Chapter 9: Shopping, My Mom is Amazing

Chapter 9: My Mom's the Best at Shopping

Qin Zihang tiptoed out from under the covers—shh, can't wake Mom up. She needed to rest well.

Qin Yizhou took him to brush his teeth and wash his face. Then, hand in hand, the father and son stepped outside, heading to the mess hall.

But the next moment, Qin Zihang yanked his hand away from Qin Yizhou’s grip and clutched the doorframe.

“What’s wrong?” Qin Yizhou was taken aback. His son had been fine just a moment ago.

“Dad, you’re not trying to sell me, are you?” Qin Zihang hugged the door tightly, staring at his father. “Dad, even though I’m valuable, I can’t leave Mom.”

Qin Yizhou was speechless. “Who told you I’d sell you?”

“The family down the hall—their child went missing,” Qin Zihang said.

That family’s father had taken his child to the train station and abandoned her. The child was a girl, and the family didn’t want a daughter. On top of that, the girl hadn’t started speaking yet, and the grandmother often complained that something was wrong with her. In a fit of anger, the father had abandoned her—not at the capital’s train station but at another stop after taking a train there.

The incident had spread among the neighbors, whispered about in private. Some even said the family had sold the child. Nobody reports these things, and without evidence, no officials investigate. *(Note: Historically, some families preferred sons over daughters, leading to tragic cases like this one.)*

“Not lost—sold,” Qin Zihang insisted. “For a lot of money.”

Passersby stopped to glance at them.

Qin Yizhou almost wanted to cover his son’s mouth, but doing so would only make the boy think he really intended to sell him.

“Your mom and I only have you. We’d never sell you,” Qin Yizhou said. “We’re People's Liberation Army soldiers—we don’t sell children.”

“Really?” Qin Zihang asked cautiously, still refusing to let go of the doorframe.

“Selling what?” Zhang Chenghai stood nearby, munching on a baozi (steamed bun). He was on his way to the military base and happened to witness the scene.

The two families were neighbors, so running into each other was common.

“Nothing’s being sold,” Qin Yizhou said, stepping closer to Qin Zihang and scooping him up. “Let’s go get breakfast.”

“No breakfast at home?” Zhang Chenghai asked.

“We’re leaving,” Qin Yizhou replied, eager to stop Qin Zihang from saying anything else that might invite ridicule.

Qin Zihang didn’t fuss. Being carried by his dad made him happy. He was still young—of course he missed his father. Seeing other kids being held by their dads had always made him envious. But with his dad gone so often, he didn’t dare bring it up to his mom. She was already doing so much for him.

Qin Yizhou wondered if his son had come up with that crazy idea just to get carried.

By the time the two returned with breakfast, Song Fenglan was awake. During the meal, Qin Yizhou recounted Qin Zihang’s morning antics.

“Surprised?” Song Fenglan took a bite of her meat bun. “Other kids usually cling to the door because they don’t want to go to school. Ours does it because he’s afraid you’ll sell him.”

This wasn’t the first—or even the second—time their son had shocked them. Parents just had to get used to these mortifying parenting moments. After enough incidents, you either stop caring or keep dying of embarrassment.

“I haven’t been home much, so he’s not used to me,” Qin Yizhou defended his son. He didn’t want to say anything that might upset the boy. He already felt guilty for not being there enough—he needed to reassure him.

Song Fenglan glanced at him. “Hmm. You two haven’t seen each other in a long time. It’ll take time.”

“Right, it’ll take time,” Qin Yizhou nodded, he said.

"..." Song Fenglan couldn’t help but glance at Qin Yizhou again. Well, he had to work and didn’t often bring their son along. Men also had thicker skin, so they didn’t have to worry about social shame.

"Dad, are we going out later?" Qin Zihang asked. "Are we buying something?"

"Yes, we’re buying things," Qin Yizhou replied. "Eat up."

Qin Yizhou found a car. This time, they were going to the city to buy fabric and other supplies, and they also needed to bring back a fengrenji sewing machine—oh, and a radio (shouyinji) too. Qin Yizhou thought about his wife and son at home with no other entertainment, so he wanted to buy more things to keep them from getting bored. There was too much to carry back by hand, so they needed a car to transport everything.

