Jiang Yan’s current regiment isn’t attached to any particular division; it reports directly to a general army corps, making it extremely secretive. After leaving the military compound, he had originally planned to return to his regiment, but seeing the pitiful look in that person’s eyes, he turned the steering wheel and headed to the Public Security Bureau instead.
The Pingcheng Public Security Bureau consisted of a few brick-red single-story buildings, surrounded by a gray brick wall. In the northeast corner stood a few sturdy phoenix trees, with three bicycles parked nearby. A notice had just come down to strictly control the number of “wandering vagrants” entering the city. Wang Zhang had been busy with this for the past couple of days.
Having just escorted a batch to the shelter, he returned and saw a familiar face. His worried expression instantly cleared, and he happily gave Jiang Yan a punch. “Jiang Yan, what wind blew you here?”
It had been at least half a year since they last met. They had enlisted together and shared a deep bond. If it weren’t for Jiang Yan’s injury during a mission and subsequent transfer, they’d still be serving together. Though he was transferred, he ended up at a local Public Security Bureau as deputy director—not far from home—which already indicated his family’s good standing.
Jiang Yan, usually serious and stern, now showed a rare smile, making him look even more handsome. “Your muscles are softening—you’ve been slacking off on training!” Most policemen at the time were former soldiers, so they generally kept up their exercise habits. Both being straightforward, they skipped the formalities.
“Cut to the chase—what brings you here?” Jiang Yan asked, understanding their longstanding rapport. Wang Zhang handed him a sketch of Sang Bei.
“The child’s been missing for over four years. Abduction can’t be ruled out. Can you help find him?” Wang Zhang didn’t ask about the relationship and accepted the request seriously.
They chatted about other matters. “I heard about your work catching spies. Any slip-ups left? Need any help? Don’t hesitate. I usually only mediate neighborhood disputes or catch petty thieves; it’s been ages since I got to stretch my skills.” Having retired two years ago, he constantly reminisced about working shoulder to shoulder with comrades.
Thinking of spies, Jiang Yan pictured a certain enchanting face. In the recent pipeline project, spy activity was exposed because measurement maps were lost and data tampered with. At that time, people skilled in mapping and with higher education were rare, which allowed him to quickly identify suspects. Of course, spies were usually cunning, so a few always slipped through. And here she came across him at a critical moment. She had wanted to ask an old comrade to help with surveillance but stopped herself—if he asked why she suspected someone, what could she say? That someone snuck into his bed at midnight as part of a seduction? Word would spread like wildfire. She decided to handle it herself.
Before leaving, Jiang Yan, tentatively asked, “Since you’re not busy, want to come over for a meal? You know my cousin, that girl—you know, stubborn as she is, if I didn’t stop her, she’d come to the station looking for you.” The cousin had been infatuated with Jiang Yan ever since meeting him, unimpressed by other matches her family tried to set up. He asked tentatively to dissuade her, but seeing Jiang Yan’s expression, it seemed pointless.
Knowing she was under suspicion, Sang Zhi felt a real sense of urgency. Once Jiang Yan was gone, she started looking for chances to rescue people to complete her beginner tasks. But the more she tried, the more fate seemed to oppose her. When pressured, she was prone to acting impulsively—her moral sense in her past life had been practically nonexistent. Perhaps because of that, in this life she was bound to the “merit points” system to incentivize doing good deeds.
After several days of experimentation, she found the system’s restrictions weren’t strict, leaving room for loopholes.
On a cold winter night at 4 a.m., with biting wind and deep darkness—but a sky full of stars giving some comfort—Sang Zhi, bundled in thick clothing and a faded yellow scarf, quietly left the wood factory staff housing compound. After she left, the door behind her opened slightly, and a pair of eyes silently watched her go.
In the 1970s, the city streets weren’t bustling. Walking along the empty roads, everything looked like a black-and-white photo of historical remnants. Under the streetlights, bold red slogans were faintly visible: “Never forget class struggle. Seize the revolution, promote production, promote work, promote combat readiness.”
