Reborn Little Wife

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The aroma of braised carp and stir-fried greens swirled through the smoke-stained kitchen.Zhu Chunlai’s leathery face cracked into a rare smile as he surveyed the feast – a minor miracle in their threadbare farmhouse.His daughter Zhu Baoqin elbowed her husband, both marveling at how Zhong Ling’s delicate hands could wrest such magic from their meager pantry.

“Try the fish, Dad,” Zhong Ling urged softly, her knuckles whitening against her faded apron.The old man’s calloused fingers hovered like a crane hunting prey before seizing the choicest morsel.Twelve pairs of eyes tracked the morsel’s journey – Feng Zhen clutching her arthritic knees, Zhu Baoqin’s toddler smearing rice across the cracked table, even the mangy dog by the hearth lifting its head.

“Hmm.” Zhu Chunlai’s verdict rumbled from deep within, vibrating the tin teacup in his grip.Zhong Ling’s throat tightened. Three days she’d plotted this meal – traded her jade hairpin for fresh ginger, bartered mending services for that precious drop of sesame oil.

“Good.” The single word unleashed chaos.Feng Zhen cackled, slapping the dirt-packed floor. “Hear that? The old turtle actually praised someone!”Zhu Baoqin’s husband snorted rice across the table, earning a swat from his wife.

“Xiao Ling,” Feng Zhen wheezed, wiping tears, “you’ve tamed a demon with your cooking!”The compliment burned hotter than the stove’s embers. Zhong Ling bowed her head, hiding the flush creeping up her neck.If only Mother could see me now, she thought bitterly. The scholar’s daughter reduced to chasing a peasant’s approval.

“The letter!” Zhu Baoqin’s shrill demand sliced through the merriment.All eyes swung to Zhong Ling like sunflowers seeking light. She fought the urge to retreat into the shadows.

“Gangzi…” Her voice faltered. The lies tasted of ash. “He… arrived safely. Says not to worry.”Feng Zhen’s hopeful smile withered. “Nothing else?”Zhong Ling’s fingernails bit crescent moons into her palms. He didn’t even ask about you, she ached to scream. Just cold military formalities.

“He wants us healthy.” The words curdled on her tongue.The silence that followed echoed louder than New Year’s firecrackers. Even the dog slunk away.

“Write back,” Zhu Chunlai grunted. “Tell him… about the sow.” His Adam’s apple bobbed. “And…”“I quit the distillery!” Zhu Baoqin’s declaration shattered the awkward pause.

Feng Zhen’s slap rang out like a gunshot. “Fool girl! Throwing away wages for pride?”“That lecher Wang demanded favors!” Zhu Baoqin roared, jabbing her chopsticks like daggers. “Shall I spread my legs for rice coupons next?”

Zhong Ling flinched. Her sheltered upbringing had never prepared her for such raw vulgarity.“Enough!” Zhu Chunlai’s fist shook the table. “Ding Rong! Control your woman!”

The meek farmer shriveled under their stares. “If… if she’s unhappy…”Feng Zhen threw up her hands. “We’ll all starve for her principles!”

“Auntie! The surprise!” Little Huahua’s piping voice cut through the storm.Zhong Ling seized the lifeline. “After dishes,” she whispered, brushing flour from the child’s cheek.

Alone in the frost-rimed kitchen, Zhong Ling scrubbed pots with military precision.This is your life now, she told her reflection in a greasy spoon. Scullery maid to ingrates.The ice-cold pump water numbed her fingers, but couldn’t dull the memory of silk gowns and poetry lessons.

“Auntieee…” Huahua’s whine carried through paper-thin walls.Zhong Ling unfolded her secret weapon – a bib crafted from smuggled quilt scraps.Blue peonies danced across the fabric, each stitch containing stolen moments: midnight oil burned while others slept, blistered fingers hiding needle pricks.

“For me?” Huahua’s awed whisper made it worthwhile.The child’s transformation was magical – grubby urchin to porcelain doll with lace-trimmed collar.