Nancheng (a provincial city) wasn’t as big as the capital, but the market still had plenty of goods. Qin Yizhou had already prepared the money and supply tickets. Buying things would go smoothly.

"Let me see that blue piece of fabric," Song Fenglan said when they reached the fabric counter. She needed to examine the material and compare different types.

Some fabrics felt unpleasant—too rough. Children had delicate skin and loved to run and jump. Rough fabric could easily chafe their skin. If someone just sat still, rougher fabric might be fine, but for active people, softer fabric was better.

The clerk watched as Song Fenglan compared the fabrics but didn’t say much, nor did she assume they couldn’t afford it. These fabrics weren’t hers, and selling more wouldn’t earn her extra money. She couldn’t be bothered—she just didn’t like fetching fabric for customers. She’d prefer if they picked one at a glance so she wouldn’t have to move around.

Song Fenglan ignored the clerk’s attitude. In this era, many clerks behaved this way under China's state-controlled planned economy (where all goods had guaranteed markets). These goods were in high demand anyway, with no worries about selling.

"Let’s see," Song Fenglan said, draping the fabric over her son for a moment.

"Be careful," the clerk said impatiently. "This fabric is valuable. Don’t damage it. And—are your child’s hands clean?"

"Of course they are," Song Fenglan frowned. The clerk was downright rude.

"Very clean," Qin Zihang held out his hands for the clerk to see.

"They might look clean, but who knows—"

"Who knows what?" Qin Yizhou’s expression darkened. He had brought his wife and son out happily to shop, but this clerk’s words were too harsh.

Qin Yizhou wasn’t wearing his military uniform—just plain clothes. He hadn’t intended to use his status to intimidate anyone. But his aura alone was intimidating, and the clerk backed off. She pursed her lips unhappily and stepped aside.

"Are there other places that sell fabric?" Song Fenglan asked, holding her son. She refused to back down.

"Yes," Qin Yizhou nodded. He had bought fabric here before.

Back when he had returned to the capital, he had once come to buy fabric to bring back for Song Fenglan. Nancheng wasn’t a small place—it was a decent-sized city with plenty of shops. There were multiple places selling the same goods.

"Mom, my hands are clean," Qin Zihang said in a small voice. "I didn’t even play with mud."

"They’re clean," Song Fenglan checked his hands and gave them a gentle squeeze. "Very clean."

Some children’s hands might indeed be dirty, but his weren’t.

Song Fenglan wasn’t upset about the clerk’s words—it was the clerk’s openly displeased and impatient attitude that bothered her. She refused to back down in front of her son, especially when it involved him. She had to be careful not to let him think adults always gave in, or that children were wrong even when they weren’t.

After the family of three walked a little farther away, the clerk muttered, "All dressed up, but probably can’t even afford the fabric."

She thought she had seen it all—some people looked nice and dressed well, but they’d already spent all their money. How could they afford anything else?

Qin Yizhou took Song Fenglan and their son to another store, where the clerk’s attitude was much better.

"My, what a cute boy! He looks just like his dad," the clerk smiled.

"I look like Dad?" Qin Zihang cocked his head.

"Yes, very much! Like two peas in a pod," the clerk said.

"Dad, am I really your son?" Qin Zihang beamed, looking at Qin Yizhou.

Song Fenglan took a deep breath, smiled, and kept smiling.

"Of course you're our biological child," Qin Yizhou said, noticing Song Fenglan's trembling hand. He put an arm around his wife’s shoulders while looking at their son. "You were born to me and your mom. If you don’t look like me, who would you look like?"

"I could look like Mom, not Dad," Qin Zihang replied.

"Alright, let’s look at the fabric. What color do you like? Which one should we buy?" Song Fenglan didn’t want her son to continue, worried people might think she was two-timing.

The clerk chuckled at Qin Zihang’s remark. At first, she thought the child might mention another guy who looked like his dad. Kids could be so amusing, but luckily, the boy looked just like his dad, so no one would get the wrong idea.

