6 Withdrawing Money

With Fang Xiaomei watching jealously nearby, Ye Qingzhi felt as if the air itself had grown fresher.

Having planted all the necessary crops, the busiest time was over. Ye Qingzhi could finally take a day off. She planned to withdraw the money Wei Jiancheng had sent—leaving it untouched in her pocket never felt right.

“Third Uncle, I need to take a day off tomorrow. Could you give me a certificate? I have to go to the county seat,” Ye Qingzhi said as she visited the village chief’s home.

“Going to the county seat? Is there something important?” The village chief looked at her with curiosity.

“To buy some things,” Ye Qingzhi replied, smiling as she took the certificate he wrote.

Just as the chief was about to ask more, Aunt San nudged him with her elbow. “The sooner you go and come back, the better. Be careful on the road.”

After Ye Qingzhi left, the chief looked at Aunt San in confusion. “Why did you stop me?”

She shot him a sidelong glance. “Someone from a wealthy family introduced a suitor for Qingzhi. I guess she’s going to meet him.”

The chief hesitated. “It hasn’t been long since Jiancheng died.”

Aunt San was displeased. “Wei Jiancheng has been gone six years. Qingzhi has been alone all that time, raising two children by herself. You don’t know how hard it’s been for her, but as the village chief, you should. Jiancheng, on the other hand, was enjoying life elsewhere with his mistress. Now that he’s dead, does she still have to keep mourning for him?”

Seeing Aunt San’s anger, the chief quickly added, “I didn’t mean it like that. Qingzhi is still young, and raising two children alone is tough. Remarrying is understandable. It’s just that doing it too soon might harm her reputation.”

Times were different now—divorce and remarriage were no longer taboo, but moving on too quickly still raised eyebrows.

“It’s not like she’s getting married immediately. They’ll meet first, and if it’s suitable, they’ll keep it private and only marry after the hundred-day mourning period for Wei Jiancheng,” Aunt San explained, echoing what Ye Dama had said.

That sounded reasonable. Finding a suitable match wasn’t easy anyway.

Back home, Ye Qingzhi took two eggs from the cupboard, ready to fry them.

Since arriving in this world, though she couldn’t afford meat, eggs had never been scarce.

Not only was her own health weak, but her two children were small and severely malnourished. If they didn’t eat eggs, she feared they wouldn’t grow taller. Of course, she had to eat some herself or else she might not survive long.

“Mom, we can’t keep eating eggs. If we run out, how will we exchange for salt and matches?” Wei Anmin asked anxiously.

Ye Qingzhi pinched his cheek. “Don’t worry. Soon the fields won’t be busy. I know some medicinal herbs I can dig up and sell to trade for salt and matches.”

She knew about gastrodia and motherwort; she had even dug them with her eldest brother before. There were also rehmannia and anemone, though she wasn’t sure which the procurement station accepted. She planned to ask when she went to the county seat to get the money.

“But mom, selling things might get you arrested,” Wei Anmin said nervously, grabbing her arm.

“No, I’m selling to the state at the procurement station. It’s legal,” Ye Qingzhi smiled and explained.

Though speculation and profiteering were banned, the government allowed peasants to sell agricultural byproducts during slack seasons.

Hearing this, the boys’ eyes lit up. They begged Ye Qingzhi to teach them to recognize herbs, so they could gather them while cutting pigweed, easing the family’s burden somewhat.

At seven and six years old, they were remarkably mature—a true testament to the saying that poor children grow up fast.

Ye Qingzhi tousled their hair before patting their backs and sending them off to wash up and eat.

Perhaps from eating more eggs recently, the boys’ faces had filled out a bit, and Ye Qingzhi’s complexion looked healthier, too.

After washing the dishes and heating water for a bath, she sighed deeply—life without a proper bathroom was truly inconvenient.

Touching her face, she wondered if it was just her imagination, but her skin seemed softer and her hands and legs a shade lighter, almost matching her chest’s complexion.

“Mom, can you tell us the story of the Monkey King again tonight?” Wei Anjie clung to her arm, eyes full of hope.

“Of course. Let me continue from where I left off yesterday…”

Without phones or computers, and no TV in their household—let alone a radio—Ye Qingzhi had often told her children stories to pass the time. The boys loved it.

Early the next morning, after instructing the boys, Ye Qingzhi set out for the county seat.

She first arrived at Dayang Village to catch a bus, which cost five cents. She handed the ticket seller the money she had prepared and found a seat.

“Comrade, all other seats are taken. May I sit here?” a well-dressed man asked softly from the aisle.

Ye Qingzhi looked up and quickly nodded. “Of course.”

He had bought a ticket and was polite to ask; she could hardly refuse.

The man glanced at Ye Qingzhi—her almond-shaped eyes, rosy cheeks, and full red lips made her quite beautiful, though she was thin and wore faded, patched clothes, suggesting a poor background.

He hesitated about asking if she was married but saw her close her eyes, frowning slightly—probably motion sick—and decided not to bother her.

Ye Qingzhi could handle the bus ride, but the pungent smell made her dizzy.

An hour later, they arrived at the county bus station. Covering her mouth and nose, Ye Qingzhi hurried off, unaware of the man’s unspoken words.

