Shen Anran had already paid for the renovation the day she rented the stall, so everything they would buy for the shop would go straight into their little shop—counters, tables, cupboards—all waiting to be arranged just the way she envisioned.
Yuxi County was louder than Shen Anran remembered. Not just in sound, but in life. Vendors shouted prices until their voices turned hoarse. Metal clanged against metal. Wooden carts groaned as they rolled past, complaining under the weight of the day. The smell of oil, spices, dust, and fruit mixed into something overwhelming yet strangely intoxicating.
Shen Anran walked slowly, her mother beside her, each carrying a woven basket that already seemed too small for what they planned to buy.
"This one?" Liu Meilan asked, stopping in front of a stall selling knives.
The blades lay on a cloth—thin slicing knives, heavy cleavers, handles darkened by years of use.
Shen Anran picked up one, weighing it in her hand, then shook her head. "Too heavy. If I use this all day, my wrist will die."
The vendor raised an eyebrow. "Girl, you strong, ah?"
"I don't plan to be strong," Anran said calmly. "I plan to be efficient."
Liu Meilan blinked, then smiled faintly. She was still getting used to this version of her daughter—decisive, thoughtful, confident.
They bargained slowly, carefully. The vendor started at eight yuan. Shen Anran countered with four. They met in the middle at six, and Liu Meilan clutched the knife like treasure.
"Put it carefully," Anran reminded her. "We still have many things to buy."
At a stall selling clay stoves and iron pots, Shen Anran crouched, tapping the sides, peering inside like an expert.
"Why are you knocking it?" Liu Meilan whispered.
"To hear if it's cracked," Anran replied without looking up.
The pot seller watched with interest. "You bought many before?"
"In another life," Shen Anran said lightly, catching herself. "I mean… I've seen enough."
They bought one medium pot and a smaller one, carefully wrapped in old cloth and tied with straw rope.
By the time they reached the appliance section, Liu Meilan's basket was digging into her arm.
"Rest a bit," Shen Anran said, guiding her mother to sit on a low stone near a stall selling sugarcane juice.
The stall owner worked a strange hand-cranked machine, feeding sugarcane through it, pressing out pale green juice. Shen Anran stared, fascinated.
"So this is how they do it," she murmured.
"Want to try?" the man asked.
Before Liu Meilan could stop her, Shen Anran stepped forward, turning the crank. It resisted stubbornly.
"Hard, right?" the man laughed.
Anran braced her foot, pushing harder. The handle jerked suddenly, almost throwing her off balance.
"Aiya!" she exclaimed. The people around laughed, amused but not cruelly. Shen Anran laughed too, a little embarrassed, a little thrilled.
Liu Meilan shook her head helplessly. "This child…"
Two cups of sweet, fresh juice later, Shen Anran wiped her mouth and said seriously, "If we ever expand, this machine will be useful."
"Expand? Let us survive first," Liu Meilan replied, trying not to smile.
They both laughed.
Later, at a stall selling glass bottles, Shen Anran tapped each one lightly, inspecting rims.
"These are good for drinks," she said. "Reusable."
"How will we wash so many?" Liu Meilan worried.
"One step at a time, Mother," Anran replied calmly.
At the spice stall, Shen Anran inhaled deeply—dried chilies, peppercorns, garlic. Her eyes lit up.
"You cook?" the vendor asked.
"I will," she said.
They haggled gently over the price of chilies. Liu Meilan fretted it was too much, but Anran insisted flavor mattered. They compromised, each walking away satisfied.
By afternoon, their baskets were full, shoulders sore, stomachs growling. They shared two steamed buns from a roadside seller, sitting on a low curb, leaning into the chaos of the market.
"You're not afraid here," Liu Meilan said suddenly.
"Afraid of what?" Anran asked, chewing.
"People. Noise. Trying new things."
Shen Anran paused, then smiled softly. "I was afraid before. It didn't help me."
Liu Meilan nodded, storing the words somewhere deep.
When they finally boarded the cart back to the village, baskets heavy and hearts oddly light, Shen Anran leaned back, closing her eyes.
No stall was open. No money earned. Nothing was fully arranged.
But today, they had bought more than tools. They had bought confidence. Experience. The quiet joy of beginning. And for the first time since waking in this era, Shen Anran felt something close to excitement about tomorrow.