The 4:00 AM air of 1995 was a damp, grey fog that clung to the throat. Li Hua moved through the quiet apartment like a ghost. She had barely slept, her mind racing with the "Stitch Mastery" diagrams the System had burned into her brain.
Under the loose floorboard, she had taken only two of the old "Blue Note" ten-yuan bills. She didn't want to alert Auntie Mei by flashing too much cash at once. Twenty yuan, plus her ten-yuan reward, gave her thirty yuan—a small fortune in the local morning market.
As she stepped out of the apartment building, she noticed the -2kg weight loss again. Her steps were lighter, and she no longer felt the agonizing chafing of her inner thighs as she walked.
[Ding! Current Weight: 93kg. Goal: 55kg. Keep going, Host!]
The Morning Market was a riot of sound and smell. Stalls were lit by dim yellow bulbs and kerosene lamps. Farmers shouted the prices of bok choy, and the smell of sizzling jianbing (crepes) mixed with the metallic scent of raw meat.
Li Hua bypassed the food stalls. Her goal was the "Fabric Corner" at the far end of the market, where wholesalers from the southern provinces dumped their surplus stock.
[System Skill: 'Fabric Analysis' Active. Looking for: High-density Cotton-Poly blend.]
She moved through the stalls, her eyes scanning the bolts of cloth. Most were the standard "Communist Blue" or "Ant Grey" fabrics—stiff, itchy, and shapeless. Then, her gaze locked onto a pile of discarded scraps in the corner of a stall run by a man with a thick southern accent.
It was a deep, midnight-blue fabric with a subtle sheen. In 1995, most people would see it as "too dark" or "weirdly stretchy," but Li Hua saw a revolution.
"How much for this 'junk'?" Li Hua asked, her hand brushing the fabric.
[Ding! Item: Lycra-infused Cotton Blend. Market Value in 1995: Low. Potential Value: High. Suggestion: Buy it all!]
The vendor looked at the oversized girl and chuckled, flicking ash from his cigarette. "That? It's a factory mistake from Guangzhou. It's too stretchy to hold a crease. Five yuan for the whole bolt just to get it out of my sight."
Li Hua didn't haggle. She handed over the five yuan, her heart racing. With this fabric, she wouldn't make the boxy, unflattering clothes everyone else wore. She was going to make the first "Slimming A-Line Skirt" this town had ever seen.
She spent another ten yuan on high-quality silk thread and a set of sharp, German-engineered needles. By the time she finished her "shopping," her arms were heavy with supplies, but her spirit was soaring.
She returned home just as the sun began to peek over the smog-heavy horizon. Auntie Mei and Lulu were still asleep, blissfully unaware that the "fat pig" was preparing to disrupt their world.
Li Hua locked herself in her room and sat at her mother's Singer sewing machine. The "Stitch Mastery" skill took over. Her fingers, which used to feel like thick sausages, suddenly moved with the grace of a concert pianist.
Whirr. Whirr. Whirr.
She didn't use a pattern. She used her own body as the template, but she adjusted the measurements for the "90kg version" of herself. She designed a high-waisted, structured skirt that used the stretch of the fabric to pull in the waist and flare out at the hips—a design that wouldn't reach this small town for another decade.
As the needle flew, she added a tiny, hidden detail: a delicate, hand-embroidered phoenix on the inner hem, a signature from her mother's ledger.
[Ding! 'Modern Garment' Created! Quality: Masterpiece. Effect: Visual Weight Loss -5kg when worn.]
Li Hua held up the garment. It was beautiful. It was sharp. It was professional. She stripped off her sweat-stained rags and stepped into the skirt.
She looked in the cracked vanity mirror. The girl looking back still had a long way to go, but the skirt transformed her. It gave her a waist. It gave her a silhouette. It gave her the "Aura" she needed to face the world.
"Today, I'm not just a fat girl," she whispered, her reflection's eyes glowing with ambition. "I'm a brand."
Suddenly, a loud bang echoed from the living room. "Li Hua! Get out here! The scrap collector is here for that machine!"
The bedroom door was nearly kicked off its hinges. Auntie Mei stood there, her face twisted in a mask of impatient greed, with a scruffy man in a grease-stained cap lingering behind her.
"Move aside, you glutton!" Auntie Mei barked, gesturing toward the heavy Singer sewing machine. "Old Chen has traveled across town with his cart. He's offering three Yuan for this hunk of scrap. It's more than it's worth, considering how you've let it rust."
