Cheng Wennian's Suspicion

Cheng Wennian panicked for a moment. "I think I saw Xiao Rang." She still looked as beautiful and fragile as she had twenty years ago, but even though he ran to catch up, she was nowhere to be seen. Jiang Mai looked at the shopping cart they had been filling; the value of the goods inside—meat, fish, and fruit she had spent so much effort selecting—must have exceeded a thousand yuan.

Jiang Mai lowered her eyes and said, "You must have seen wrong. Xiao Rang passed away three years ago."

Cheng Wennian said nothing, still standing there staring at the entrance. Jiang Mai reached out and lightly pressed her lower abdomen. As she did, she could still feel the sharp blade that had stabbed her that day; it had been so agonizing and painful, though fortunately, the wound wasn't deep.

Jiang Mai pushed the shopping cart to the produce counter. "You like drinking chicken soup. Let's buy an old hen to take back and stew."

Cheng Wennian didn't say yes, nor did he say no; he didn't say a single word. His attitude made Jiang Mai a bit unhappy. She asked the owner how much the last remaining hen cost.

"Three hundred and ninety-nine yuan," Xiao Binming said.

"Wasn't it two hundred and ninety-nine yuan just a few days ago?"

"Today's chickens are of much better quality, so naturally the price is a bit higher."

Jiang Mai was somewhat dissatisfied with the shop owner, but even if it were a thousand yuan per bird, for Cheng Wennian's current family, it was like buying a small bunch of bok choy at a vegetable market—insignificant. People who came to this boutique market generally didn't care about the price; moreover, the more exclusive the item, the greater the sense of superiority they felt after purchasing it.

While Jiang Mai was still hesitating, another customer came to Xiao Binming's stall. Seeing that the free-range chickens today were excellent, he beat Jiang Mai to it and paid the owner. He even muttered under his breath, "If you think it's too expensive, then don't come here to shop."