Reborn in 1985, starting from the mountains of Northwest China

"Twenty yuan, that's the price a top-quality medicine shop in the provincial capital pays." He shook his head, but his tone softened.

"Although this is a top-quality fresh product, it can only be sold locally and won't keep for long. If it were stored in the south, the price might rise, but there are still considerations regarding spoilage and storage."

"Not to mention connections and risks. We buy fresh produce here for 18.5 yuan, that's the absolute maximum. Second-rate produce stays at 13 yuan. Young man, you won't find another place like this in this county."

Chen Feng knew that the time was almost right.

He weighed the cloth bag in his hand; it was heavy.

He looked up to meet the other person's seemingly regretful but actually shrewd gaze, and his face revealed a timely expression of the young man's inner turmoil—being persuaded yet forcing himself to be agreeable.

"You are an honest person, and what you said makes sense."

His voice was not loud, but it was crisp, as if he had made up his mind.

"Okay, it'll be the price you said. This batch of fresh goods is eighteen yuan and fifty cents. I'll send you more good stuff in the future."

He loosened his grip on the bag and gently pushed it forward.

This small action seemed to push away the last bit of hesitation and also blocked any further attempts by the other party to lower the price.

In business, one must be decisive and efficient. No matter how clear one's mind is, one must also be transparent on the surface.

A glint of satisfaction flashed in the other person's eyes, and the conversation immediately warmed up: "That's right! Young man, you're a sensible person, very straightforward! Bring me any mountain produce or medicinal herbs you have in the future, the price will be fair!"

Chen Feng took the money from the other party and quickly twirled it between his fingers.

Two jin and two liang of good goods, and three jin of inferior goods, totaling seventy-nine yuan and seventy cents, just right.

He didn't say anything more, just nodded and carefully put the money away.

When he turned to leave, his back was straight and his steps were steady, showing no sign of having gained an advantage or suffered a loss.

This price is indeed the highest in the county town; even if the price is higher in more distant places, it's unrealistic.

In that seemingly yielding transaction, I held my ground while also giving the other party room to profit.

Having found a way in, that's considered taking the first step.

Stepping out of the shop filled with the mellow aroma of medicinal herbs, the sunlight began to dazzle.

Chen Feng narrowed his eyes, turning another page in his mental account.

Next time, perhaps we can talk about the price after drying.

The road ahead is long, take it slow.

Seventy-nine yuan and seventy cents, plus the money left over from the last trip to the blacksmith's shop.

It totaled one hundred and three yuan and two mao, with some change and some small change.

As Chen Feng pondered this in his mind, he merged directly into the crowd at the county town's market.

The air was filled with the smells of earth, cooked food, animal manure, and fresh vegetables, creating a noisy yet vibrant atmosphere.

He first walked towards the meat stall at the east end of the market.

It's almost noon; we need to get the good meat out early.

He wasn't a good father in his past life; his two children and wife never got to eat meat.

Now that I've made some money, I need to treat my family to some good food.

The butcher was a burly, dark-faced man surnamed Hu, an acquaintance.

Half a pig was still hanging on the stall. The ribs and pork belly were almost sold out, leaving some hind leg meat and a large, thick piece of fatty pork loin.

"Brother Hu, how do we get the hind legs out?"

Chen Feng pointed to a piece that was bright red and had a distinct texture.

"Hey, Chen Feng!" Butcher Hu waved his gleaming cleaver. "Honor leg meat, one dollar and thirty cents a pound, the old price! This piece... it must weigh over four pounds. If you want it all, I'll give it to you for five dollars!"

Chen Feng pinched the flesh to check its elasticity, then looked at the thickness of the subcutaneous fat and nodded.

"Okay, this piece is fine. Also, please cut off this piece of fat for me to render the lard. The fat will be charged separately."

"Okay!"

Butcher Hu was quick and efficient; with each swing of his cleaver, he separated bones and shaved the fat and lean meat cleanly and efficiently.

Weighing it, the hind leg meat weighed four pounds and one ounce, which is five pieces.

Two and a half pounds of fat, used for rendering oil, is priced at one dollar and fifty cents per pound, or three dollars and seventy-five cents.

"That's eight dollars and seventy-five cents in total, just give me eight dollars and seventy cents!"

Chen Feng counted out the money and handed it over, then took the meat and fat wrapped in thick oil paper and carried it heavily in his hand.

The savory aroma of oil mixed with the fragrance of meat creates a truly satisfying feeling.

He carefully pocketed the change and turned to walk in another direction.

He stopped in front of a stall selling needles, thread, fabrics, and other miscellaneous goods.

The stall owner was a woman with gray hair and wearing reading glasses.

"Auntie, take a look at the fabric. It should be sturdy and durable, and the color should be simple and clean," Chen Feng said.

The woman adjusted her glasses, glanced at him, and pulled out several bolts of cloth from under her clothes: "This is thick work cloth, durable. This is fine cotton, soft to wear next to the skin. The colors are navy, gray, and indigo."

Chen Feng carefully felt the thickness and weave of the fabric.

He ran his fingers over the dark blue work cloth; it was rough, thick, and durable, the kind of cloth he needed for working in the fields and climbing mountains.

His movements paused slightly when his fingertips touched the lighter-colored, softer cotton fabric beside him.

He thought of his wife, Lin Xiu.

When Lin Xiu married into the family, she was wearing a bright red cotton jacket that was only half-new.

Now that red has long since faded to white, patches upon patches, the fabric so thin from washing that it's almost transparent.

She usually wore another gray linen shirt, which was stiff, chafed her skin, not breathable in summer, and not warm in winter.

There were also her son and daughter, whose clothes were almost all made from the adults' old clothes, with the cuffs and pant legs patched together again and again, the colors a mess, like a patchwork shop.

And the last time my daughter saw the neighbor's girl wearing a new floral-patterned jacket, she couldn't hide the envy in her eyes.

His Adam's apple bobbed, and his gaze lingered longer on the fine blue cotton cloth.

The color is simple and understated, unlike bright red or green which are jarring, but it's much softer than linen and comfortable to wear next to the skin.

Let's make Lin Xiu a new jacket, in this color.

The remaining scraps of fabric can be used to sew a little shirt for my son and daughter.

He mentally measured the dimensions.

"This work cloth needs to be twelve feet long, and that fine cotton cloth needs to be eight feet long."

As he spoke, he pointed to the dark blue work cloth, a fine blue cotton cloth.

The woman measured it with a ruler, then swiftly tore open the edge of the cloth.

"Labor cloth is 35 cents a foot, so 12 feet is 4.2 yuan. Fine cotton cloth is 28 cents a foot, so 8 feet is 2.24 yuan. That's 6.44 yuan in total, give me 6.4 yuan."

Chen Feng didn't haggle anymore, and counted out six yuan and forty cents and handed it over.

He carefully put the cloth bag and the meat bag away, feeling a little more at ease.

Next, it's time to remove another weight from my heart—paying back the money.

He turned into a small alley and found an inconspicuous grocery store.

The blade of our old hoe broke last time, and we urgently need to use it.

Lin Xiu brought money to buy iron materials, but she didn't have enough.

It was Manager Zhao, a fellow villager, who squatted behind the counter, puffing on his pipe. He didn't say much and simply gave her the money on credit.

The amount owed on credit was small, only one dollar and twenty cents, but the trust and friendship it represented were profound.

He went in and paid his debt. The shopkeeper crossed something out of a tattered notebook, and they nodded to each other without saying much.

He felt a little relieved as he walked out of the grocery store.

Being in debt is never a pleasant experience.

Finally, he walked toward the area on the edge of the market where live poultry were sold.