Dare to shirk responsibility? This adorable little one will tear down your military district!

The air felt as if it were glued together, heavy and lifeless.

Zhao Dezhu's hands, which were behind his back, froze in mid-air, the two pens in his pocket looking particularly glaring. He stared at the steel ring around Meng Yaya's neck, which was still warm from her body, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down with a "gulp".

It was a solid piece of rebar, which just seconds ago stood upright in the corner, capable of cracking a person's skull. Now, it was like a limp noodle, obediently coiled around the neck of this three-year-old.

The two militiamen lowered their gun barrels, and even when the butts of their guns hit the insteps of their feet, they didn't dare to cry out.

"Uncle?" Meng Yaya took a step forward, the iron collar around her neck striking her collarbone with a dull metallic clang. "Who did you just say you were going to search? Whose house were you going to raid?"

Her voice was crisp and sweet, like a melon just pulled from a well, but it gave Zhao Dezhu goosebumps.

Zhao Dezhu was a seasoned veteran of officialdom, his skin thicker than a city wall. He rolled his eyes twice, chuckled dryly, and his old face contorted into a dried chrysanthemum: "Oh dear, Ya Ya, you really love to joke. This strength... comes from your father, a good candidate for soldier."

He winked at the two militiamen, signaling them to put their guns away. A head-on confrontation? What a joke. This girl can bend steel bars, she can crush his skull.

"It's a misunderstanding, all a misunderstanding." Zhao Dezhu rubbed his hands together and took a half-inch back. "I just heard that someone was involved in speculation and profiteering, and I was worried that you and your daughter would be scammed. Since it's just a rumor, let it go, let it go."

After saying that, he turned around and tried to slip away.

"stop."

Those two seemingly casual words, however, froze Zhao Dezhu in place like nails.

Meng Yaya fiddled with the steel ring around her neck, her little hands leaving several fingerprints on it: "Since we're already here, why not do some business before we leave?"

Zhao Dezhu's heart skipped a beat. He turned around, his face beaming, and said, "Business? What kind of business? Yaya, your uncle is a government official; I don't do that kind of thing."

"But my mom said that public buying and selling is the policy." Meng Yaya pointed to two rabbit pelts hanging on the clothesline in the yard. "Those are today's prey. The pelts aren't tanned yet, but the fur is good. The supply and marketing cooperative charges one yuan and fifty cents per pelt. Uncle, you're a respectable man, giving two for five yuan isn't too much to ask, is it?"

Zhao Dezhu nearly spat out a mouthful of blood. Two raw rabbit skins—the supply and marketing cooperative would only charge 80 cents each! This brat was asking for five yuan? This wasn't a transaction; it was outright robbery!

"Ya Ya, this..." Zhao Dezhu was about to put on his official airs and give her a lecture.

"Click."

Meng Yaya held a pebble the size of a fist in her hand. She didn't use much force; she simply pressed her thumb lightly against the surface of the stone.

Stone dust fell in a flurry, leaving a clear fingerprint on the hard pebble.

Zhao Dezhu swallowed back the words he was about to say, his cheeks twitching.

"Five yuan?" Meng Yaya tilted her head, looking innocent. "If you think it's too expensive, I have other 'specialties' here. Like that millstone over there, Uncle, would you like to carry it back to press sauerkraut? I can help you move it to your roof for free."

Zhao Dezhu followed her finger to the 300-pound stone millstone, and the image of the millstone falling from the sky and smashing through his own tiled house instantly flashed into his mind.

This isn't a three-year-old baby, it's clearly a debt collector!

"Buy it! Uncle, buy it!" Zhao Dezhu gritted his teeth, his hand trembling as he reached into his inner pocket. He had come here hoping to make some extra money, but instead, he ended up losing money instead.

He pulled out a five-yuan note, his hand sweating as he gripped it tightly, reluctant to let go.

Meng Yaya didn't stand on ceremony; she reached out and grabbed the money.

