Eighties Trader: Stockpiling in My Pocket Dimension to Raise Triplet Girls

Lin Zhengbang opened his eyes and found himself back in the winter of 1983. His three newborn daughters were crying with hunger in his arms. His wife lay on the kang, deathly pale from blood loss, and the rice jar in the kitchen was nearly empty. And to top it all off, today was grain distribution day. The production team had notified him: "Your family had a third child in violation of the birth policy, so your grain ration is cut in half." In his last life, he spent his days as a timid failure. None of his three daughters went to college, and they all married poor men. Until the day he died, he felt he had let them down. But things would be different this time. An old copper clasp had appeared on his wrist, the keepsake he'd been holding when he died. When the clasp warmed up, his consciousness could enter a thirty-square-meter gray space where the temperature stayed constant, food stayed fresh, and time stood still. What did that mean? It meant he could stockpile goods. In the 1980s, information gaps meant money. Electronic watches cost two yuan in the south and sold for eight in the north. Fine dacron fabric and nylon stockings from the big cities could fetch triple the price in the county seat. Firecrackers for the New Year, fertilizer for spring, popsicles for summer... He'd stock whatever sold well. In his previous life, Lin Zhengbang had spent decades running a small business. He knew exactly what made money and what lost it. He tucked the copper clasp away, slung a snakeskin bag over his shoulder, and told his wife, "When I get back, I'll buy our girls some formula." Three days later, he returned with two tins of formula, three jin of brown sugar, and a secondhand radio. The villagers were stunned. Was this really Lin the Fourth, the man who'd been so poor you could hear his pockets jingle? With his three precious girls in his arms, Lin Zhengbang thought, This time, Dad will pave the way for you all.