Chapter 003: Even the Heavens Are Lending a Hand

Walking back along the gravel path between two rows of red-walled, black-tiled houses, the scent of half-grown rice paddies drifted nearby, carrying a grassy aroma that wasn’t particularly pleasant.

Still, Wang Qiang took a deep breath. This was the true smell of fresh air—so much better than the exhaust-laden atmosphere of cities in the future.

Alone, his steps quickened. His rubber shoes stuck slightly to the muddy gravel underfoot. Though it was called a gravel path, in reality, it was just a thin layer of stones over mud; whenever it rained, it was no different from a dirt road.

After about twenty minutes, he arrived home.

At the doorway, he saw his mother crouched down, fussing with the bicycle and muttering, “When did the tire break?”

This 28-inch Forever brand bicycle was, he’d heard, part of his mother’s dowry. It was because the tire was flat that his father had been forced to shoulder his bundle and walk to the roadside to wait for a bus that morning.

Wang Qiang squatted beside his mother. “Take it to get fixed.”

She hadn’t noticed him coming and nearly jumped in fright, patting her heart. “Oh, you startled me! Why do you walk without making a sound?” Her eyes were still swollen and red from crying the night before. “I have to plant the vegetable patch later. Take it to Zhang Yong’s for repairs.”

Now, this Zhang Yong wasn’t a blood relative but could be considered half of one. In the countryside, it was common to foster children, and Zhang Yong’s sister was his grandmother’s foster daughter, making them distantly connected. Zhang Yong was a bicycle repairman, but his temper was infamous; at thirty-seven or thirty-eight, he still hadn’t found a wife.

“Alright,” Wang Qiang said, standing up. “I’ll go now.”

His mother braced herself on her knees, thought for a moment, then reached into her pocket and handed over two green bills. “Pay him after it’s fixed, understand?” She was an honest country woman, never taking advantage of others. Even though she knew Zhang Yong might refuse the money, she insisted her son offer it.

Wang Qiang, well aware of her character, said nothing and slipped the money into his pocket. She had always taught him: it’s alright to be poor, but one must have dignity.

Pushing the bicycle was no easy task.

Especially not with a heavy, old-style Forever.

But Wang Qiang was in no rush. He moved slowly, savoring the era’s atmosphere—the clear streams, green fields heavy with crops, scattered thatched huts—all traces of a time soon to be gone.

He passed through the town’s central market and arrived at Zhang Yong’s repair shop.

“Uncle Zhang Yong!” Wang Qiang called, pushing the bike inside.

The man, squatting on the ground and sweating profusely, was surrounded by several bicycles. Business was good today. Zhang Yong looked up. “Ah, Qiangzi, your bike’s broken? Wait a bit, I’ll help you after I finish this one.”

A woman in a red plaid shirt complained, “Xiao Zhang, I’ve been waiting half an hour—now you’re letting your friend cut in line?”

Zhang Yong glared. “Don’t like it? Then leave! I’ll let whoever I want cut in, none of your business.”

That was his temper, but he meant no real harm. Wang Qiang knew this well. Seeing the woman about to get angry, he quickly smoothed things over. “Uncle, help her first. Lend me two tin buckets—I’m going to catch crayfish.”

If he was going to let his parents enjoy a good life, he had to earn money. Wang Qiang was broke, couldn’t even come up with two and a half yuan, let alone invest to make more. The two yuan in his pocket was for the bike repair, given by his mother.

He’d thought about fishing, but dismissed it, since even a homemade rod required money for fishing line. With no money, he had to settle for crayfish. At this time, crayfish were cheap and not yet the delicacy they’d become. Few in the countryside ate them, but maybe someone in town would buy. It was the only business he could do with no capital—if he couldn’t sell them, he’d just bring them home to eat.

Hearing that he was off to catch crayfish, Zhang Yong grinned. “Remember to catch a few for me!” His personality was almost childlike.

Wang Qiang agreed, rummaged through the repair box for ten or so bits of wire, found some string, filled a plastic bottle with soapy water, and took the two buckets to the nearby river.

At the riverbank, he parted the reeds and picked a good spot. He poured the soapy water onto the ground, and soon, several fat black earthworms wriggled up—an old trick he’d learned as a child. Unfazed by dirt, he threaded the worms onto the wires, making several hooks, then snapped off a reed, stripped it, and tied on the line.

In no time, he’d assembled ten makeshift fishing rods.

He set them out along the bank, one meter apart.

There was a trick to catching crayfish: location mattered. Big rivers weren’t ideal; small, slightly smelly ditches were best. Once the rods were set, crayfish would crawl up on their own, and even when lifted out of the water, they wouldn’t let go unless pulled off by hand.

Clearly, Wang Qiang had chosen well. As soon as the last rod was set, the first was already moving—a sure sign of a crayfish, strong enough to drag the rod slightly along the bank as it ate the worm.

Seeing the rod shift, Wang Qiang rushed over and lifted it—sure enough, a crayfish the size of his palm clung to the end.

He pulled it close, grabbed its back, yanked it off, and tossed it into the bucket. Then he set the rod again and moved to the next—another crayfish!

Someone might ask, are you raising these at home? Catching one with every rod?

Well, in these days, crayfish were so abundant it was almost as if they were home-raised. If you went back to 1994 and put worm-baited rods in a stinky ditch, and didn’t catch one in three minutes, you could come ask him why.

Wang Qiang rotated through the rods, busy and happy.

In about an hour, one bucket was already full.

By now, the sun was high. Fortunately, the shade of the reeds kept things cool. Wang Qiang barely felt the heat as he repeated his movements. Sometimes, a single rod would bring up two or three crayfish at once. Once, the catch was so heavy the line broke, forcing him to make a new rod.

Another hour passed.

Even in the shade, Wang Qiang started to feel the heat. Seeing both buckets full, he prepared to leave.

Suddenly—

A rustle—something disturbed the reeds.

Wang Qiang tensed, thinking it might be a water snake. Water snakes weren’t poisonous, but could still bite, so he looked around warily.

Huh?

What was that?

Just a few steps away, a shelled creature was slowly scrambling up from the water’s edge.

Wang Qiang’s breath caught—a softshell turtle!

He hadn’t expected to see such a large one here.

At this time, softshell turtles fetched a high price. If he remembered correctly, before 1996, wild turtles could sell for as much as 500 yuan per jin.

But after that, with advances in farming techniques, their price plummeted; by around 2000, farmed turtles were everywhere, selling for just 27 yuan per jin.

But those were farmed turtles, not wild ones—and this was still before 1996. Wild ones were worth a fortune.

The one before him probably weighed a jin.

Wang Qiang’s eyes gleamed. If he could catch it, he’d have money at last. Earlier, he couldn’t even afford a few cents for fishing line, and now here was a turtle worth several hundred yuan? It seemed heaven itself was giving him a hand!