“You spoil her,” Zhu Baoqin murmured, tracing the intricate embroidery.Their eyes met in silent understanding – two women bound by circumstance’s cruel joke.

“The couplet plan…” Zhong Ling ventured later as frost painted skeletal trees on the window.Zhu Baoqin’s laugh held winter’s bitterness. “What? Peddle scrolls like beggars?”

“New Year’s brings hope,” Zhong Ling pressed. “Even paupers buy words of prosperity.”She unfurled her secret sketches – crimson banners adorned with leaping carps and bold characters.Wealth Filling Halls. Sons Rising Like Dragons. The lies people needed to survive.

“Where’d you learn this?” Zhu Baoqin gaped at the intricate designs.Zhong Ling’s smile turned wistful. “My father… he taught calligraphy before…”Before the re-education camps. Before the “accident” with the tractor.

Night deepened. Zhong Ling’s brush hovered over precious xuan paper.Dearest Brother, she began, then scratched it out. Too intimate.Respected Husband - No, that reeked of desperation.

Moonlight bled across the page as she settled on sterile formality:Comrade Zhu Baogang, your parents remain in adequate health. The swine reproductive success exceeds projections…

A tear smudged the characters. Somewhere beyond the frozen fields, a wolf’s howl echoed her loneliness.

Zhong Ling and Zhu Baoqin decided to go to the city together, but such a matter required the adults' permission. Yet, who should bring it up? Her sister offered to speak for her, but Zhong Ling thought it over and resolved to do it herself. The two entered the east room.

"Dad, Mom, I want to start a small business with my sister." The elderly couple exchanged startled glances.

"What kind of business?" Zhu Chunlai spoke first.

"Selling New Year couplets. We’ll follow the market carts to nearby villages every day for the next month before the holiday," Zhu Baoqin blurted out eagerly.

"Is this your idea? Did you talk her into becoming a peddler?" In their time, only formal jobs were respectable. Being a self-employed vendor was looked down upon.

"Me? It was her idea! Besides, nowadays people mock poverty, not how you earn your living. Being poor is what’s shameful!"

"You reckless girl! Is this how I raised you?" Unexpectedly, the old man raised his hand as if to strike her.

"Dad, Mom, it’s just for a month. We won’t need much capital, and I’ve got free time anyway. Why not earn some extra money for the New Year?" Zhong Ling interjected calmly. Zhu Chunlai fell silent, weighing her words.

"Won’t you lose money? And you—a high school graduate—hawking goods on the street? How humiliating!" Feng Zhen frowned.

"Do you have the funds?" Zhu Chunlai finally asked.

"Yes. My mother gave me the dowry money." The couple froze. This meant they’d essentially married off their son without spending a penny.

"Then go ahead."

"Husband?" Feng Zhen couldn’t fathom his approval.

"Let them try. Times are changing. Plenty of folks are trading at markets now. Let them see for themselves."

The decision was shockingly settled, even puzzling Zhu Baoqin. Ever impulsive, she insisted on leaving for the city the next day. Feng Zhen, uneasy, sent Ding Rong to chaperone the two inexperienced women. Zhong Ling showed no fear, though Feng Zhen fretted endlessly: Keep the money safe. Don’t overstock. If it doesn’t sell, we’re ruined.

"Why did you agree? Farming’s steady. You earn well building houses in summer. Why let our daughter-in-law shame us as a peddler?" Feng Zhen complained that night in bed.

"The children are grown. Life’s improving—more people have money now. We won’t earn forever. Even if they fail, they’ll settle down and farm afterward."

"But what if they lose all that cash?"

"Let it go. How long can we control them anyway?" Feng Zhen sighed, reluctantly conceding.

At dawn, the trio boarded a rickety horse cart to the township, then transferred to a bus reeking of gasoline and smoke. Three hours later, crammed among standing passengers, Zhu Baoqin slumped green-faced against her husband.

