Chapter 024: This Money Is Not Easy to Earn

In the early morning, magnificent clouds blushed in the east, wisps of smoke curled above the rooftops in the village, and the air was shrouded in a gauzy mist.

With his mother’s help, Wang Qiang found it effortless to push the large cart. In just half an hour, they reached the street.

At this hour, the street was quiet.

As the first rays of morning pierced the haze, the street welcomed a gentle, warm dawn. Farther ahead, the sounds of hawking and haggling grew, and both sides of the market walkway were crowded with vendors hawking a dazzling array of vegetables, fruits, sundries, and even clothing.

When they were still four or five meters from the entrance, Wang Qiang spotted Uncle Zhai greeting customers. He waved from afar, “Uncle Zhai!”

His mother asked, “You know him?”

Before Wang Qiang could answer, Uncle Zhai looked up and replied, “Hey, Little Wang, you’re here?”

“Yes, I know him,” Wang Qiang said, then called ahead to an elderly man and a child, “Excuse me, please.”

The pair quickened their steps and headed into the market.

At the entrance, Wang Qiang heard a woman with two pigtails bargaining at Uncle Zhai’s stall, “...It’s expensive, give me a better price, or I’ll go further inside.”

Uncle Zhai, holding a spotless cabbage with the root cut off, gestured vehemently toward the market, “Where else can you find cabbages this clean? Their old roots alone weigh half a jin. Sister, I’m hardly making anything off you.”

Curious, Wang Qiang glanced over. He saw that the pile of cabbages, reaching up to the knee, had all their old roots trimmed, yellow leaves picked off, and were washed clean—clearly Uncle Zhai had taken his advice.

“Mom, steady the cart while I take down the wooden tub,” Wang Qiang said. He flexed his arms and, with a grunt, lifted the first tub full of crucian carp his mother had prepared. It was heavy; as he set it down, he nearly lost his grip, and it hit the ground with a splash, sending water everywhere.

“Careful, careful,” his mother said anxiously, gripping the cart’s handle, worried he’d tip the tub.

“All right, your cabbage—take care, come again next time.” Uncle Zhai’s voice brimmed with cheer at the completed sale.

As Wang Qiang reached for the second tub, a pair of rough, calloused hands appeared on top of it. Looking up, he saw it was Uncle Zhai. He quickly thanked him, and together they lowered the other tub.

“Whoa, heavier than last time,” Uncle Zhai remarked.

“Many thanks, brother,” Wang Qiang’s mother said with a smile.

“No need, no need. And you are...?”

“Oh, I’m Qiangzi’s mother. And you are...?”

“My surname is Zhai. Just call me Old Zhai.”

After parking the cart in a nearby open spot, Wang Qiang returned to find his mother already chatting with Uncle Zhai. In the countryside, there was none of the urban aloofness between strangers; it was perfectly normal for two unfamiliar shoppers to strike up a conversation.

Wang Qiang approached them with a smile. “Mom, what are you chatting about with Uncle Zhai?”

Uncle Zhai interjected, “She was asking how I get my cabbages so clean, and I told her it was all your idea.”

This time prepared, Wang Qiang set down the long wooden bench and sat with his mother. Casually, he asked, “How’s business today?”

Uncle Zhai beamed, “Great! Your idea worked wonders! Much better than usual. I got here at five-thirty, and in just half an hour, I’ve sold over a hundred jin...”

He hadn’t finished when a hoarse old voice interrupted, “How much for the cabbage?”

“See? Here comes business,” Uncle Zhai laughed and turned to greet a silver-haired man in his sixties.

Indeed, customers kept coming—business was brisk.

Let’s see how their own sales would go today.

As he was about to speak to his mother, Wang Qiang noticed the light in front of him dim. Looking up, he saw a bespectacled man in his thirties standing there.

“I heard you help clean fish here?” The man adjusted his gold-rimmed glasses as he spoke.

Clearly, this was a customer drawn by word of mouth.

Wang Qiang broke into a broad grin. “Yes, we do. One and a half yuan per jin, sir—how many would you like?”

The man nodded politely. “I’m hosting guests at home for lunch; give me five or six of the larger ones.”

“I’ll pick them out for you.” Wang Qiang reached into the tub on his left and fished out a crucian carp about the length of a chopstick. “How about this size?”

“That’s good.”

“Mom, pass me a plastic bag,” Wang Qiang directed.

