Meng Yan's Transformation

Chapter 657 Zhan Mengyan Learned to Sell

After having breakfast, Zhan Mengyan and Zhan Zixun carried a basket of tomatoes to the street.

Zhan Mengyan squatted in front of her stall, with two baskets of bright red tomatoes in front of her. Each one looked as if it had been kissed by the sun, with thin skin and full of juice, still carrying the coolness of the morning dew. But she kept her head down, her fingers pinching a corner, and even when she looked up at the pedestrians on the roadside, it was as if she was spying on someone else's secret.

"Tomatoes—sweet and juicy, homegrown! Sweet like first love, one bite and you'll never forget them..."

The auntie at the next stall had a loud voice, like a gong, which woke up the whole street. Zhan Mengyan's heart trembled with envy. She wanted to shout like that too, but her throat felt like it was blocked with cotton, and her face burned red as soon as she opened her mouth.

"Brother Zixun, could you say a few words for me?" she pleaded softly with her brother.

Zhan Zixun smiled wryly and patted his shoulder: "You can do it, I'm just giving you courage."

Before he could finish speaking, Zhan Zixun turned and ran, like a startled sparrow, disappearing into the street corner in the blink of an eye.

Zhan Mengyan stood there, stunned. Her heart sank to the ground. The stall was empty, not even a fly wanted to stay. The fruits that should have been proud were now like her, silent, aggrieved, and ignored.

Time ticked by, beads of sweat fell into the soil and evaporated instantly. She began to count the footsteps that passed by—ten, eleven, twelve… No one stopped.

"No...we can't do this." Zhan Mengyan bit her lip, her eyes welling up with tears.

Zhan Mengyan took a deep breath and stood up abruptly, as if jumping into ice water. Her voice was squeezed out of her chest, like a spider's thread broken by the wind—short, trembling, and stuck in her throat, only daring to utter five words:

"Selling—persimmons!"

The last note lingered for a long time, like a taut string.

She was startled herself. She dared not look at anyone, her eyes fixed on the ground just an inch from her toes, where there were flattened dandelions and half a watermelon rind.

But a miracle happened.

An elderly woman carrying a basket stopped in her tracks: "Oh my, this child has quite a loud voice!"

Then, an older woman came over and asked, "These tomatoes are really red, how much are they per pound?"

Even the old woman selling tofu across the street put down her knife and nodded at her.

Zhan Mengyan's face was still red, but her voice gradually became steady and louder: "Three cents a pound! Homegrown, no pesticides, one bite and it's sweet to the core!"

A yellow dog lay lazily three meters away, its ears twitching as she called out, and it even let out a soft hum.

Zhan Mengyan imitated her aunt, putting her left hand on her hip, pointing to the basket with her right hand, her eyes shining like stars.

The midday sun grew increasingly scorching, and fine beads of sweat on her forehead seeped into the soil, yet a cool breeze swept through her heart.

The tomatoes in the basket had dwindled to almost nothing.

Just as she was wiping away sweat and catching her breath, the sky suddenly darkened above her head, and a light blue sun hat gently landed on her head. Under the brim, Zhan Zixun's smiling face was visible.

"Mengyan, you shouted much louder than I did," he said, his voice as soft as if afraid of disturbing the summer dream.

Zhan Mengyan looked up at Zhan Zixun, but didn't say anything. She just pulled her hat brim down to cover her burning face.

But a smile quietly crept onto her lips.

The wind slipped out from the cracks in the old brick wall behind her, carrying the sweet and sour scent of tomatoes, bypassing the shopping basket, the bicycle, and the copper bell of the popsicle vendor, finally gently brushing against the brim of her hat.

She carefully picked out the last few tomatoes from the basket, wrapped them in newspaper, and placed them in the most conspicuous spot on the stall.

She wrote in pencil on the label:

"Today I learned how to hawk my wares."

—Zhan Mengyan, 15 years old, first order of the summer vacation.

The wind blew in again from the other end of the market, carrying the fresh scent of tomatoes and the courage of a girl who finally shouted, "I'm here!"