In the previous life, Jiang Yan got married.
Grandma received a bride price of 300 yuan and married her off to the son of the party secretary of the brigade next door. She endured the man's drinking and beating after marriage for thirty years and raised two children with a sewing machine. At the age of forty-eight, she died on a bench in the corridor of the county hospital. There is no one around.
When she opened her eyes again, she was back in 1983.
The day before breaking off the engagement.
The iron pot on the stove is still ringing, the jujube trees in the yard are still green, and my younger brother is squatting on the threshold to eat sweet potatoes. She touched her face - the left cheek was burning because of her grandma's slap.
This time, she won't marry.
The bankbook was put away, the sewing machine was pushed onto the trolley, and my brother took his hand - let's go.
Later, the whole county knew that there was a clothes-making girl named Jiang on Yongning Street. Good craftsmanship, fair prices, and tough temperament. Later, the whole county knew that she was a wealthy person with a household income of 10,000 yuan.
Later, a man in military uniform came to her shop every day.
"Comrade Jiang, the sleeves of this cotton-padded jacket are too short."
"Short and redone."
"No need. Just measure the length of my arms and make them longer next time."
She looked up at him. He stood in front of the counter, his military uniform straight and his ears red.
