Jing Changle didn't dare linger. Head down, he quickly walked into the supply and marketing cooperative; they sold red-threaded writing paper and kraft envelopes here, but stamps had to be bought at the post office.
After buying those two things, Jing Changle spent some money on a pencil as well before leaving the cooperative. There was no post office in the village; they had to go to the nearby county seat.
He bought some food on the way. Since he had a bit of money, he wasn't going to starve himself.
"Is that kid from this village?"
As Jing Changle headed toward the edge of the village, the older policeman at the door asked the old man selling mountain goods beside him.
The old man glanced over and shook his head. "Very unfamiliar, doesn't look like he's from this village."
