"Comrade Meng, did you go out of the village?" Song Nianchu called out to Meng Yingying.
Meng Yingying, who had been walking home with her head down, was startled by Song Nianchu's voice.
"What's wrong? Is my voice that scary?" Song Nianchu began to doubt herself.
"No, I was just lost in thought." Meng Yingying calmed down when she saw it was Song Nianchu.
"Where did you go?" Song Nianchu glanced at her, noticing something tucked in her pocket.
"Nowhere special, just took a walk outside." Meng Yingying's voice sounded tense.
"I see. Then come with me to the village office—the work whistle has already sounded," Song Nianchu suggested.
"Huh?" Meng Yingying looked at her in surprise.
"Is there something else you need to do?" Song Nianchu asked.
"N-no, nothing." Meng Yingying quickly shook her head.
"Then let's go together." Song Nianchu extended the invitation.
"...Alright."
Meng Yingying walked beside Song Nianchu toward the village office, occasionally slipping her hand into her pocket.
Song Nianchu pretended not to notice the gesture, chatting with her the whole way.
Only when they reached the village office did Meng Yingying finally find an excuse.
"I’ll go get to work now." With that, she hurried off.
But Song Nianchu’s gaze lingered on her. What was in her pocket?
Why was she being so cautious?
And beneath that caution, there seemed to be a hint of fear.
Emotions churned fiercely in Song Nianchu’s eyes.
For the rest of the day, she kept glancing in Meng Yingying’s direction.
Meng Yingying seemed restless, as if struggling with something, until Wu Gang and the others prepared to make a delivery. Only then did she finally relax.
Song Nianchu was supposed to accompany Wu Gang to the cannery that afternoon to deliver a handcart to one of the workers, so she couldn’t keep watching Meng Yingying. Instead, she turned to Aunt Wu.
"Aunt Wu, I’m worried Comrade Meng might still be in a bad place. Could you keep an eye on her this afternoon? If anything happens, you can step in."
"Hasn’t Comrade Meng moved on yet? She seems fine to me," Aunt Wu said, glancing toward Song Nianchu.
"It’s just a feeling I have," Song Nianchu replied softly.
"Alright, I’ll watch over her today." Aunt Wu pitied Meng Yingying’s situation and was willing to help where she could.
"Thank you, Aunt Wu." Song Nianchu was grateful.
"Don’t mention it. Comrade Meng is part of our village too—it’s only right to look out for her," Aunt Wu chided gently.
"My mistake. Then I’ll head out with Wu Gang now." Song Nianchu smiled apologetically.
"Go on, then." Aunt Wu waved her off.
Song Nianchu went home to fetch the brand-new handcart. Since it was meant for someone else, she didn’t load anything onto it, simply pulling the empty cart to the glass factory.
While Wu Gang and the others were canning, Song Nianchu found the worker who had ordered the handcart.
The man’s eyes widened when he saw the cart.
"It’s done already? I thought I’d have to wait longer!"
"We worked overnight to finish it—didn’t want to keep you waiting," Song Nianchu said, careful not to make it sound too easy. Otherwise, the buyer might think he overpaid.
"I wasn’t in that much of a hurry," the man admitted sheepishly.
"No trouble. Try it out first—see if it works for you." Song Nianchu gestured.
"Gladly!" The man was eager to test it.
As soon as she spoke, he lifted the cart and pushed it around. Empty, it glided smoothly, just like Song Nianchu’s own.
He then loaded it with goods, testing its weight capacity, and was just as satisfied. Without hesitation, he paid Song Nianchu the remaining balance.
Pleased, Song Nianchu tucked the money away and went to find Wu Gang. She loved the security that came with earning money.
Wu Gang’s group still had to deliver goods to the state-run restaurant, but since Song Nianchu was running low on groceries at home, she parted ways with them at the cannery and headed to the supply and marketing cooperative.
A long line had already formed outside the cooperative. Song Nianchu joined the end.
Just as her turn approached, a middle-aged woman cut in, slamming a can of fish onto the counter in front of the salesclerk.
"What’s the meaning of this? I specifically asked for the same fish cans they serve at the state-run restaurant, but what you sold me tastes nothing like it! Give me a refund, or I’ll report you for selling fakes!"
"Comrade, you’d better watch your words. All our goods come through proper channels. Accusing us of fraud is slander—we could have you arrested!" The salesclerk refused to back down.
"Now you’re turning this on me?" The woman’s chest heaved with anger. She grabbed the glass jar from the counter and turned to address the crowd still waiting in line.
"Everyone, listen to this! Yesterday, I bought a fish can here after they swore up and down it was the same as the ones at the state-run restaurant. But when I tried it at home, it was completely different!"
"Are they deliberately cheating us? If they pull stunts like this, who’d dare shop here again?"
"The supply and marketing cooperative is supposed to serve the people! But if they exploit us, they deserve to be shamed!"
The woman’s voice was sharp and carried far, silencing the line and drawing passersby.
The salesclerk, unprepared for such a fierce confrontation, hurried off to fetch the manager.
"Comrade, let’s discuss this calmly. Spreading rumors is irresponsible—you could cause panic and be held accountable!" The manager rushed over, trying to placate the woman.
"Rumors? Every word I’ve said is true! You’ve deceived the people, and if you don’t make this right today, I won’t leave!" The woman’s temper flared—even the manager’s presence didn’t intimidate her.
Song Nianchu noticed the fish can in the woman’s hands resembled her own product. Combined with the mention of the state-run restaurant, she understood immediately.
Someone at the cooperative was selling imitation fish cans.
Anyone could make fish cans, but passing them off as hers was unacceptable.
"That fish can the auntie is holding definitely isn’t the same as the ones from the state-run restaurant," Song Nianchu spoke up, her voice clear.
All eyes turned to her.
"And who are you?" The manager, already struggling with the first woman, glared at this new interruption, his temple throbbing.
