"By now, there’s probably only leftover veggies and meat. To get fresh ingredients, you gotta get up early. But this hour has perks—like big-city supermarket clearance sales. You can haggle! Don’t hold back. Vendors are rushing to pack up and share dinner with family. Selling anything now is pure profit."
Qi Yan knew this well. To spice up meals, he often camped in supermarket discount sections. Not like manga scenes—no frantic rushes or fistfights over deals. Just unsold or near-expiry items nobody wanted.
"Oh, right! Any foods you can’t eat or just hate?" she asked, turning her head.
"My sister and I aren’t picky."
More like they never had the luxury. Their childhood wasn’t wealthy, even after moving to the city. They ate whatever Mom cooked. Qi Yan still vividly remembered being spanked for refusing meals as a kid.
"Perfect. Buy carrots, cucumbers, potatoes—veggies that keep well without yellowing or losing flavor. For napa cabbage, spinach, and water spinach, come back tomorrow. Today’s stock’s stale, splashed with water to look fresh and add weight. Don’t trust those sweet old uncles and aunties. They’re sly. Cheating on the scale is normal, especially for newcomers like you. If they don’t fleece you, they’d feel they haven’t earned street cred here."
"R-Really?" Qi Yan stammered, shocked. The world was harsh. He had much to learn.
Stepping into the open-air market, Qi Yan felt like entering another world. The quiet space erupted into chaos. Every elderly vendor stretched out hands, calling: "Young man, young lady! What veggies? I’ve got—"
For a moment, he had the illusion of supermarket coin rides shouting, "Pretty girl, handsome boy, come play!"
"First rule: don’t get swayed by enthusiastic uncles and aunties. Head straight for what you need."
The girl’s market tutorial began.
"But you’ve lived in the city. Never haggled, right? Let me show you." She rolled up her sleeves, dead serious.
"Hem hem, Granny, how much for these carrots?"
"One fifty per jin. Packing up, so one twenty for you."
"You’re closing anyway. Eighty cents per jin?"
"No way. At least one dollar."
"Ninety cents! I’ll buy more from your stall. You’re closing anyway."
"Alright, alright."
After a back-and-forth battle of wits, she won. Other veggies and fruits cost under one dollar per jin too.
"Granny, keep the scale level!"
"Sorry, dear. Old age blurs my eyes."
Most vendors used old-fashioned balance scales. Digital ones were rare. Newcomers often got cheated on weight.
Observing along the way, Qi Yan grasped basics. For pork: understate weight. Want three jin? Ask for two. Or they’ll add extra. Specify cuts clearly—tenderloin, blade steak, pork neck. Or they’ll sell fatty trimmings at premium prices.
Beef was all water-injected. Few locals raised cattle; cows were for plowing. All beef came from city suppliers, shipped to town.
"Big haul today!" Uncle Lin chuckled, watching Qi Yan carry bags.
"Hmph! With me, of course!" The girl declared proudly, hands on hips, chin up.
"Settle your bill too!" Uncle Lin grabbed an old-school calculator. Beep beep beep—it clicked as he tallied prices. Qi Yan’s list became a receipt, each item priced.
"Total 668 yuan. I’ll give 25% off—wholesale price. 500 yuan. Check my math?" He showed the calculator.
"Too cheap? Zero profit?"
This discount blew Qi Yan’s mind.
"No worries! We told your dad the same. Countryside has more heart than cities. Take it as your parents’ legacy. Accept gratefully!"
"Oh, heard you lack cabinets. Inconvenient. My shop has old shelves we’re discarding. Take them."
No reason to refuse. This town was their parents’ true legacy—not the four-digit bank sum, nor the unreachable house, but here.
How did he know about the cabinets? Qi Yan didn’t ask awkwardly. He accepted gratefully.
"Xiao Yan, lend a hand! Load these. Put meat and veggies in the driver’s seat. I’ll give you a ride," Uncle Lin called.
"Okay."
"Strong despite looking skinny," Uncle Lin praised, watching Qi Yan lift a large box alone.
"I do part-time jobs at school."
"Not enough. Build a sturdier body, or no girlfriend. Hahaha..." He slapped Qi Yan’s shoulder, laughing heartily.
Qi Yan missed the joke. What did muscle have to do with girlfriends?
In the passenger seat, he realized he hadn’t properly thanked the masked girl. Today’s haul was impossible without her. He’d have been a cash cow, fleeced by supermarket tags, then lugged groceries home exhausted.
He leaned out the window. "Your name?"
"Hmm... Lin..." She hesitated two seconds. "Qin Lin."
"Miss Qin Lin, thank you—"
"No need. Just doing right. We’ll meet again." She waved goodbye.
Qi Yan wanted her contact—to repay her, treat her to dinner, or draw a free portrait. He could manage that.
But Uncle Lin started the car, cutting him off.
The girl watched the car fade, Qi Yan’s stunned face vanishing. She stretched lazily, muttering, "Xiao Ran’s brother hasn’t changed... so dense, so slow, so foolish."
She walked behind the shop, pulled out a bicycle, and pedaled slowly home.
"Mom, I’m back!" She parked at the door.
"Guoguo! Where’d you wander? Xiao Yan and Xiao Ran are back. Take this fresh bok choy to them! Haven’t met them?"
"Met them. Already did."
"Eh? When? No one told me—"
"No need to tell you. I’m heading to my room. Call me for dinner."
"Guoguo, your music teacher said you skipped class again!"
"Only music and study hall."
"Sigh, this rebellious phase is endless. Why hate music? You loved singing since little. You even made the teacher cry."