"Thank you, Uncle, for supporting the lives of military families." Meng Yaya folded the money, stuffed it into her pocket, and pointed to the rabbit skin on the rope. "The things are over there, take them yourself. Don't take the wrong ones, or you might damage my doors and windows... there are still several steel bars here."

Zhao Dezhu's face turned green. He gave the two militiamen a wink.

The two young men, like thieves, quickly tore off the two still-smelling rabbit skins, rolled them up, and stuffed them into their pockets.

"Well... Sister-in-law, we'll be going now, we still have to go on patrol." Zhao Dezhu didn't want to stay a moment longer; the feng shui of this courtyard was bad, it was gloomy.

"Take care, and don't come back to me." Meng Yaya stood at the door and waved her little hand.

Only after the three figures disappeared into the night did Lin Wanrou breathe a sigh of relief, her legs giving way and she almost collapsed to the ground. Sun Shouzhen reacted quickly and caught her.

"Ya Ya, you..." Lin Wanrou looked at the iron ring around her daughter's neck, tears welling up again. "This thing is so hard, don't hurt your neck, take it off quickly."

Meng Yaya casually tore off the steel ring and threw it into the corner, making a crisp clanging sound.

"Mom, it's okay." She patted the money in her pocket. With the 1,200 yuan she earned from selling ginseng on the black market, she was now a small-time rich woman. "From now on, anyone who dares to bully us will suffer the consequences."

Sun Shouzhen squatted on the ground, picked up the broken steel bar, and examined it for a long time in the moonlight, clicking his tongue in amazement: "The break is neat, and the internal force is released externally... If this girl were to practice Iron Palm, she would become a grandmaster in less than three years."

"Stop muttering to yourself." Meng Yaya rolled her eyes at him. "Go wash the pot. We're going into town tomorrow."

Sun Shouzhen twitched his mustache: "Going into the city again? Wasn't the commotion today big enough?"

"Of course not enough." Meng Yaya looked at Lin Wanrou's old cotton-padded jacket, which was patched upon patched and the cotton inside was matted into hard clumps. It looked thin and shabby in the night wind.

"Now that I have money, I have to spend it."

……

The next morning, before dawn, the rooster in Mengjia Village crowed for the first time.

Meng Yaya, carrying a basket on her back, dragged the sleepy-eyed Sun Shouzhen along the dirt road to the county town once again. This time, Lin Wanrou didn't come along; she stayed home to sew and mend, and also to look after the house.

The county supply and marketing cooperative had just opened its doors when it was packed with people rushing to buy things. In those days, supplies were scarce, and you had to queue to buy anything.

Meng Yaya was short and slipped into the crowd like an eel. Sun Shouzhen stood behind her, using his height to block the elbows of those jostling around.

"Comrade, I want to buy cotton cloth." Meng Yaya stood on tiptoe and leaned over the counter, only half of her head showing.

The saleswoman, a young woman with braided pigtails, was knitting a scarf with yarn, not even looking up: "Do you have cloth coupons? Money won't help if you don't have coupons."

"have."

A chubby little hand patted the glass counter, with several colorful ration coupons underneath. Ten feet of cloth coupons, five catties of cotton coupons.

The saleswoman paused, stopped knitting a scarf, and peered over, only to discover a delicately beautiful little doll standing under the counter.

"Oh, whose child is this, so young and already shopping?" The saleswoman smiled, her attitude much better. "What kind do you want?"

"I want the thickest and softest one," Meng Yaya said, pointing to the blue floral cotton fabric on the top shelf. "And the red one too, for a festive look."

That's Dacron material, which was a hot commodity back then.

Sun Shouzheng, watching from behind, felt a pang of heartache: "Girl, that fabric is expensive..."

"I have money." Meng Yaya patted her little schoolbag proudly. The five yuan that Zhao Dezhu contributed last night was just enough to buy this piece of cloth.

The salesperson efficiently measured, cut, and weighed the fabric.