Passing the western school district, the coke plant, and several dark alleys, she finally entered a long lane. The two men guarding the alleyway scrutinized her briefly, then let her through.
It was the black market. Using 20 merit points, she asked the system for the exact location. In the 1970s, buying essentials—food, clothing, housing—required ration tickets. But in such a period of scarcity, everything was in short supply. The monthly ration wasn’t enough to eat, so if there was demand, a market existed. Here, with money, one could buy what they wanted even without tickets.
She placed her items against the wall and crouched like others, only her bright eyes visible. It was cold, but quite a crowd was inside: bespectacled, emaciated intellectuals; pale, thin women carrying babies and baskets; and patch-covered, anxious-looking farmers. Everyone risked so much just to get a little extra food for their families in these difficult times.
As soon as she sat down, the eldest sister carrying a child had already reached her. The woman’s face was pale as a ghost, her voice trembling.
“Sister, do you have anything for my child to eat? I… I’ll pay for it.”
Most of the black market goods didn’t require ration tickets, but the prices were inflated several times. Rice at the ration station was 0.12 yuan per jin; here it was 0.30. Flour was 0.15 outside, 0.32 here. Soybean oil was 0.82 outside, 2 yuan here. Eggs were scarce—0.61 per jin outside, but here they sold for up to 5 yuan. If too expensive, one could buy by piece, one for 0.80 yuan. Absurd, yes, but these were rare items in high demand.
Sang Zhi had gotten up early today, yet she was in a good mood. Why? After learning the black market location last night, she had only 200 merit points left. According to the system rules and considering contemporary prices, she should have only been able to exchange for 20 yuan worth of goods. Yet after redeeming all her merit points, she had 128 yuan! In other words, the 120 merit points gained unexpectedly over the past two days weren’t converted at the usual ten-to-one rate, but one-to-one. How could she not be overjoyed?
Once she calmed down, she wanted to know—was Jiang Yan the one who had brought such special goods?
A business-minded person, Sang Zhi’s beautiful eyes curved into a smile as she lifted the cloth bag for the woman to see. Under the glow of the firefly-like streetlights, the woman’s eyes widened in astonishment!
Where did this young woman get her connections? In the bag were eggs, red paper-wrapped noodles, and infant formula substitute! The substitute formula was made from soybean flour, rice flour, and a small amount of milk powder. At this time, milk powder was almost impossible to find; even the substitute formula, a cheaper alternative, was mostly supplied to insiders. It wasn’t an exaggeration to say that buying the substitute formula could save a child’s life.
The woman had intended to buy some coarse grains or eggs, but seeing the substitute formula, her whole face lit up with joy. Flustered, she nervously took out some small, scattered tickets wrapped in a handkerchief and asked anxiously,
“How much for one can? I’ll buy as many as you have.”
Her husband had died, and though the army gave a pension and his comrades contributed some money, unexpected expenses always came up. Her mother-in-law couldn’t stop her medication; her son had been sick last month, costing a lot. House repairs had eaten up nearly everything. She was malnourished and had no milk, recently feeding her baby daughter rice water. But the five-month-old seemed to know she was faking and kept her mouth tightly shut, refusing to drink. She had been crying like a kitten these past few days, but today she couldn’t even cry. The woman was near despair.
She waited anxiously for an answer. One bag of substitute formula weighed about one jin. With ration tickets, it would cost 10 yuan; on the black market, how much more would it be?
The young woman’s headscarf was blown open by the night wind, revealing a face as pale as porcelain, with shimmering, watery eyes and slightly upturned corners that radiated an indescribable brightness. The brown paper bag was handed over with both hands. Her voice carried a hint of a smile:
“Ten yuan per bag.”
At the same time, a notification sounded:
“Ding! Congratulations, host, you have gained 100 merit points.”