RBI1960 Chapter 7

Before her rebirth, Jiang Laidi remembered she had been shopping for discounted frozen goods at the supermarket. There seemed to be some commotion up ahead. After hearing shouting and the sound of gunshots, she blacked out.

Since gun ownership is legal in the United States, it wasn’t unusual for shootings to happen in schools or public places. There were also occasional terrorist attacks. She had no idea what kind of situation she had run into.

Now, somehow, she found herself back in that same supermarket.

The spacious store was neatly organized, with no sign of the chaos that had just occurred. The cold air still blew steadily from the freezers, but the supermarket was empty—not a soul in sight except her. On instinct, Jiang Laidi reached out to touch something inside the freezer, but her fingers passed right through it. She couldn’t feel a thing.

She raised her hand. Her body was now like an ethereal spirit, semi-transparent. She could vaguely see the scenery behind her hand.

What on earth was going on?

She floated in midair, drifting along the store aisles toward the exit.

The supermarket was located on the first basement level of a large commercial building. It was the biggest grocery store in the area, taking up two full floors. The B1 level sold snacks, grains, oil, and fresh produce. Half of the B2 level sold cleaning and personal care products, while the other half was a warehouse stocked with goods. Because of the store’s high foot traffic, they kept inventory levels high. The day she had visited, it happened to be restocking day, which explained why the fresh foods in the freezer were on sale—to make room for new arrivals.

She floated past the imported food section, where the items were usually far too expensive for her to even glance at. Now, she couldn’t touch them even if she wanted to.

What a shame, she thought. So many good things were right in front of her, yet she couldn’t touch a single one. If only she could bring this stuff back to the real world, then her older sisters wouldn’t have to go hungry.

As she was thinking that, in the blink of an eye, she found herself back in the run-down old house, lying next to Gu Dongmei under a thin blanket. Around her, a chorus of soft and loud snores filled the air.

She reached to her side and suddenly turned her head. Sitting right next to her was the box of candy she’d just been staring at in the supermarket.

A wave of joy rushed through Jiang Laidi’s heart. Could it be—just like in those fantasy novels—she now had access to some kind of space, and everything inside had followed her to the 1960s?

She knew how incredibly well-stocked that supermarket was. With access to that place, she and her sisters could live happy, comfortable lives.

Trying to suppress her excitement, she closed her eyes and focused. I want to go in, I want to go in. She concentrated on the layout of the supermarket. The next second, she was back in that space again, her body once more a translucent spirit. The candy box that had been in her hand fell to the ground with a plop.

Just as she had hoped, not only could she bring things out of the space, but she could also bring things into it.

Ignoring the candy box on the floor, she tried to maneuver her ghost-like form upwards.

Since the supermarket was on the first basement level, she wanted to see if she had only brought the store itself over to the 1960s, or the entire building.

Unfortunately, the staircase leading up was shrouded in a strange fog. She tried to pass through it but couldn’t—like hitting an invisible wall. With a sigh of disappointment, she turned back.

Still, having the supermarket alone was already an unexpected gift. Even without the upper levels, she wasn’t too upset.

She spent the next period exploring the supermarket thoroughly.

The most important section to her was the grains and cooking oils. Americans didn’t eat much rice, but they consumed a lot of flour. Since the area had many Chinese residents, the store still stocked rice. By her rough count, each bag was twenty pounds, and there were over a hundred bags just on the shelves. There was even more flour and coarse grain powder—two to three hundred bags in total, not counting what was in the warehouse.

She did some quick math. That much grain was more than enough to support her family through the hardest years with ease.

In the 1960s, oil rations were distributed monthly—each person only received about fifty grams a month. Most families were short on oil and even used it sparingly when cooking. You couldn’t buy fatty pork from the supply co-ops unless you had connections. Everyone waited eagerly for even a little bit of lard to satisfy their cravings.

