The next morning, Li Xueqing rose with the pale winter light. The quilt was thin, the room drafty, and her breath misted in the cold. She boiled water in the chipped kettle, washed her face, and tied her braid firmly. Today, she needed to settle her place in the city.
At the street office, the cadre in a green jacket flipped through her hukou and house allocation papers. After checking her name against the records, she stamped them with a heavy seal.
"You're registered now. Rations will be collected here each month. Don't lose this book," the cadre said briskly, sliding the hukou back to her.
Xueqing bowed slightly. "Thank you, comrade."
With her documents in order, she went to the state supply store. Inside, shelves stood in neat rows, sparsely filled: sacks of grain, tins of oil, bars of coarse soap, enamel basins stacked against the wall. Customers queued patiently, ration tickets and money ready.
When her turn came, she handed over grain and oil tickets, along with a few yuan. The clerk weighed rice and flour, wrapped them in brown paper, measured out oil in a tin, and added soap, salt, and a new basin. She also bought a bundle of coal briquettes for her stove.
By the time she stepped outside, her arms were laden with packages. The weight dragged at her shoulders, but she walked steadily through the streets.
When she turned into her lane, the change was immediate. Heads lifted, curtains twitched, conversations hushed. Women paused with half-peeled vegetables in their hands, children pointed, and an old man leaned forward on his stool.
"That house has been empty for years."
"Who is she?"
"She came with a key. Did someone from the housing office assign it?"
"Strange… never saw her parents before."
"And look, carrying so much. She must have plenty of tickets."
Their voices carried, half curious, half suspicious.
Xueqing kept her eyes down, her steps steady. She pushed open the courtyard gate with her elbow and carried the bundles inside.
But she had barely set them on the table before a knock rattled the door.
She opened it to find a woman from across the lane, broom in hand. Her smile was wide, but her eyes were sharp. "Little girl, you just moved in? This house has been vacant a long time. How did you get it?"
Xueqing bowed politely. "It belonged to my parents."
The woman blinked, her smile faltering, but she quickly recovered. "Ah, so that's it. No wonder you had the key." She leaned forward. "But living here by yourself… isn't it difficult?"
Before she could answer, the old man with the enamel cup shuffled closer. "Your parents' house, eh? Funny, we never saw them here."
Xueqing's fingers tightened slightly on the doorframe, but her voice stayed calm. "They worked elsewhere. I'll be living here now."
The man grunted, unsatisfied, but asked no further questions.
"I see, I see," the broom woman said, her tone too cheerful. "Well, if you need help, neighbors should look out for each other."
When they left, murmurs spread down the lane again.
"Her parents' house, she says."
"But why didn't they ever live here?"
"She brought back so many things… she must have plenty of tickets."
Inside, Xueqing unpacked methodically. She stacked the coal by the stove, poured rice into a tin, and set the soap and salt neatly on the shelf. The enamel basin gleamed faintly in the lamplight.
The house still felt too empty, but each item gave it more shape, more weight.
Outside, the low hum of voices continued. She could feel their eyes on her gate, measuring her, judging her.
She sat at the table, her back straight, her gaze steady.
She had left the compound where everyone knew her. Here, she was a stranger.
But this was her house. Her tickets were hers. And she would guard them carefully.