Old Mrs. Song is reborn; get out of here, you scumbag husband and illegitimate child!

The man who stepped across the threshold with the technician was wearing a faded polyester shirt and thick-rimmed glasses. This man was Zhuo, the son-in-law of Zhao Shuanghua's boss.

Zhuo Gong walked around the room twice with his hands behind his back, picking out every single English letter on each box.

Finally, he pointed to a 14-inch Sharp color TV.

"How much?"

"1300".

Mr. Zhuo considered the price; it was a bit expensive, and he didn't want to buy a TV. But the woman's family said they wouldn't get married without a TV, and his son was of marriageable age and liked her.

"That's too expensive, how about a thousand yuan?"

This was the first time Song Xianglan had ever seen someone haggle so fiercely.

"Fixed price."

Zhuo Gong didn't say anything, and walked around the room.

He pointed to the radio next to him, "I'll take this radio and the TV together."

Song Xianglan asked Chen Zui to write down the list.

She pointed to a row of brand-new rice cookers next to her, "Now that we have a TV, how about getting a rice cooker for my wife? This one just needs to be plugged in to cook rice, so it's convenient and saves time. And that washing machine..."

Zhuo raised an eyebrow and curled the corner of his mouth to one side:

"Why buy this thing? What can a woman do after work if she doesn't do housework? She can't even cook a proper meal, what's the use of her? We don't need a washing machine either, clothes are only clean when hand-washed."

He turned and walked to the other side of the shelf.

He reached out and grabbed a bottle of imported morsel, then picked out two T-shirts, and finally pulled out a dozen thick cotton socks from the cardboard box.

"Let's count these together."

Zhuo piled the things on the table.

All of these were items he used himself.

Song Xianglan cursed him as a dog in her heart, barely suppressing the urge to slap him on the head with the sole of her shoe.

She moved the abacus beads with her fingers, directly raising the prices of mors and socks by 10%.

"Two thousand six hundred and fifty in total," Song Xianglan announced.

Zhuo frowned and snatched the abacus from Song Xianglan's hands. He stretched out his fingers and started calculating rapidly, then reset the abacus and calculated it again.

"This is way too expensive."

Director Zhang, who was standing to the side, had long lost his patience. He walked up to her with one hand on his hip and said, "If you want to buy it, just pay up. If you don't want to buy it, take your money and get out. Why are you dawdling over buying a TV? People like you should go stand in line outside the store."

Zhuo Gong's face flushed red, and he retorted with a stiff neck:

"I spent several thousand dollars on things, what's wrong with being careful with the bill?" He turned to stare at Song Xianglan, "I bought so much, you have to give me a discount."

Song Xianglan snatched the abacus back and slammed it against the corner of the table.

No discounts. Our prices are fixed. If you want to bargain, turn left at the door; we won't see you off.

Zhuo Gong, having been rebuffed, turned and lashed out at Zhao Shuanghua:

"Old Zhao, what kind of connections did my father-in-law find? They have no humanity at all."

Zhao Shuanghua rolled her eyes, too lazy to pay him any attention.

He scoffed inwardly. This bastard must have some huge secret about the boss. Anyone else would have beaten this coward to a pulp.

Director Zhang sneered and looked Zhuo Gong up and down.

"Your family has really good feng shui. Your ancestors' graves must be emitting auspicious smoke to raise such a unique talent like you."

Zhuo Gong completely missed the sarcastic tone of the remark and instead straightened his back.

He pushed up his glasses:

"My family's feng shui is indeed good. My parents have always said since I was a child that I am the leader of the family."

Song Xianglan leaned against the edge of the table and added:

"It turns out it was an animal meeting, and the sheep came out on top."

There was a moment of silence in the courtyard.

Immediately afterwards, Zhao Shuanghua and Chen Zui burst out laughing, and Director Zhang was so happy that he slapped his thigh.

Zhuo Gong realized what was happening, and, gritting his teeth in anger, pointed at Song Xianglan:

"What do you mean? Apologize to me."

Song Xianglan stopped smiling and stood up straight: "Did I scold you or hit you? If you can't afford it, just say so, put the things down and leave. No one will laugh at you."

The present is different from the future.

What do you mean by "the customer is God"? Haven't you seen the signs posted in supply and marketing cooperatives saying "you can't hit customers"?

You can't find many people in Beijing with her service attitude when queuing to buy home appliances.

Zhuo Gong is most intolerant of being provoked.

He unzipped his briefcase, pulled out a ten-yuan note, and slammed it on the table.

"Who says I can't afford it? No discount, no discount."

After paying the money.

Zhuo Gong angrily picked up the television and radio, along with his Morse code, socks, and T-shirt, stuffed them all into the tricycle, and pedaled away.

Only then did the young technician step forward.

He counted the money and handed it to Song Xianglan, smiling apologetically.

"Auntie, I wish you a prosperous business."

Song Xianglan took the money and casually pulled two pairs of pure cotton socks from the counter and stuffed them into his hands: "Young man, this is a gift for you."

The technician, clutching the socks, walked away happily.

Zhao Shuanghua felt somewhat embarrassed and repeatedly apologized:

"Aunt Song, I'm so sorry, that bastard never said a good word for me just because he's my boss's son-in-law. I even suspect that my boss has some weakness that's being exploited, otherwise he wouldn't have chosen such a scoundrel as his son-in-law."

