OLD CHINESE CURRENCY

1.00 one yuan

0.10 one jiao / mao

0.01 one fen

1.11 one yuan one jiao and one fen

1 jin = 500 grams = 0.5 kilogram

“Xiaolan, how did you know how to sell things like that?” Liu Fen clutched the money in her hand, feeling more and more that her daughter was frighteningly smart.

Xia Xiaolan shot back confidently, “Does that really need to be learned?”

The onlookers standing nearby all wore mournful expressions.

If that doesn’t need learning, then at our age, haven’t we lived our whole lives for nothing?

Before long, the auntie who had bought duck eggs earlier came rushing back with several others in tow.

“That’s her! She hasn’t run off yet!”

Liu Fen turned pale, thinking something had gone wrong with the eggs. The auntie led her companions forward and surrounded Xia Xiaolan.

“The duck eggs! Same price as before, right?”

Xia Xiaolan nodded. “Of course. Buy more and it’s cheaper.”

The women immediately started talking over one another. One asked for a bigger discount, another complained that wild duck eggs weren’t as tasty as chicken eggs, while someone else nitpicked the size. Xia Xiaolan only smiled.

People who complain are usually the ones who end up buying anyway. She let them vent—it cost her nothing.

Sure enough, seeing that Xia Xiaolan wouldn’t budge and kept her pleasant smile throughout, the three women still bought up all the remaining eggs.

Eighty-four duck eggs, sold to four people—each buying twenty-one. Xia Xiaolan had calculated it perfectly, exploiting that tiny itch people have to feel like they’re getting a better deal.

Naturally, she didn’t collect the extra one-fen (0.01) change from any of them.

The same people who had just been fussing over everything were now beaming once they paid.

The only miscalculation was the ducklings. The few wild duck chicks she’d brought didn’t sell well. City folk lived in cramped quarters and didn’t have spare grain to raise ducks. No one wanted them.

Eighty-four wild duck eggs earned nine yuan and two Mao (9.20). Xia Xiaolan handed the money to Liu Fen, but Liu Fen insisted she keep it herself.

Xia Xiaolan wanted to take a look around the county town, maybe spot another opportunity to make money. Just then, the man selling sweet potatoes came over.

“Want to trade those ducklings for sweet potatoes?”

He’d been eyeing her sales all along. City people couldn’t raise ducks, but he could.

Xia Xiaolan really didn’t want sweet potatoes. Eat too many and your stomach bloats. But Liu Fen was tempted. Sweet potatoes had high yield, and it was harvest season—one jin (0.5 kg) of sweet potatoes couldn’t even be traded for a single egg.

Eggs were precious in 1983.

After thinking it over, Xia Xiaolan said, “Twenty jin. Round number. You get all eight ducklings.”

The man frowned. “One jin for one duckling. If they grow up and fly away, I’ll lose big.”

Wild ducks would definitely fly off if not tamed. Xia Xiaolan said seriously, “Just clip their wing feathers. Where are they going to fly? If twenty jin (10 kg) is too much, I’ll take them home and raise them myself.”

Sweet potatoes weren’t worth much. Ducks could be fed vegetable leaves, grass, even earthworms. Aside from being a bit troublesome, they didn’t cost grain. Eight ducks raised properly could produce at least two laying ducks—earning two mao a day, sixty mao a month, thirty-six yuan a year.

She laid out the math clearly.

The man stopped bargaining and really did trade twenty jin of sweet potatoes for the ducklings.

Mother and daughter loaded the potatoes into a reed basket and wandered through the county town. Liu Fen had never imagined money could be earned this easily.

Selling duck eggs plus twenty jin of sweet potatoes, no matter how you counted it, that was worth at least ten yuan.

Back in the countryside, farming year-round barely earned two hundred yuan a year, and much of that went into seeds and fertilizer. What little remained had to cover children’s schooling—and heaven forbid anyone got seriously ill.

Ten yuan in one day.

Three hundred in a month?

Liu Fen couldn’t even calculate what that meant in a year.

It was a pity duck eggs couldn’t be gathered every day. She sighed a little over the ducklings.

“Mom could’ve raised them… clipped their wings, let them lay eggs. That’s long-term.”

Xia Xiaolan wasn’t impatient. She knew Liu Fen was a genuine rural woman—uninformed, constrained by the closed-off mindset of the 1980s, honest to a fault, used to enduring hardship. If Xiaolan wanted to pull her out of Dahe Village someday, she had to change her thinking little by little.

“Mom. Ducklings might not survive, and the payoff takes too long. We can’t afford to wait. Besides, who knows how often they’d lay eggs? No duck lays eggs all 365 days.”

Xia Xiaolan explained carefully. Liu Fen finally understood.

They made a full round of the county town and bought necessities at the supply cooperative—salt, candles, matches. Every coin spent made Liu Fen’s heart ache, but their house had nothing. The Xia family hadn’t even let them take a quilt when they left.

Clenching her teeth, Liu Fen said, “When we get back, I’ll take your clothes.”

Summer wasn’t cold, but not changing or washing would make anyone stink.

Xia Xiaolan originally wanted to buy refined grain, but the shop asked for grain coupons. Without them, the price was too high. And with that unlocked shack they were living in, storing food wasn’t safe anyway. She bought an iron lock instead.

By 1983, some regions were slowly abolishing the coupon system. In Anqing County, many daily necessities no longer required tickets. Grain and meat coupons still existed, as did industrial vouchers for appliances.

Xia Xiaolan knew—rapid social change meant opportunity.

She also knew the era of needing grain coupons to eat would eventually end. Profiting off coupons now would be suicidal.

The real opportunities lay in information gaps—changes happening so fast that most people hadn’t caught up yet.

She didn’t need every chance. Just one or two would be enough to soar in the 1980s.

“Xiaolan… should we head back?”

Liu Fen wasn’t used to crowds. Too much time in town made her uncomfortable.

City people weren’t necessarily better dressed—but their clothes were clean. Unlike hers and Xia Xiaolan’s, patched in several places, screaming country folk. Xia Xiaolan had once cared deeply about appearances. She’d had decent clothes. After her head injury, Hongxia from Third Uncle’s family had taken all the good ones.

At the time, Liu Fen hadn’t even noticed. She’d been praying the old matriarch would agree to send her daughter to the hospital. Liu Fen wanted to go home. Xia Xiaolan’s stomach was already growling, and the thought of a two-hour walk was despair-inducing.

“Let’s eat a bowl of noodles before we go.”

The roadside stall didn’t require coupons. A bowl of big-bone soup noodles cost just three mao (0.30).

The broth was milky white, the noodles pale and fine. Liu Fen couldn’t remember the last time she’d eaten refined grain like this.

“Auntie, two bowls of noodles!”

Xia Xiaolan pulled Liu Fen down onto a small stool. The rich aroma of bone soup drifted straight into their noses.

Liu Fen waved her hand frantically. “One bowl—just one!”

How could she bear to spend three mao on a bowl of noodles? Xia Xiaolan ignored her and handed over six mao.

As she cooked, the stall owner smiled.

“Your daughter’s filial. Big sister, you’re destined for a good life.”

A hint of a smile appeared on Liu Fen’s dark, weathered face.

But when she remembered Xia Xiaolan’s ruined reputation across the villages, even when the steaming, fragrant bowls were placed before her, Liu Fen had no appetite.

“Vroom—”

A large truck pulled up by the roadside. The passenger door swung open, and a young man in military boots jumped down, holding two aluminum lunchboxes.

Drawn by the scent of bone soup, he looked up....

and his eyes immediately locked onto Xia Xiaolan.

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