Hu Jiaojiao left the house and, following the original owner’s memory, headed toward the supply and marketing cooperative. As she passed a state-owned restaurant, her steps turned instinctively and she walked in.
But the moment she looked around, she was stunned. This wasn’t quite like how such places were described in novels set in this era. There were long tables and benches, a few scattered diners, most of them sitting near the windows—clearly to get their food faster. On the wall hung wooden menu boards, many of them flipped over. She looked around but still couldn’t decide what to eat.
The server had already grown impatient. “Only plain noodles left. Everything else is gone.”
Well, that part was the same as in the novels—the staff all had terrible attitudes, acting high and mighty.
“Then I’ll have a bowl of plain noodles,” Hu Jiaojiao said with a smile.
She handed over eight fen. The server added, “No grain coupons? Then add two more fen. This is negotiated grain—if you had coupons, you’d get two liang.”
Hu Jiaojiao immediately handed over the extra two fen and went to sit by the window.
Before long, the noodles were ready. She didn’t even wait to be called—she brought them over herself and started slurping. Though it was just plain noodles, the flavor was surprisingly fresh. The chef clearly had skill.
She finished both noodles and soup without hesitation. In this era, wasting food wasn’t acceptable.
Just as she was about to leave, she saw the server carrying out a huge steamer. The lid was lifted, and a cloud of steam burst out, along with a rich aroma of meat.
Before Hu Jiaojiao could react, the previously scattered diners rushed forward. She followed the crowd and heard the server shout, “Hurry! Only one batch! Ten fen each, no coupons needed!”
Hu Jiaojiao immediately handed over one yuan. The server wrapped up a large meat bun for her. The people around were momentarily stunned, then surged forward even more frantically—“Ten for me!” “I want five!” The server didn’t even have time to scold her; after all, selling buns at this hour was meant to let people with connections get some.
Hu Jiaojiao left the restaurant and found a secluded corner. She slipped the buns into her cloth bag—and in the next instant, she appeared in the kitchen of her personal apartment.
She had discovered that time inside the apartment was frozen. Whatever you put in stayed exactly the same when you took it out. Living things couldn’t be stored, but she herself could come and go freely. It was quite unbelievable—perhaps this was the benefit of her “cheat ability.”
With that in mind, she stepped into the supply and marketing cooperative next door.
The place wasn’t large. Glass counters lined the walls, with shelves behind them and ticket clips hanging on wires that led to the cashier. Hu Jiaojiao found everything fascinating.
She browsed as she walked. Needles, thread, pots, bowls, thermoses—she didn’t buy any of those. She could just take them from home when she left; she wasn’t picky.
Thinking this, she spotted the famous White Rabbit milk candies—praised in later generations as “one candy equals seven cups of milk.” She splurged and bought two jin for five yuan.
Next to them were fruit candies—two yuan for two jin—so she bought some, plus a few orange candies, which were even cheaper.
Without comparison, there’s no disappointment.
She also bought two jin of brown sugar, using two sugar coupons and paying another 1.5 yuan.
Using cigarette coupons she’d “borrowed” from her father, she bought two cartons of Dafengmen cigarettes. They cost several yuan per carton, but gifts make things easier—she figured they’d be useful for social connections later.
She bought several jars of pomade and cold cream, as well as some scarves that didn’t require coupons—pink, red, and green.
These items were all limited supply—once sold out, you’d have to wait for the next batch. Hu Jiaojiao felt especially lucky today. Just as new stock was put out, she arrived at the fabric counter. Before the clerk could even pretend to pack things away, Hu Jiaojiao spoke up, “Two pieces of each color.”
The clerk didn’t look pleased. These items had actually been reserved in advance, but refusing to sell wasn’t allowed. She reluctantly wrote up the ticket.
Hu Jiaojiao didn’t care at all. She took her things and left.
Feeling lucky, she wondered if she should visit the classic spot every transmigrator seems to check out—the scrap yard.
