The Stunningly Beautiful and Delicate Darling in the 1980s Military Compound - Chapter 57

Outside Pei Xiaoyu’s house, the scene was one of stark poverty. The thatched hut was incredibly crude; it was so bare that they couldn’t even find a decent stool to sit on. The group had no choice but to wait by a haystack.

Xiao Yong, the delivery guy who came with them, had a face full of disdain. He had agreed to come in a moment of greed, but seeing these wretched surroundings, he was convinced these women wouldn’t have the money to pay him.

Song Mingyue sat beside him, calm and composed. Compared to the young man’s irritable grumbling, she was the picture of serenity. Once he finished his rant, she spoke up coolly: “You’re already here. If you turn back now, won’t the time and effort you spent coming all this way be wasted? We promised to pay you, and we won’t be short by a single cent. Since we’ve made it this far, waiting a little longer won’t hurt.”

“Look, lady, you said we were here for watermelons. Are we just going to stand here and rot?”

“We aren’t waiting for nothing.” Mingyue spotted Pei Xiaoyu running toward them from a distance, and a smile finally touched her lips. “See? Our help has arrived.”

Xiaoyu had rounded up all the villagers who grew melons. To these farmers, this was a godsend. It was the peak of the farming season; they didn’t have the half-day it would take to haul melons to the city, where the market was already oversaturated with competition from other communes. Being able to sell their stock right at their doorstep—even at a slightly lower price—was a huge relief.

Xiao Yong’s complaints vanished as a line of villagers began appearing, carrying baskets of melons. Mingyue set up an old steelyard scale by the vehicle, weighing each melon in front of the villagers to ensure the pricing was transparent.

In no time, the tricycle was loaded with over two hundred catties of watermelon. With a profit margin of 4 cents per catty, this single load represented a significant sum. Mingyue was satisfied; this was the start she needed. However, they had to stop there—not because the villagers were out of melons, but because Mingyue was out of cash. After paying everyone, she had exactly three cents left in her pocket—not even enough for a single catty.

“Drive carefully,” Zhang Jingjing reminded Xiao Yong repeatedly. “These melons are our entire net worth.”

Xiao Yong, who usually made only a yuan or two a day in tips, had watched Mingyue hand out bill after bill to the farmers. He was stunned. He couldn’t fathom why these city women wanted so many melons, but when he heard they were bound for the Steel Plant, he understood. “That place has deep pockets,” he muttered.

Before heading to the factory, Mingyue made a detour to the city’s department store. Zhang Jingjing was confused. “Mingyue, we haven’t even collected our payment yet. Why are we shopping?”

Mingyue ignored the question, walking straight to the tobacco counter. In this era, high-end cigarettes and alcohol were strictly regulated and required “vouchers” or “certificates.”

“I don’t have a voucher,” Mingyue whispered to the sales clerk after browsing the brands. “Can I still buy a carton?”

The clerk waved her off. “No. This is a state-owned unit. We need permits for these items.”

Mingyue leaned in closer. “Please, can you help me out? Our family’s quota is used up, but my father loves these. I’m willing to pay a premium.”

Seeing her sincerity—and the prospect of a little extra “under-the-table” profit—the clerk relented. “What brand? I can only give you one carton.”

“Da Qianmen,” Mingyue said.

Ordinary cigarettes cost 10 to 20 cents a pack, but Da Qianmen was premium. Normally 42 cents with a voucher, the clerk charged her 52 cents without one. The carton cost five yuan and twenty cents—a small fortune—but Mingyue didn’t hesitate. She knew that in business, “Human relations”  required investment. The man at the Steel Plant had done her a huge favor; she couldn’t show up empty-handed.

They arrived at the west gate of the Steel Plant, the entrance used for canteen supplies. Leaving the others at the gate, Mingyue went to the main entrance and asked for “Director Zhou.”

A few minutes later, Zhou Chun appeared. He greeted Mingyue warmly, his hospitality clearly rooted in his respect for her husband, Chen Che.

“Director Zhou, good to see you again,” Mingyue said with a graceful smile.

“Come into the office,” Zhou Chun invited.

Mingyue used Chen Che as a bridge. “I spoke with Chen Che last night; he mentioned we should have you over for dinner soon. You’ve really helped me out this time.”

“Don’t be so formal! Commander Chen and I are old friends,” Zhou Chun said easily. “Are the melons ready? I can have our procurement truck pick them up.”

“No need, we brought them ourselves. They’re at the back gate.”

“Perfect. We’ll distribute them to the workers this afternoon as a cooling benefit.”

Mingyue then produced the carton of Da Qianmen. “I wasn’t sure what you liked, but this is a small token of appreciation from me and my friends.”

“Oh, no, no! I can’t take this,” Zhou Chun protested, though his eyes lingered on the premium brand. “Between me and the Commander, there’s no need for gifts.”

Mingyue insisted. She knew that while Zhou Chun helped because of Chen Che, accepting a gift changed the dynamic. It turned a “favor” into a “relationship.”

Indeed, Zhou Chun was delighted. He hadn’t expected the Commander’s wife to be so socially adept. He loved Da Qianmen, and after accepting the gift, his attitude became even more enthusiastic. He personally oversaw the unloading and counting of the melons.

The canteen staff, seeing their director personally involved, worked at lightning speed. The finance department issued the payment immediately. They settled at 12 cents per catty. “Our factory is doing well; we don’t lack for these few cents,” Zhou Chun assured her.

When the accountant handed Mingyue two large “Red Carp” bills (10-yuan notes) along with some change, she felt a surge of reality.

She had earned it. From her journey from Ping City to Mo City, this was the first time she had earned her own “Great Solidarity” (10-yuan bill).

The taste of making her own money was intoxicating. At that moment, all the sweat and early morning fatigue became worth it. Her confidence swelled. She realized that while everything else—even a husband as sought-after as Chen Che—could be fickle, the money in her hand would never betray her.