleek in shape, and looked quite delicate.
Zhou Chunfeng glanced at them and murmured, “How much can such small jars hold?”
“Based on the jam from the old canning jars, I think we can fill four or five of these,” Shen Qinghe replied.
“Nan Nan, how much do you plan to sell the jam in these little jars for?”
“One yuan twenty per jar.”
Zhou Chunfeng’s eyes nearly popped out. “One yuan twenty per jar? Nan Nan, isn’t that too expensive? What if they don’t sell?”
Shen Qingsong stroked his chin, thinking. “Now that it’s in these jars, I think it will sell. One yuan twenty per jar is reasonable—the jam has a lot of sugar, and the jars cost money too. The price can’t be too low.”
“You really understand me, Second Brother.” Shen Qingsong had brought her twenty jars to try out. At five cents per jar, twenty jars cost one yuan—not a cheap investment.
“This batch is small. If we get more next time, we might get a discount.” Shen Qingsong bit into a pear Shen Qinghe had taken from her space. Chewing, he looked surprised. “Did you pick this from the mountain? How does it taste so good? It looks a bit ugly, but the flavor is almost as good as the Supply and Marketing Cooperative’s.”
He had picked wild pears in the mountains before, but they never tasted this good, nor were they this large.
“Maybe I was just lucky,” Shen Qinghe said.
These days, she would bring something back from the mountains every day—wild chickens, rabbits, or fruit. The Shen family had accepted that she was indeed lucky. Zhou Chunfeng and Shen Xingqing had also explicitly instructed everyone not to mention it. The younger kids had been reminded several times.
“Mom, it’s time for us to go,” Liu Lanying said, looking at the time. She slung the water bottle over her shoulder and put on her straw hat.
Zhou Chunfeng was still a bit worried about Shen Qinghe going alone. She reminded her, “Nan Nan, don’t go up the mountain by yourself. Wait until your father or older brothers finish work—they can accompany you. You don’t need meat every day.”
Shen Qinghe nodded. “I’ll just stay home and make jam today.”
“We’ll stay home and keep Old Aunt company too!” Erbao said, holding a big pear in her little hands. Juice dribbled down her face and clothes, making a sticky mess.
Dabao and Erbao played in the yard with some of the younger siblings while Shen Qinghe stayed in the kitchen to cook the jam. The family’s iron pot was large enough to make a full batch in one go.
Once the sweet scent of blueberry jam filled the air, she realized Dabao and the others had crept over without her noticing. She gave each a taste, then packed the rest into the cleaned glass jars.
The small jars, filled with dark purple jam, looked quite appealing.
Shen Qinghe planned to go to the black market herself. Her second brother needed to work in the fields, and constantly asking others to sell for her wasn’t practical.
After reminding Dabao and Erbao to watch the younger siblings, Shen Qinghe rode the family’s bicycle to the commune. The Shens had two bicycles—one for general use and another that Third Brother and his wife bought after marriage.
The communal bike was a “28 big crossbar” style, suitable for taller men. She had struggled a bit riding it before. Maybe it was the spirit spring water, but she felt stronger today, and riding felt fine.
In her previous life, Shen Qinghe had also gone to the black market. Even though the Shens sent her monthly rations to the Gu family, Gu’s household only had Zhang Manfang and Gu Yuhua as laborers, and neither could earn full work points. They didn’t have enough food for themselves, let alone for Gu Yuan later. The child ate a lot and was picky, always wanting the best.
Gu Linchuan sent money and ration tickets, but they weren’t enough—he also had to support Lin Yingxue. So Shen Qinghe had to find ways to the black market herself.
At the commune, a certain alley led to a small side street, then through an unnamed lane to the black market.
Shen Qinghe picked clothes Zhou Chunfeng didn’t wear and used cosmetics Third Sister-in-law had given her. She added a bit of soot from the bottom of the iron pot. Instantly, she transformed from a young, beautiful girl into a haggard middle-aged woman.
Just as she passed through the lane, a bald man stopped her. “What are you doing here?”
Shen Qinghe patted the large basket on her back. “Selling stuff.”
The bald man scanned her up and down before saying, “Five cents.”
Shen Qinghe immediately handed him five cents. He was slightly surprised—this woman moved quickly. Many people coming to the black market would refuse when asked for money, or act stubborn to sneak in.
“Fine, go ahead.”
Though called a black market, it was just a narrow alley. Many people squatted by the road with baskets or sacks covered with black cloth, hiding what they sold.
Shen Qinghe’s large basket immediately attracted attention. Some glanced briefly, then looked away; others were curious about its contents.
A middle-aged man with glasses approached. “Little sister, are you buying or selling?”
“Selling,” Shen Qinghe replied, then found an empty spot to set down her basket.
“What do you have in there? Meat?” The man leaned in, trying to lift the black cloth covering her basket.
Shen Qinghe frowned, blocking his hand. “Don’t touch it—I’ll handle it myself.”
“Alright, alright, your call. I’m just in a hurry. Does it have meat?” The man’s face showed urgency. “My wife is sick and needs nutrition. I haven’t bought meat in days, see…”
“I’ve got wild chickens and rabbits. Want some?” Before coming, Shen Qinghe had grabbed three wild chickens and three wild rabbits from her space, plus blueberries, pears, jujubes, and chestnuts.
“Yes! Yes!” The man’s eyes lit up. Lowering his voice, he asked, “How much per pound?”
“Two yuan per pound, no ration tickets needed.”
“That’s expensive.” He frowned. “Even the co-op’s old hens are only one yuan thirty per pound. Wild chicken is dry and tough, not much fat.”
“This doesn’t need tickets, and it’s wild from the mountain—very nutritious.”
Prices at the black market were indeed higher because no tickets were needed. Still, he tried to haggle, assuming this woman was inexperienced.
Shen Qinghe sneered. “Then use tickets—one yuan thirty per pound. Your choice.”
“You city folks can only get one chicken a month anyway. In that sense, you got the better deal.”