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

Song Xianglan tied the three bags of pork and offal to the back of her bicycle, said goodbye to Gan Zhiyuan, and rode towards the town center.

The town was more than twice as lively as when she last came.

The whole street was packed with people.

The roadside was lined with stalls, where villagers laid out their own vegetables and poultry to sell.

Chinese cabbages were piled up in heaps, radishes were scattered all over the ground, and all sorts of vegetables were laid out on the ground. Roosters and hens with their feet sticking out were locked in bamboo cages and clucking.

There were also clothing vendors, with a few bamboo poles supporting a rack, and a row of colorful clothes hanging there.

Next to him was an old man selling bamboo baskets and hampers, with baskets and winnowing trays spread all over the ground in front of him.

Further on, a middle-aged man was squatting next to a tricycle.

The truck was piled with stainless steel basins, pots, and bowls, so bright that the sunlight made people squint.

Someone was shouting through a megaphone:

"Don't miss out! Brand new stainless steel washbasins for only 3.5 yuan. Get a big washbasin for just 3.5 yuan. Perfect for washing and cleaning during the New Year."

"Wool mill big sale. Sweaters on sale at low prices."

Song Xianglan pushed her bicycle and walked slowly through the crowd.

Right there in the midst of all that hawking.

She heard a voice.

"Delicious meat dumplings, one yuan each. Homemade meat dumplings."

The voice wasn't loud, and it was a bit hoarse.

Song Xianglan looked in the direction of the sound.

Song Yifeng had her hair tied in a ponytail, wore a faded floral cotton-padded jacket, and carried a bamboo basket on her arm, covered with a floral cloth.

She squeezed through the crowd, lifting the corner of the cloth to show everyone the zongzi in her basket.

Song Xianglan didn't stop and continued pushing the cart forward.

"This is robbery! Who dares to sell meat dumplings for a dollar each?" muttered a man squatting on the ground selling roasted sweet potatoes.

A middle-aged woman in front heard the shout and waved.

"Little girl, come and see your meat-filled rice dumplings."

Song Yifeng quickly ran over and lifted the floral cloth on the basket.

Inside, there were more than a dozen zongzi neatly stacked, wrapped fairly properly in bamboo leaves.

The woman picked one up, squeezed it, and examined it from all angles.

"How come it's only the size of a fist? You dare sell it for a dollar?"

Two elderly women nearby peeked over and took a look.

One of them changed his expression and immediately started cursing:

"You brat, have you never seen money in your life? You dare to sell this tiny zongzi for a dollar? Zhang's braised pork zongzi only costs forty cents each, and those are more than twice the size of yours."

Another old lady joined in the clamor:

"At such a young age, he's not learning good things; he's just cheating and swindling people."

"Which parent doesn't discipline their child? They've been cheating and lying since they were little and haven't learned anything good."

Several old women surrounded Song Yifeng, chattering and cursing.

The vegetable and chicken vendors nearby also peeked over to see what was going on.

Song Yifeng's face flushed red and then turned pale, and her eyes reddened.

"I'm not lying, this is a real meat-filled rice dumpling, with meat and egg yolk inside."

"Stop talking nonsense. How much meat can you possibly have on your head? Who are you trying to fool?"

"Who makes a zongzi without meat and egg yolk inside?"

"Don't embarrass yourself here."

Song Yifeng bit her lip, turned around, and squeezed out of the crowd.

Song Xianglan pushed her bicycle past the crowd.

She witnessed the whole thing.

I heard hurried footsteps behind me. Someone was running.

"Third Aunt."

Song Xianglan did not turn around.

"Third Aunt, wait a minute, I am Song Qiang's eldest daughter, Yi Feng."

Footsteps caught up.

Song Yifeng ran ahead of Song Xianglan, her face still showing signs of grievance, her eyes and nose red. The basket was askew on her arm, the zongzi (sticky rice dumplings) inside squeezed to one side.

"Third Aunt, it's me, Yifeng. Do you remember me?"

Song Xianglan stopped and looked at her.

This girl is different from the last time I saw her.

She had lost weight, her chin was pointed, and her face was pale.

The cuffs of my cotton-padded jacket were pilling from wear, and the cloth shoes I was wearing were almost coming unglued.

"What's up?"

Song Xianglan's tone was very indifferent.

Yi Feng was stunned for a moment; she hadn't expected her third aunt to be so cold.

The next second, tears started falling.

Tears streamed down her face, mingling with snot.

"Third Aunt... I..." she choked, unable to speak clearly, "I thought making money was easy..."

Song Xianglan stood still.

It wasn't that she didn't feel sorry for her; a fifteen or sixteen-year-old girl running to town alone to sell zongzi, surrounded and scolded by people—who wouldn't feel heartbroken?

I feel sorry for you, but that's all I feel for you.

This girl's problems didn't develop overnight.

She learned a lot of crooked ideas from the Yang family, hating heaven, earth, her father, and her family, and didn't even respect her kind grandparents.

Her older brother and his wife used to dote on her like their precious darlings, but she ended up hating them.

Song Xianglan just watched her cry.

Yi Feng cried for a while, then began to speak, sobbing intermittently.

"My mom says she'd be a strong woman if she went out to work. My grandma always says my dad used to be penniless and made money entirely by luck."

My uncles said the same thing. I thought they were right. I thought I could earn money by working for a month or two…”

She wiped her nose with her sleeve.

"I have no capital. My mother controls the money tightly and won't give me a single penny."