The outdoor farmers’ market sprawled before them: stalls of frozen fish, poultry, wild game, and household goods. They finally found a couplet vendor. Rows of red paper glittered with gold ink—far finer than the flimsy ones sold in their village.

"Looking to buy? Wholesale or retail?"

"Wholesale. What’re your prices?" The owner, Sun Jun, eyed Zhong Ling, sensing her authority.

"Too expensive. And your designs are limited."

"They’re plenty!" Zhu Baoqin chimed in, only to be yanked aside by her husband.

"How much are you ordering?"

"About a thousand yuan’s worth. But since your stock’s incomplete, I’ll need to source elsewhere." Sun Jun’s eyes lit up—this was no small deal.

"Don’t worry! I’ll fill any gaps. Just tell me what you need."

"High, mid, and low tiers. More fu characters—yours are dull. New Year prints? I want celebrity posters and story-themed ones. Couplets need gold foil. And vary the verses—they’re too repetitive."

"Let’s discuss elsewhere." Sun Jun, smelling profit, hustled them to a nearby diner.

"Can you get everything I listed?" Zhu Baoqin glowed, thrilled to be treated like a VIP.

"Easy! My brother runs a print factory."

"But terms first." Sun Jun studied Zhong Ling warily.

"I’ll provide designs and help with printing. But my order of five hundred yuan’s goods gets a 30% discount. Deliver to Changqing Township within seven days. Payment after receipt."

"You’re pushing it! Ten percent off is already the lowest. And we deal in cash. What if you vanish after taking the goods?"

"Not at all. I’m offering twenty couplet designs and a dozen print templates—you’ll profit from those. The discount covers my creative fee. Plus, this won’t be my last order. If you refuse, others will agree. Choose: short-term stinginess or long-term gains." Sun Jun slapped the table.

"Deal! When can I get the designs?"

"Tomorrow. I’ll draft them tonight. Ship the goods to the bus station by then."

"Done." Ding Rong marveled—Zhong Ling had negotiated flawlessly without his help. This girl’s something else.

Sun Jun treated them to the city’s finest guesthouse and dinner, all on his dime. Zhong Ling accepted graciously, knowing she’d handed him a golden opportunity.

The next morning, six bulky paper bundles were loaded onto the bus. During the bumpy ride back, Zhu Baoqin fretted, "How will we sell all this at markets?"

"We won’t. We’ll wholesale them. Distribution plans come later." Zhu Baoqin bit her lip. Their life savings of five hundred yuan were now tied to Zhong Ling’s gamble. What if it fails? But the potential profit tantalized.

Three hours later, exhausted and late for lunch, they arrived home. Feng Zhen rushed out.

"How’d it go? Why so much stock?"

"Smoothly. But your daughter-in-law... she’s remarkable," Zhu Baoqin muttered, watching Zhong Ling unload boxes.

"What? Did she cause trouble?"

"No. She bargained like a pro—no shame, just pure shrewdness. That education of hers? It shows."

"Nonsense! Letting others fleece you is foolish. You should learn from her!" Feng Zhen’s blunt critique stung. Zhu Baoqin scowled.

In Zhong Ling’s room, the trio huddled. "I’ve invested a thousand yuan. This first batch is just the start. We’ll need another thousand soon. How much are you in for?" Zhong Ling cut to the chase.

"What if we can’t sell it?" Ding Rong hesitated.

"No guarantees. But if it works, each family could earn a thousand."

"Let’s risk it!"

"Start selling tomorrow?" Zhu Baoqin pressed.

"Not yet. Wait for the new designs. Selling incomplete stock will hurt future business." Reluctantly, the couple agreed.

Three days passed. Zhong Ling remained unshaken, while Feng Zhen and Zhu Baoqin fidgeted. Frustrated, Zhu Baoqin wrote to her brother, gushing about his wife’s uncanny brilliance and their parents’ growing admiration.