After asking around, she found the post office and walked briskly over. The county seat was small, just a ten-minute walk away.

“Hello, comrade. I’m here to withdraw money,” she said, handing over the remittance slip and ID.

“What is your relationship to the sender? Do you have proof?” the clerk asked cautiously.

“He was my husband. Here are the letters he wrote me,” Ye Qingzhi quickly offered two sheets of paper. “He worked on the Third Front and passed away from illness last month. I was devastated, so I only came today.”

After reading Wei Jiancheng’s farewell letter, the clerk sympathized and didn’t ask further. Efficiently, he stamped the papers and handed her the money.

“Death is irreversible. I hope your future will be peaceful,” he offered kindly.

Ye Qingzhi’s eyes reddened. “Thank you. I have two sons. For their sake, I will live well.”

Watching her leave, an older clerk sighed, “She’s truly beautiful and refined—not like a countryside woman. Such a pity.”

Walking away, Ye Qingzhi wiped her eyes. Being a young widow sometimes worked in her favor—it garnered sympathy.

Next, she visited the county department store. It was called a “department store,” but it was only slightly larger than the town’s supply and marketing cooperative, smaller than any supermarket in later times.

Everything required ration coupons, meaning even with money, not everything was purchasable. Fortunately, she managed to buy two pieces of egg cake—luckily, she arrived early enough.

Then she went to the procurement station. They accepted gastrodia, rehmannia, and motherwort. Motherwort was common and cheap; gastrodia was the most valuable, even buying fresh. Top grade fetched one mao per unit, first grade eight fen, second grade five fen, and anything lower was rejected.

Ye Qingzhi’s eyes lit up. Gastrodia weighed heavily; even second grade at five fen per jin was a good price.

She hoped the mountains still had gastrodia; if not, motherwort would have to do, as she had seen it there.

The return trip was early, so the bus was less crowded and the air fresher, making the ride less unpleasant and allowing her to enjoy the scenery.

At Dayang Village, she got off and, once outside the village, wrapped the egg cakes tightly in lotus leaves.

The scent of the sweet cakes was strong. Given their poor circumstances, it wouldn’t do if outsiders caught the aroma.

Back home, Ye Qingzhi put away her things but found no sign of the children—likely still cutting pigweed up the mountain.

At dusk, the boys returned, beaming when they saw Ye Qingzhi had prepared dinner.

“Why are you so late? Did you go deep into the mountain again?” Ye Qingzhi fetched water for them to wash their hands and faces, scolding gently, “You’re still young. Don’t go too far. The wild beasts in the mountain like children with tender skin and flesh. Don’t worry. I asked the procurement station—they buy gastrodia, rehmannia, and motherwort. Though I’m not sure if they have gastrodia or rehmannia, I know motherwort is accepted. We can trade it for supplies.”

The boys nodded excitedly. Every little bit of income gave them hope.

By seven in the evening, the village was quiet; most had gone to sleep.

It was the fifteenth day of the lunar month. The moon was bright and full, lighting everything without lamps.

Ye Qingzhi locked the door and quietly took out the egg cakes. “Mom bought these in the county seat today. Let’s eat them together, but quietly—don’t let anyone find out or tell anyone, okay?”

The warning was mainly for Wei Anjie. Wei Anmin was sensible and wouldn’t spill the secret.

The boys stared at the fragrant cakes, nodding like little chicks pecking at rice.

Watching their eager faces, Ye Qingzhi smiled faintly. No matter how mature, they were still children. She herself was swallowing hard, the aroma was irresistible.

She divided the two egg cakes into three equal parts.

Unlike some mothers who sacrifice their share for their children, Ye Qingzhi did not. Whether these children were hers or not, she was no saint. She was a first-time mother—why should she suffer?

They all nibbled their portions. Ye Qingzhi and Wei Anjie savored the taste, but Wei Anmin was already regretful, worried.

“What’s wrong?” Ye Qingzhi asked, amused by his changing expressions.

“Mom, egg cake is expensive, isn’t it?” Wei Anmin frowned deeply.

Since Dad died, Mom had been spending more freely. Their savings were already meager; buying egg cake surely drained what little they had left. How would they survive now?

He decided he must watch Mom closely to prevent reckless spending.

Sighing, Wei Anmin felt the weight of the household resting on his young shoulders.

Ye Qingzhi poked his puffed-up cheek. “Don’t worry, Mom knows what she’s doing. Now go rinse your mouth, then it’s time for bed.”

Rinse their mouths?

Both boys refused stubbornly, reluctant to wash away the sweet taste.

After much coaxing, Ye Qingzhi insisted they rinse before bed, then returned to her room.

She carefully hid the money. Though only a hundred yuan, it gave her a great sense of security.

Three days after returning from the county, Ye Qingzhi was weeding when Ye Dama slowly approached.

“Qingzhi, I’m sorry. The suitor I introduced earlier has someone he likes,” Ye Dama said, looking apologetic.

Ye Qingzhi chuckled lightly. “It’s fine. Saves me the trouble of meeting him.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll find you someone better,” Ye Dama promised confidently.

“All right. No rush. We’ll take it slowly,” Ye Qingzhi nodded calmly.