I had no choice but to drop out of school and start working. I found a job at a tailor shop in town.

The landlady made me do odd jobs, sweep the floor, boil water, run errands, trim loose threads, and operate the sewing machine.

I worked there for half a month, and she complained that I was too slow, calling me lazy and saying I was infested with maggots. I argued back, and she fired me.

"Later, I went to a shop that sold dried goods. The owner was even stingier and made me work from seven in the morning to seven in the evening."

One day I drank an extra bowl of porridge, and he said I was eating his food and using his things without working properly, that I had the life of a maid but the heart of a lady. I quit in a fit of anger.

"I found another job. This time I was washing dishes. After ten days, the boss said I broke a bowl and he would deduct it from my wages."

I told him I didn't break it, but he insisted I did. In the end, he didn't give me a single penny.

Song Xianglan remained silent throughout.

Yifeng was still talking.

The voice grew softer and softer, more and more aggrieved.

"Later, I went home and asked my mom for living expenses. As soon as I walked in, I saw my mom take out a wad of cash from the cabinet and count it."

I thought it was for me, but she took the money and went out. I followed her and saw her slip a thousand yuan into my uncle's hand.

Song Xianglan's eyebrows twitched.

"I immediately asked her if she could give me a thousand yuan too, since she gave my uncle a thousand yuan."

"Did you give it to them?"

"She hit me." Yi Feng's voice was hoarse. "She slapped me and said I didn't know what was good for me, that my uncle was in business, and that I was never home."

Song Xianglan took a breath.

Yang Liu wasn't always like this; she supported her family without limits.

All she talked about was how her family supported her.

At that time, she spoke eloquently about Song Rong's wife, but it turns out she was just as knowledgeable as Song Rong's wife.

Yifeng lowered her head and rubbed her toes back and forth on the ground. "These zongzi were made for me by my classmate. He stole the zongzi his mother made and gave them to me to sell, saying it was to support my business."

Song Xianglan remained silent for two seconds.

"Did your classmate steal his mother's rice dumplings for you to sell?"

"Hmm. His mother doesn't know."

"So you sell them for one dollar each, so your cost is zero?"

Yi Feng nodded.

Song Xianglan gave her a deep look.

This girl's starting point was to earn her own money and surpass Song Qiang.

But their methods of doing things are all crooked.

The Zhang family's braised pork rice dumplings sell for four cents each; they're big, generously filled, and have a great reputation.

She was selling a fist-sized rice dumpling for a dollar, hoping to turn it into a motorcycle out of thin air.

Not to mention that the zongzi was stolen by a classmate.

"Yifeng, do you think your zongzi is worth a dollar?"

Yi Feng was stunned for a moment.

"It contains meat and egg yolk."

Song Xianglan reached into the basket and took out a zongzi (sticky rice dumpling), weighed it in her hand, and asked, "How much meat and egg yolk is in this big one?"

Go look at the Zhang family's braised pork rice dumplings. One of theirs is twice the size of yours, with half an egg, a large piece of fatty pork, dried oysters, dried shrimp, and chestnuts, and it only costs four cents. What makes you think you can sell it for a dollar?

Yi Feng bit her lip and remained silent.

"The first rule of doing business is to make people feel that it's worth the money. Whether your product is good or not is not up to you to decide, but up to the buyer."

You don't even know the value of your stuff, yet you dare to sell it. Getting scolded is the least of your worries.

Yi Feng's tears welled up again.

Song Xianglan put the zongzi back in the basket. "Where did you get these zongzi? Your classmate stole them from his mother."

Once his mother finds out, your classmate will get beaten up, and you won't be able to escape either.

The biggest taboo in business is acquiring wealth through dishonest means and leaving no room for maneuver. No matter how poor or penniless you are, you shouldn't do such a thing.

Yi Feng's tears dripped onto the dusty ground.

Song Xianglan looked at her but offered no comfort.

"No matter how much hatred you have for your father, that's between you and your father."

In what way have your grandparents mistreated you?

Who made your clothes when you were little? Who carried you to the doctor in the middle of the night? Your grandma saved her eggs for you, while she ate dried sweet potatoes herself. You left without even turning your head, only knowing how to stab her in the heart.

Yi Feng: ...

"Third Aunt."

"I'm not trying to force you to admit your mistakes." Song Xianglan's tone softened a little, "but you need to understand what your mother is saying to you, and you need to think it through yourself. If she says your father is bad, that's between her and your father."

Your father may not have been a good husband, but you can't deny that he was a good father.

You know in your heart whether your grandparents treat you well or not.

You can't hate everyone with the surname Song just because you hate your father. They call us "Third Aunt" now, but they used to want to eat us alive.

Yi Feng stood there.

Her face was full of embarrassment. She never expected life to give her such a heavy blow.

"You either continue living your current life, or you find a way to get back on your feet. You need to work steadily, one step at a time. Do you really think your dad makes money all by luck?"

"He wasn't well-educated and wasn't a good husband. But he was better at business than many people."

Yi Feng wiped away her tears, and after a long while, she managed to squeeze out a sentence:

"Third Aunt, I was wrong."

"You're at the age where you should be studying, why did you drop out of school? Are you just trying to spite your dad to show him how miserable you are, so he'll feel guilty?"

Yi Feng's body trembled again.

Song Xianglan straightened the bicycle and said with exasperation:

"Give the rice dumpling back to your classmate. Just say you're not selling it anymore. If you think I'm right, go back to school."