A bit flustered, his mother rummaged through her cloth bag and produced a black plastic bag she’d bought in town the previous afternoon, handing it to her son.

Wang Qiang selected five of the biggest fish from the tub, slipped them into the bag, weighed them on the steelyard, and, while the pointer was still rising, showed the scale to the man. “Three jin and one liang—let’s call it three jin.”

“Thank you,” the man replied courteously, taking out five yuan from his wallet.

His mother accepted the money and gave him fifty cents change in coins.

While she did so, Wang Qiang stunned the first fish and began to clean it.

He had barely started when another customer arrived.

“Miss, how much is the crucian carp per jin?” asked a chubby man in his mid-twenties.

“One and a half,” his mother murmured. She could bargain loudly when shopping, but when it came to selling, she felt a bit uneasy.

“Sorry, how much?” the man hadn’t caught it.

Wang Qiang, busy with the fish, looked up. “One and a half a jin, and we clean them.”

“That’s why I came here,” the man chuckled.

“Mom, pick out two big ones for this gentleman,” Wang Qiang said, his hands sticky with fish guts.

She nodded, picked two of the larger fish, and showed them to the customer.

With the experience from the day before, Wang Qiang cleaned the fish much faster today, quickly finishing the six for the bespectacled man and then moving on to the next order.

Business was especially good today.

Mother and son barely had a moment to catch their breath.

“Do you clean them here?”

“Hey, they clean fish here too?”

“How much is the white carp per jin?”

Some had come specifically because they’d heard Wang Qiang cleaned fish; others had seen the stall and asked out of curiosity.

In just over an hour, one entire tub of fish had sold out.

At first, Wang Qiang did the cleaning, but soon his mother insisted on taking over. Knowing she would have to handle things alone later, he let her get the hang of it.

As the bustle died down, his mother wiped sweat from her brow. “Qiangzi, what time is it?”

Seated on the small bench, Wang Qiang glanced at his wrist. “Oh, it’s seven-thirty.” He stood up quickly. “Mom, I’m off to the machine factory. You keep busy.”

Uncle Zhai looked over curiously. “Where are you off to, Little Wang?”

“I’ve got something to do.” Wang Qiang didn’t elaborate, instead making a request. “Uncle Zhai, it’s my mother’s first day selling here—if she gets busy later, could you help her out?”

“Of course, no problem,” Uncle Zhai agreed readily.

Wang Qiang thanked him, grabbed the mandarin fish, and, bidding farewell to his mother and Uncle Zhai, hurried east toward the town.

...

Jin Gong Machinery Factory.

After greeting the gatekeeper and stating his business, Wang Qiang was waved in by the old man, who was still yawning.

It was only seven forty, twenty minutes until the night shift ended. Instead of heading straight to Lu Dahai’s office, Wang Qiang wandered over to the first workshop.

Near the door, a sheet of plastic was heaped with black granules. Judging by appearance, they were likely silicon carbide, commonly called emery, used to make grinding wheels.

Wang Qiang looked at it in puzzlement. He didn’t know the details of making grinding wheels, but he did know that silicon carbide micro-powder had a strong tendency to absorb moisture. There’d been heavy rain late into the night, and the morning air was damp—yet here, the granules were left completely unprotected in the open?

He quietly looked inside, curious about what the night-shift workers were up to.

What he saw left him speechless.

Inside, more than a dozen workers were sprawled all over cardboard sheets, snoring away. Only two or three middle-aged men were awake, listlessly smoking and chatting.

“What time is it?”

“Seven forty-two.”

“Old Lu will be here soon. Wake them up.”

“What’s the point? Who isn’t tired after a night shift? Besides, what can Lu Dahai do to us?”

“That may be, but slacking off in secret is one thing—don’t push it too far. If Lu really gets tough, it won’t end well for any of us.”

“All right, I’ll wake them... Up! Get up, everyone!”

At this, the dozen or so men and women on the floor roused themselves, yawning and stretching as they slowly got up.

Wang Qiang saw clearly: the first thing they did wasn’t cleaning the filthy floor, nor resuming the mixing of materials, but drinking water, finding their coats—just waiting for the shift to end.

What was worse, there were still more than ten minutes before eight, but not a single day-shift worker had come in.

It was clear the management at Jin Gong Machinery Factory left much to be desired.

Earning that seven hundred yuan would not be easy.

He made a mental note of all this and, deep in thought, turned and headed to Lu Dahai’s office.