Chen Chen is dead.
On the way to deliver food, he was hit by an Audi. When he opened his eyes again, he became Chen Dazhuang who was so poor that he was chewing tree bark in 1960.
The whole family of nine was so hungry that they were all skin and bones, but the uncle's family ate white-flour steamed buns all the time - all stolen from his house.
Grandma's partiality went as far as her armpits. She would come every day to carry food, and if she didn't get it, she would sit at the door and roll around. The first cousin knocked him out and threw him into a ravine, while the second cousin snatched his last bag of wild vegetable roots.
There is no way I can live this day.
Fortunately, Chen Chen has a secret - there is a spiritual spring space hidden in his body. Ten acres of land will mature in one day, chickens will be raised in five days, and the spring water will cure all diseases. While others were so hungry that they gnawed tree bark, he ate rice and flour until he was full in space.
So, this young man who ran a takeaway in his previous life began to quietly make a fortune in the era of famine.
Do the workers at the Red Star Steel Rolling Mill have enough to eat? He supplies.
Are the female workers at the Red Star Textile Factory powerless? He supplies.
Are state-owned restaurants out of food? He supplies.
The police station, supply and marketing cooperatives, and transportation convoys are all looking for him!
The uncle's family was jealous and kept looking for trouble every day. Chen Chen said nothing, his fists did the talking. If you can beat someone, or if you can't beat someone, you won't suffer any loss anyway.
Three years later, the brothers and sisters all went to the city to eat commercial food, and the whole village lined up to fawn over them.
Before she died, grandma held his hand and said, "Da Zhuang, the milk is wrong."
Chen Chen smiled: "Nai, it's too late."
Reader comments
Stop writing, and ask your parents more about what it was like in that era, and what the price of fine white noodles was on the black market in that era.
Stop writing, and ask your parents more about what it was like in that era, and what the price of fine white noodles was on the black market in that era.