The Capital's Morning Market was a sea of blue worker jackets, rattling bicycles, and the sharp, earthy smell of raw ginger and diesel. In 1983, the "free market" was a wild beast half-regulated and half-ruled by the fist.
Lin Xi arrived at 4:00 AM, her breath blooming in the frigid air. She had spent her last few yuan on a second-hand wooden cart and a sack of "Grade B" flour. She didn't have the luxury of the military kitchen anymore. This was the front line.
"You can't park that here, girlie," a gravelly voice barked.
A man with a jagged scar across his eyebrow and a greasy sheepskin vest stepped out from behind a vegetable stall. Behind him, three thugs lounged against a brick wall, twirling heavy iron wrenches.
"This is Stall 42," Lin Xi said, her voice like a cold snap of a whip. She pulled out the red-stamped permit Gu Shaozheng had given her. "Assigned by the Commerce Bureau. Move your crates."
The man, known in the market as 'Scarface Liu,' spat on the ground near her boots. "The Bureau writes the papers, but I collect the ground tax. You want to steam buns here? That'll be five yuan a day. Plus a 'cleaning fee' of two yuan."
Seven yuan a day? That was a highway robbery. Most workers only earned thirty yuan a month.
"I don't pay for air I already breathe," Lin Xi replied, calmly lifting a heavy cast-iron griddle onto her cart. The weight of the metal was immense, but she moved it with the practiced leverage of a woman who had spent twenty years in a professional kitchen.
Scarface Liu laughed, stepping closer until he was looming over her. "You've got a bit of spirit, don't you? Look, little sister, I don't care who gave you that paper. In this market, if Liu says you move, you move. Unless you want to see how your pretty face looks under a hot griddle."
The surrounding vendors honest farmers and struggling retirees quickly looked away, terrified of being targeted next.
Lin Xi didn't flinch. She reached into her coal brazier and sparked a flame. "I'll make you a deal, Liu. I'm making 'Golden Thread Crepes' today. If you can find a single person in this market who says they aren't worth seven yuan, I'll pack up and leave. But if they sell out in an hour... you leave me alone for a month."
The thugs chuckled. "Crepes? It's just flour and water, you brat!"
"One hour," Lin Xi challenged, her eyes burning with a fierce, modern ambition. "Do we have a bet, or are you just a loud mouth with a scar?"
Liu's face darkened. "Deal. But when you lose, I'm taking that cart and that fancy watch you're hiding under your sleeve."
The Art of the Sale
Lin Xi didn't waste a second. She didn't just cook; she performed.
She took the "Grade B" flour which was slightly yellow and coarse and mixed it with fermented bean water and a pinch of secret spices she had ground herself. On the hot griddle, she spread the batter until it was thin as a dragonfly's wing.
Sizzle.
The scent hit the air like a physical force. It wasn't just the smell of frying dough; she had rendered a tiny bit of bacon fat she'd salvaged, mixing it with scallions and crushed peppercorns.
"Step up! The Empress's Morning Silk!" Lin Xi shouted, her voice melodic and commanding. "Modern flavor, ancient price! Five fen a piece! Taste the future of the Capital!"
In the 80s, marketing was non-existent. Lin Xi's "theatrical" cooking the way she flipped the crepes high in the air and folded them into perfect triangles drew a crowd instantly.
"What is that? It smells like... meat? But there's no meat?" an old man asked, leaning in.
"It's the seasoning, Uncle," Lin Xi smiled, handing him a sample on a piece of scrap paper. "The flavor of the soul."
The old man took a bite. His eyes widened. The "Golden Thread" was crispy, savory, and had a depth of flavor that made the standard steamed buns feel like wet cardboard. "Give me three! No, five! My grandson needs to taste this!"
The crowd surged. "I want one!" "Me too!" "Don't push!"
The Breaking Point
Scarface Liu watched in disbelief as a line formed, snaking past the other stalls. He looked at his watch. Forty minutes. She had already made more than ten yuan in change.
"Boss, we gotta stop her," one of the thugs whispered. "The other vendors are starting to look at us like we're losing our grip."
Liu grabbed a wooden club and marched toward Lin Xi's cart. "Market's closed for inspection! Move it, everyone!"
The crowd hesitated, the fear of the thugs returning.
Lin Xi didn't stop flipping crepes. "Liu, the hour isn't up. Are you a man of your word, or just a coward who's afraid of a girl with a spatula?"
"I'm a man who doesn't like being played!" Liu roared, raising the club to smash her jars of oil.
CLANG.
The club didn't hit the jars. It hit a solid steel baton.
Gu Shaozheng stood there, still in his military uniform, his presence turning the chaotic market into a tomb-like silence. He hadn't come with an army; he had come alone, his hands behind his back.
"Commander Gu!" Liu gasped, his face turning from red to a sickly grey. "We were just... helping the lady with her permits."
"Is that right?" Gu Shaozheng asked, his voice a low, terrifying purr. He looked at the club in Liu's hand. "In the military, we call that 'armed assault on a civilian.' In the market, I believe they call it 'looking for a coffin.'"
Gu Shaozheng stepped closer, his shadow swallowing the thug. "This woman is under the protection of the Northern Command. If I see a single scratch on this cart, or a single drop of spilled oil, I won't send the police. I'll send a recon squad to practice their 'urban maneuvers' on your front door. Understood?"
Liu dropped the club as if it were red-hot. "Understood! Perfectly! We're leaving! We're gone!"
The thugs vanished into the crowd like rats into a sewer.
The crowd cheered, and the line for crepes doubled.
Gu Shaozheng turned to Lin Xi. He looked at her soot-smudged face and her bright, triumphant eyes. He felt a surge of something he couldn't name pride? Admiration?
"I told you to wait for my guards," he said, though there was no real heat in his voice.
"I didn't need guards," Lin Xi said, handing him the very last crepe, folded neatly. "I needed a witness. Now the whole market knows I can't be bullied. That's worth more than any permit."
Gu Shaozheng took a bite of the crepe. It was cold by now, but the flavor was still incredible. "You made fourteen yuan today, Lin Xi. That's half a month's salary for a factory worker."
Lin Xi wiped her hands and looked at the rising sun. "Fourteen yuan is just the beginning, Shaozheng. Tomorrow, I'm buying a second griddle. By next month, I'm buying a shop. And by next year..."
She looked at him, her gaze bold and beautiful. "I'm going to be the one protecting you."
As they talked, a black sedan with tinted windows the kind used only by high-ranking government officials—slowly drove past the stall. Inside, Secretary Lin (Jiaojiao's father) watched through the glass, his eyes narrowed.
"So that's the girl who humiliated my daughter," he muttered to his assistant. "Close down the Morning Market for 'sanitary renovations' starting tomorrow. Let's see how she sells crepes in an empty lot."