"It's alright." Song Xianglan waved her hand. "When you're in business, you'll encounter all sorts of people. Just collect the money."

After seeing Zhao Shuanghua off.

The sound of hurried footsteps echoed again outside the courtyard gate.

Director Wang personally led a team of five or six men in Zhongshan suits into the courtyard. He first selected a large color TV, a refrigerator, and a washing machine. A young man beside him immediately took a liking to a game console and readily paid for it.

Director Wang also brought a dual-cassette recorder and several original cassette tapes.

When it was time to pay, Song Xianglan took out a razor and a bottle of Mousse and stuffed them into Director Wang's net bag.

"Director Wang, here are some small items that would be suitable for you."

Director Wang smiled and left with his men, satisfied.

Immediately afterwards, Director Zhang's older brother brought two more groups of guests over.

A whole truckload of home appliances, half of which were sold out before midnight.

Finally, Director Zhang picked out a Toshiba refrigerator from the remaining goods, and also took a rice cooker and a pressure cooker.

"With this, my wife can take a break after get off work." Director Zhang took out some money.

Song Xianglan didn't hesitate and immediately gave the Zhang family two bundles of thick socks and two bottles of Mousse.

Everyone left.

The courtyard fell completely silent.

Song Xianglan's legs went weak, and she slumped into a chair.

The burlap sack in the corner was bulging with money, all of it worth 10,000 yuan.

Chen Zui sat under the light bulb, busy doing accounting.

"Godmother, the accounts are settled."

Chen Zui tore off a piece of paper, "The commission from Director Zhang alone is over 1,800 yuan. Zhao Shuanghua brought people to buy less, but it's still over 100 yuan. Wu Tianming's commission is also quite high."

Chen Zui took several brown paper envelopes.

Count out the money in stacks, put it in, tie it tightly with rubber bands, and write your name on the cover.

"Director Zhang will definitely have to give a portion to his older brother."

Song Xianglan picked up her teacup and took a sip of cold water. "They deserve it."

She did not raise the price.

Looking at the room full of empty cardboard boxes, I exhaled a breath of stale air:

"Chen Zui, take inventory of the remaining goods. Tomorrow morning, raise the price of all large items by ten percent."

Later generations often say that in the 1980s, as long as you were bold, it was like picking money out of a pile.

Song Xianglan now fully understands the joy of making a fortune selling large home appliances.

You can literally pick up money just by bending over.

No wonder the 1980s created a generation of first-generation rich people.

With enough courage, even a 28-inch bicycle can become an Alto.

Song Xianglan went to the well and washed her face.

"Godmother, I'll stay here tonight to watch the goods. I'm not afraid of anything else, but I'm worried that someone might be eyeing this place." Chen Zui took out a black pistol from his canvas bag and placed a kitchen knife on the sofa.

He planned to spend the night on the sofa.

Song Xianglan glanced at the gun and felt much more at ease:

"Okay. I'll come early tomorrow. Lock the door from the inside, and don't open it if you hear any noise at night."

The two of them worked together to lock all the doors and windows of the main house and the side rooms.

Chen Zui carried the wooden toilet into the inner room and locked the door with a click.

"Godmother, bring me a sandwich tomorrow morning," Chen Zui called out through the door.

"Stop nitpicking. I'll make you a scallion pancake tomorrow morning." Song Xianglan patted the door frame.

"Okay, another coffee, please."

"No coffee, but soy milk is fine."

Chen Zui spread a blanket on the sofa and fell asleep immediately.

Song Xianglan walked out of the courtyard and hung a large iron lock on the gate from the outside.

Carrying the cloth bag containing her commission, she headed straight for Director Zhang's house by the moonlight.

Director Zhang's courtyard wasn't as big as the one in Cicada Hutong.

It's like a tenement, but not as crowded as the tenement where Aunt Wu and her family lived.

Four families lived in the front yard, and three or four families squeezed into the back yard.

Director Zhang's house is in the backyard.

The lights in the house had just been turned off, and the family was preparing to go to sleep.

Song Xianglan stepped forward and knocked on the door frame.

"Who is it?" came the wary voice of Director Zhang's wife from inside the house.

"Is Director Zhang home?" Song Xianglan asked in a low voice.

Director Zhang's wife nudged the man next to her, "Who's so clueless as to come looking for you so late at night? Judging from the noise, it's a woman."

Upon hearing Song Xianglan's voice, Director Zhang quickly put on his coat and called out towards the door:

"Sister Song, please wait a moment."

He turned and glared at his wife: "You short-haired, short-witted woman, shut your mouth. I bought my appliances from this lady today."

Director Zhang, slipping on his cloth shoes, opened the door and quickly welcomed Song Xianglan into the house.

"Go, pour Sister Song a cup of hot tea," Director Zhang instructed his wife.

"No need to bother." Song Xianglan waved her hand and took out a thick kraft paper envelope with Director Zhang's name on it from her cloth bag and placed it on the table.

"Director Zhang, according to the rules of doing business in the South, this is your commission. I'm keeping it for you secretly; everyone is treated the same. I will never treat you differently just because you're a director."

That's a very frank statement.

The implication is that the money is clean and honest, so you can take it without any guilt.

Director Zhang stared at the thick envelope that looked like it was about to burst.

His Adam's apple bobbed violently.