"We should buy extra fabric," Song Fenglan said. "We need it not just for summer clothes but also for autumn and winter."

"Sure," Qin Yizhou agreed. "I brought the coupons (ration tickets)."

He had a stack of coupons with him, ones he hadn’t mailed to Song Fenglan yet before she came. He brought them all, just in case they ran short while shopping. Since Qin Yizhou usually lived and ate at the military base, he had no use for these coupons and had saved them up.

After buying the fabric, the family of three also grabbed some thread and needles, along with other miscellaneous items. They also bought pastries and fruits for the kid to munch on later.

When they returned, the driver helped them carry everything inside.

Auntie Fatty, their neighbor, was watering vegetables in the yard when she heard the noise outside and stepped out to take a look.

"Wait, you got a sewing machine?" Auntie Fatty asked in surprise. "You can make clothes?"

"Yes, I made all the clothes my son and I are wearing," Song Fenglan replied with a smile.

"Did you work in a textile factory before?" Auntie Fatty couldn’t help but ask.

"No, I used to be a teacher," Song Fenglan answered.

"A teacher?" Auntie Fatty had figured Song Fenglan wasn’t skilled, but not only were her clothes well-made, she was also a teacher. "Elementary school? Middle school? Or... kindergarten?"

"Middle school," Song Fenglan said.

"Well then... there’s a middle school here. Are you planning to teach there?" Auntie Fatty asked.

"We’ll see," Song Fenglan replied. She wasn’t set on teaching, especially since the college entrance exams would resume next year, and she intended to take them. She didn’t want other children boasting about their parents being scientists or translators while her son had to say, "My mom graduated from high school and was a middle school teacher."

That just didn’t sound impressive enough.

The capital was full of high achievers, and Qin Yizhou’s sister-in-law already looked down on Song Fenglan. She needed to step up her game—she wouldn’t let her son’s pride get dragged through the mud.

"If possible, I could teach," Song Fenglan added, though she worried that if she didn’t work or teach, folks might call her a liar about being a teacher.

She wasn’t afraid of gossip for herself, but her son was another matter. He had to go out into the world, and she couldn’t let him be looked down upon.

"My mom is amazing! Lots of people really like her," Qin Zihang jumped in to brag about his mom. "The older kids all like me too. They say I’ll be as smart as Mom when I grow up. She’s the coolest teacher ever, and my mom—"

"Okay, that’s enough," Song Fenglan interrupted.

"But Mom, you really are great," Qin Zihang insisted. "Everyone says so."

He puffed out his chest proudly—his mom was incredible, while other kids’ moms weren’t as impressive.

"We just arrived, so work isn’t settled yet," Song Fenglan said to Auntie Fatty. Thanks to her son’s loose lips, everyone would soon know she was "the coolest teacher ever."

Song Fenglan felt a headache coming on. She wasn’t sure how these students compared to capital kids or whether they’d like her teaching style. She looked at her son. If she did teach, it wouldn’t be a problem—he’d be starting kindergarten anyway.

"Mom, I need to pee." Qin Zihang lifted his little feet a few times, looking like he urgently needed to go.

"I'll take him inside first," Song Fenglan quickly said to Auntie Fatty before leading the child in.

These bungalows had been renovated with bathrooms, and the toilet was inside. Originally, these houses didn’t have separate toilets, but since many people were unwilling to live in bungalows and preferred the better-equipped apartment buildings, the authorities went ahead and installed private bathrooms to balance the living conditions between the two.

Auntie Fatty didn’t linger and turned to leave. She loved chatting with others, and that very afternoon, she started gossiping about Song Fenglan.

"Her son said she’s amazing, a really great teacher."

"The clothes she and her son wear—she made them herself."

"Who knew? She can’t cook, but she can tailor clothes."

...

"You think that’s real?" someone sneered. "Maybe she’s just putting on a front, not wanting people to think she’s some bourgeois young lady, so she made it up. Kids’ words can’t be trusted—probably the adults put them up to it."