So she headed east. The scrap yard was on that side of the city, where it was quieter and more open. By the time she arrived, it was already noon.
She greeted the gatekeeper cheerfully and entered the yard, rummaging around here and there. Nothing particularly special caught her eye—until she found, among broken table legs and piles of waste paper, a coverless self-study book on math, physics, and chemistry, and a small clay stove missing two legs. Part of it was reinforced with iron, which was why it hadn’t fallen apart.
She decided to take them—just in case they might be useful.
After another look and finding nothing else, she grabbed two large bundles of old newspapers and went to the entrance.
With a sweet smile, she told the gatekeeper, “I’m getting ready to go to the countryside, so I came to pick up a few things.”
The old man didn’t say much, just nodded. “Give me twenty fen. I’ll throw in this clay jar too—you can carry water with it when working in the fields.”
Not wanting to take advantage, Hu Jiaojiao handed over the money and added a dozen fruit candies.
She left with her things.
The gatekeeper squeezed the candies and put them in his pocket, planning to take them home for his granddaughter. Whether the girl could recognize the hidden value of the clay jar would depend on her luck.
After leaving the scrap yard, Hu Jiaojiao found a secluded spot and stored most of her items, leaving only the clay stove and a bundle of newspapers in hand.
She quickly scraped at the bottom of the clay jar—and sure enough, a different color appeared.
Excited, she hurried home.
She entered the courtyard just as the sun was setting. Third Sister was home alone, washing something in the yard. Hu Jiaojiao ignored her, set the stove down, and carried the newspapers into her room.
Once inside, she locked the door and entered her apartment. Taking the clay jar to the bathroom, she rinsed and scraped at it until its true form was revealed.
It turned out to be a small, jade-white bottle with a faint translucence and landscape paintings on it—slightly smaller than a flower vase. She wasn’t sure what it was used for. On the bottom were the words “Made in the Hongxian Era.”
Oh ho—Republic of China period. That made it an antique. Whether it was authentic or not didn’t matter; decades later, it would still be valuable.
She carefully placed it on the display shelf in her bedroom before leaving the apartment.
When she came out, both her parents were already home. Father Hu was fiddling with the clay stove she’d brought back. He had somehow found some yellow mud and patched the missing legs.
Seeing this, Hu Jiaojiao quietly said thank you.
Father Hu replied, “No need to thank me. Just be careful in the future. Don’t marry someone casually. Do what you can, don’t stand out too much.”
As he spoke, he glanced toward the kitchen, then quickly took off his shoe, pulled out a ten-yuan note and a few smaller bills from under the insole, and handed them to her. “Take this. When you get to the countryside, spend carefully. Don’t blame us.”
Looking at this usually quiet father, Hu Jiaojiao didn’t refuse. She took the money but handed the smaller bills back. “I’ll take the ten. You keep the rest.”
Father Hu didn’t say anything, just put the money back under his insole.
Hu Jiaojiao felt… complicated.
She understood that in families with many children in this era, favoritism was inevitable. Those who were sweet-talkers got more attention, and sons were valued because of the belief that they would provide for parents in old age—a mindset that still persisted even in modern times.
But she still felt uneasy. Even if things couldn’t be perfectly fair, they shouldn’t be so blatantly uneven.
At dinner, Mother Hu said, “Your train leaves tomorrow afternoon. We won’t be seeing you off. Write home when you arrive. If you need anything, write to us—we’ll try to get it for you.” The unspoken meaning was: if they couldn’t, then so be it.
Hu Jiaojiao didn’t respond. She kept her head down and ate quickly—though there wasn’t much to eat: just a bowl of thin porridge and a coarse bun.
After finishing, she put down her bowl and returned to her room. She took out a big meat bun, devoured it quickly, and rinsed her mouth with water.
Catching the faint lingering scent of meat in the room, she didn’t care. She simply lay back down.