Old Chen, the scrap collector, stepped forward, his eyes downcast. He had seen many families sell off their legacies in these cramped 90s apartments, and he usually didn't care. But as he looked up to estimate the weight of the iron, he froze.
Li Hua wasn't the "messy, bloated girl" Auntie Mei had described on the phone.
She stood tall, her back as straight as a palace guard's. But it was the clothes that stopped his breath. She was wearing the midnight-blue skirt she had finished only minutes ago. The fabric caught the dim morning light, shimmering with a deep, expensive luster that shouldn't exist in this dusty room. The high-waisted cut pulled in her midsection, creating a sharp, professional silhouette that commanded respect.
Auntie Mei blinked, her mouth falling open. "What... what are you wearing? Did you steal that from the Friendship Store?"
"I made it," Li Hua said, her voice like cold silk. "On this 'hunk of scrap' you're trying to sell for the price of a few bowls of noodles."
Old Chen stepped closer, his professional curiosity piqued. He had spent twenty years handling textiles before the factories laid him off. He reached out a calloused hand, then hesitated, afraid to touch the pristine fabric.
"This... this isn't local cloth," Old Chen muttered, his eyes narrowing as he looked at the stitching. It was perfect. The tension of the thread was so consistent it looked like it had been done by a high-end German industrial machine, not a household Singer. "And this cut... it makes you look like a manager from the capital."
Auntie Mei recovered from her shock, her face turning a muddy red. "Don't listen to her! She's a fat, ugly girl who spends all day eating lard and dreaming! She probably spent her father's secret money on this to hide her shame. Chen, take the machine!"
Old Chen looked at the machine, then at the girl. "Mistress Mei," he said, his voice turning uncharacteristically firm. "I'm a scrap collector, not a fool. A girl who can turn Guangzhou 'mistake' fabric into a garment of this caliber doesn't have a 'scrap' machine. She has a gold mine."
He turned to Li Hua, his gaze full of a new, wary respect. "Young lady, I've seen the tailors in the state-owned factories. None of them have your eye for lines. But... if you don't mind me saying... how does a girl in a town like this learn the 'Slimming Cut' of the southern boutiques?"
It was the question Li Hua expected. The "Face-Slap" was about to land.
"I didn't learn it from a boutique, Mr. Chen," Li Hua said, stepping toward him. The way she moved—with her new +10 Agility was graceful, making the skirt sway beautifully. "I learned it by studying the very things people like you throw away. I see the value in what others call 'fat' or 'ugly' or 'trash.' Just like this machine."
She placed a hand on the iron wheel of the Singer. "Auntie Mei sees three Yuan. I see the engine of a fashion empire. Mr. Chen, I'm sorry you wasted your trip, but this machine is no longer for sale. In fact," she reached into her pocket and pulled out the 10 Yuan she had earned from the System, "here is five Yuan for your time and the coal you used to bring your cart here. Consider it a deposit. Soon, I'll need a reliable man to transport high-end bolts of silk to my workshop. Are you interested?"
Old Chen's eyes bugged out. Five Yuan just for a "wasted trip"? That was two days' earnings! He looked at the 10-Yuan bill in her hand a crisp "Blue Note" and then at her determined, sharp eyes.
"I... yes. Yes, Young Miss," Old Chen stammered, taking the money with a bow of his head. He didn't see a "fat girl" anymore. He saw a boss.
Auntie Mei was shaking, her greed clashing with a new, bubbling fear. "You... you have ten Yuan? Where did you get that? You thief! You stole that from my drawer!"
"Check your drawer then, Auntie," Li Hua smiled, a cold, predatory expression that made the older woman flinch. "But do it quietly. I have work to do. And if I hear another word about scrap collectors, I'll tell the neighbors exactly how much you've been 'saving' from the grocery budget."
As Old Chen scuttled out of the room, muttering about "rising dragons," Li Hua turned back to her mirror.
[Ding! Mission Complete: Save the Legacy and Recruit an Ally. Reward: -3kg Weight Loss, 'Fabric Analysis' Skill Level 2!]
The heat hit her again. This time, she felt her jawline sharpen. The puffiness around her eyes vanished, revealing the deep, soulful almond shape of her mother's eyes.
She wasn't just "blessed" by a system. She was reclaiming herself, stitch by stitch.