Holding a large bag of soft, new cotton and fabrics that smelled of dye, Meng Yaya walked out of the supply and marketing cooperative. The sunlight shone on her, warm and pleasant.

"Where to?" Sun Shouzhen asked, "Back to the village?"

"I'm not going back." Meng Yaya turned into a quiet alley. "I'll find a tailor shop and borrow a sewing machine."

"You can sew clothes?" Sun Shouzhen's eyes widened. "You're only three years old!"

"I can't, but you can," Meng Yaya said confidently, looking at him. "You're a national-level surgeon, the kind of hand that holds a scalpel. How could threading a needle be difficult for you?"

Sun Shouzhen was so angry that his beard trembled: "I am a traditional Chinese medicine doctor! I heal the sick and save lives, not a tailor who makes clothes!"

"Stitching up a wound is stitching up, and sewing clothes is stitching up too." Meng Yaya shoved the bundle of fabric into his arms. "Besides, my mom's cotton-padded coat has a frayed collar, letting the wind in. You're a doctor, don't you know that catching a cold can make you sick?"

This one sentence left Sun Shouzhen speechless.

He recalled Lin Wanrou's pale face, which always wore a gentle smile, and how she had taken care of him, this down-on-his-luck old man, these past few days. He sighed and resignedly hugged the fabric tightly.

"Alright, alright, these hands of mine are doomed to fail because of you, girl."

Deep in the alley, there was an old tailor shop. The owner was an old man who was blind in one eye. I gave him fifty cents and borrowed his old-fashioned Butterfly brand sewing machine.

Sun Shouzhen sat in front of the sewing machine, stepping on the pedal. His hands, which were originally used for acupuncture and pulse diagnosis, were now gripping the fabric, and his movements were surprisingly steady.

"The stitching here needs to be tight," Meng Yaya instructed from the side. "Tighten the cuffs a bit so the wind doesn't let in. Loosen the waist a bit; my mom is too thin, so it will look better if she looks a little plumper in it."

She genuinely couldn't make clothes. Ten years into the apocalypse, everyone was wearing tactical suits stripped from the dead; who cared about aesthetics?

But she has aesthetic sense and high standards.

As the sewing machine clattered rhythmically, a brand-new, thick floral cotton-padded jacket gradually took shape.

Meng Yaya touched the soft cotton, feeling sweeter than if she had eaten honey.

In her previous life, she was an orphan. No one made clothes for her, and she had no chance to make clothes for others.

In this life, she has a mother.

"There's still some fabric left." Meng Yaya picked up the scraps. "Make one for me too. Matching ones, like a mother-daughter outfit."

Sun Shouzhen rolled his eyes as he pedaled: "What matching outfits? That's one big and one small, too much trouble!"

Although he complained, his hands didn't stop moving.

We were busy until the afternoon, when the sun was setting.

Two new cotton-padded jackets, one large and one small, were neatly folded and placed in the basket on Meng Yaya's back. She carefully covered them with the tattered oilcloth, afraid that they would get even a speck of dust on them.

"Let's go home." Meng Yaya slung her basket over her shoulder and walked briskly.

When we returned to Mengjia Village, it was dinnertime. Smoke was billowing from the chimneys of every household.

Before she even reached her doorstep, Meng Yaya saw that the gate to her dilapidated courtyard was wide open.

A sharp shout of cursing came from the courtyard, accompanied by the sound of pots and pans being smashed.

"Lin Wanrou! You jinx! Hand over the money you've been hiding with your lover! Or I'll tear down this dilapidated house of yours today!"

It was Wang Guifen's voice.

This old woman was scared away yesterday, and today she heard that the village chief was humiliated. Does she think she's all that now?

Meng Yaya's light steps suddenly stopped. She handed the basket to Sun Shouzhen and stretched her wrists.

"Worker, keep an eye on the goods."

She picked up a broken brick from the ground, weighed it in her hand, and her lips curled into a cold smile instead of a smile.

"It seems that the steel bar we used yesterday was too gentle."