"I’ll go buy them right now!" Evelyn chirped, playing the role of the dutiful daughter to perfection.

The middle-aged woman she’d outmaneuvered huffed, watching the old man walk away with the bicycle. With her pride slightly singed, she turned to scan the other stalls.

The county’s black market was far more sophisticated than the village’s meager trade. Here, the air smelled of dried mountain herbs, toasted sesame, and sugary confections. Stalls overflowed with local delicacies: twisted fried dough, fruit cakes, and jars of preserves. Evelyn moved through the aisles, picking out treats she had never tasted.

In the state-run co-ops, fruit cakes and fried twists went for four cents; here, they were six. She didn't blink. She dropped six dollars on five pounds of assorted hard candies—a king’s ransom in sweets.

Deep in the market, she spotted a grain merchant. Her pulse quickened. She ran her fingers through a sack of rice; the grains were polished and clean. Though she had nearly twenty pounds stashed in her spatial dimension, the golden rule of survival was more is better. She promptly secured twenty pounds of rice and twenty pounds of flour.

Nearby, a vendor was selling fresh pears for five cents a pound. Remembering Tess mentioning the local delicacy of "frozen pears," she bought twenty pounds on the spot. After rounding out her haul with rapid-consumption essentials—matches and salt—she balanced two heavy burlap sacks on a shoulder pole and exited the market.

Ensuring no one was tailing her, she slipped into a deserted alleyway latrine and vanished. A second later, the goods were safely tucked into her dimension.

When she emerged, the "grieving daughter" was gone. In her place was a bundled figure wearing Mrs. Ward’s oversized coat and a heavy scarf. She wheeled out Caleb’s bicycle.

At the western black market—an even larger, more chaotic hub—she prepared for her second act. Last time, her "father" was on his deathbed; this time, it was her mother’s turn.

"My poor mother hasn't long for this world," Evelyn whispered to a growing circle of onlookers, her voice cracking. "The doctor told me to feed her well while she can still swallow. But my eldest brother’s wedding drained every cent the family had. I have no choice... I have to sell our only treasure."

She patted the handlebars of the bike. "Bought it just last year. You know how hard these are to get even with a coupon. If it weren't for her illness, I’d never let it go..."

A bicycle was a "Big Ticket" item. Most people just stared, but eventually, an older woman stepped forward. "You’ve been talking for ten minutes, girl. What’s the price?"

"Fifty dollars," Evelyn said firmly.

"Fifty? For a used frame?" a man shouted.

"It’s in near-mint condition," Evelyn countered, looking him in the eye. "Fifty dollars for a machine this reliable is a steal. You won’t find a better deal in the county."

"Look, I can see you're in a bind," another man offered. "Give it to me for forty-five."

Evelyn shook her head, looking pained. "My father set the price. If I go home with a cent less, I’m finished."

The woman who had asked first bit her lip, then reached for her purse. "Fine. Fifty it is."

Another fifty dollars into the coffers.

As the crowd dispersed, one woman lingered, sighing. "My son is getting married and all we’re missing is a bicycle. If that were a brand-new model, I’d have jumped at it."

Evelyn’s mind whirred. Her spatial dimension contained the "dowry" Mrs. Ward had meticulously hoarded for her sons—not just bicycle coupons, but watches and sewing machine permits.

She followed the woman away from the crowd. "Ma'am? I have a bicycle coupon if you're interested."

The woman turned, surprised to see the same girl.

"It was meant for my brother’s wedding," Evelyn lied effortlessly, the stories flowing like water. "But with my mother’s condition..."

In the black market, the truth mattered less than the goods. If the paper was real, the reason for the sale was just background noise.

"The family paid ten dollars for the permit. I’ll give it to you for nine," Evelyn whispered. The woman, knowing a bargain when she saw one, paid immediately. Another nine dollars.

Evelyn went on a final spending spree. She added thirty pounds of rice, thirty pounds of flour, and five pounds of premium pork belly to her hoard. She bought five pounds of ribs, two pounds of lard, and another twenty pounds of pears.

As she exited the market this time, she felt two sets of eyes on her back.

She picked up her pace, weaving through a labyrinth of side streets. Reaching a blind corner with no witnesses, she vanished into her dimension, sacks and all.

Seconds later, two men rounded the corner, breathless.

"Where’d she go?"

"I saw her turn right here!"

"Check the alleys! She’s carrying a mountain of gear, she can't have gone far!"

They circled the block for thirty minutes, swearing and searching, before finally giving up. "The witch must have found a hole to crawl into," one grumbled as they trudged away.

Evelyn waited until the coast was clear before stepping back into the sunlight. She changed again—this time into Caleb’s clothes—and headed for the third and final market.

She carried two radios from the Ward household. New, they cost between forty and sixty dollars. She sold them both as "used" for a total of eighty. It was a quick, low-hassle sale.

With her pockets overflowing with cash, she finished her shopping: thirty more pounds of rice and flour, ten pounds of marrow bones, and three large grass carp.

She boarded the bus back to the village, drifting into a satisfied nap. Surrounded by the clucking of chickens and the smell of travel-worn bodies, the girl with "empty" pockets slept like a babe, knowing her real fortune was tucked away in a crack in reality.

She was jolted awake by an elderly woman as they pulled into town. "Wake up, dear. Qingfeng Town."

Evelyn stretched, stepped off the bus, and found a secluded spot. She pulled out a brand-new bicycle she’d bought earlier and pedaled back to the woods where she was supposed to be gathering firewood.

The weight of the wood she eventually hauled back to the village was nothing compared to the weight of the "profit" she had made today. As for Julian and Seraphina—and the disaster awaiting them with their stolen packages—she couldn't care less if they starved.