The oil in the supermarket was more than she could use in a lifetime. The only issue was that the quality was too good. Back then, household oils were mostly unrefined, pressed from rapeseed—dark, with sediment, and a strange smell. If she brought the high-grade oil from the space into the real world, her family might get suspicious.

Jiang Laidi frowned at the pile of abundant supplies. The real challenge was figuring out how to take this food out without arousing suspicion.

She shook her head and continued walking. First, she needed to take a full inventory of the store’s goods—she could worry about the logistics later.

With food and oil taken care of, her next target was the fabric section.

In China, the ration coupon system didn’t fully end until 1993. After the economic reforms, most coupons became meaningless, but before that, they were essential for daily life. Without the right coupons, you couldn’t buy necessities—unless you turned to the black market, which was risky. Getting caught making private trades for cash could result in severe punishment.

Of the three most important coupons—grain, oil, and cloth—the cloth coupon (also known as the Cotton Fabric Purchase Certificate) was vital. City residents typically received about 13 to 15 feet of cloth coupons per year. That wasn’t even enough to make a single decent outfit for an adult. Most families pooled coupons to make one or two new garments a year. The rest had to make do with patched-up hand-me-downs.

“Three years new, three years old, and another three years patched up”—that was life back then. Families who were struggling would sometimes save their cloth coupons to trade for food. People even used fertilizer sacks (which were cheap and sturdy) to make clothes.

In town, nearly everyone wore patched garments. Only a rare few, like his aunt, who had the means to sew a stylish Lenin suit, stood out, like a blond foreigner in a small 1950s Chinese town. No wonder Fan Xiaojun had been so jealous when she saw that outfit.

In the Jiang household, everything was strictly hierarchical. Cloth coupons went toward making clothes for the men. Old Lady Miao got a new outfit every two or three years. As for Gu Dongmei and the five sisters, their clothes were patched together from old garments, some barely recognizable.

Even Ai Guo and Ai Dang, from the second household, got a new set of clothes each year by taking coupons meant for the sisters. Before leaving the Jiang family, Jiang Laidi had never worn a single new piece of clothing. It had left a mark on him for years. Before his eldest sister Jiang Dani got married, an old widower had gifted her some cloth coupons. But Fan Xiaojun had pestered her into giving them up and handed her a ragged outfit from her wedding instead. Poor Big Sister never wore a decent outfit her whole life.

In America, many housewives liked to sew their clothes. They also bought fabric to make curtains and other items, so the supermarket had a dedicated fabric section stocked with every kind of material imaginable. Jiang Laidi even remembered some people liked to buy raw cotton cloth—called greige cloth—to dye it themselves. In the 1960s, clothing colors were limited to navy, gray, and black. Fortunately, the store had a full range of dyes to create custom colors.

Bolts of fabric were stacked on the shelves like little mountains.

He ignored the colorful, glittery ones and searched for gray cloth. In one corner, he found a stack of indigo cotton fabric covered in dust—perfect for immediate use, no dyeing needed.

This floor also had tons of snacks, drinks, and spices. The frozen section had ten massive freezers packed with frozen fish, meat, and ready-to-eat foods.

He wasn’t sure whether time in this space was frozen or if the supermarket’s backup power was still keeping the freezers running. If it was the latter, that meant the food would eventually spoil—another problem he’d need to solve.

But that would take time to figure out.

Before he could go explore the cleaning supplies section and the warehouse on the lower floor, he was shaken awake—it was his mom, up in the middle of the night to nurse him.

The space wouldn’t run away, and his stomach was indeed hungry. Babies get hungry quickly. Without a second thought, he drank his fill, his mind occupied by a sweet little dilemma.

That same question came back to him: with so much in the space, how was he going to bring it out without causing trouble?

In the ’60s and ’70s, supplies were wealth. If he wanted to build a stable future, he’d need to use these materials safely and smartly. This time, he had an advantage no one else had—he couldn’t let his life turn out like before.

After nursing, he was too tired to explore the space again. With that lingering worry in his heart, he slowly drifted off to sleep.