Chapter 005: Over Twenty Years of Grand Historical Trends

“How much for that turtle?” Lu Dahai licked his finger, rubbed it against his thumb, and counted the crisp hundred-yuan bills in his hand.

Wang Qiang was elated; he’d thought Lu Dahai might go back on his word, but it turned out he’d gone for the money. He reached out with his palm, “Five hundred.”

Lu Dahai gave him a curious look. “Only five hundred?”

Ah, he’s met someone who knows the trade.

Nowadays, five hundred per catty for a turtle was not expensive at all—but only to those who recognized its value. If it were anyone else, they might spit in your face. Something fished out of the river, dare you ask for five hundred?

Wang Qiang grinned, “If you think it’s too little, you can offer more. I don’t mind.”

Lu Dahai lifted the turtle, weighing it in his hand. “It’s heavy, probably just over a catty. Market price would be around six hundred. You gave me a tip earlier—whether it works or not, I don’t want to take advantage. Here, six hundred. If you catch any more wild turtles, bring them straight to the Jin Gong Machinery Factory. I’ll take them at market price.”

He really offered more? Wang Qiang had only meant it as a joke, but the man was honest. Still, curiosity got the better of him. “Why do you need so many turtles?”

Lu Dahai chuckled, shaking his head mysteriously. He counted out six hundred and stuffed it into Wang Qiang’s hand. “This is a good thing, honestly. The moment I saw it, I wanted to buy it. But I figured not many here in the countryside would know its value, so I planned to run over to the market and come back to haggle with you.”

So that’s how it was. Wang Qiang wiped the sweat from his brow. Even big bosses like him wanted to cut corners. But he knew Lu Dahai was being truthful; had he run to the market and come back, Wang Qiang would probably have sold it for three or four hundred. It was getting late, and few people in the countryside could afford such a thing.

After a brief chat, Lu Dahai headed into the market to buy pork and fish.

Almost noon now, Lin Feng figured there was little chance of selling the two buckets of crayfish. He decided to give one bucket to Zhang Yong and take the rest home for lunch.

Originally, he’d hoped to sell the crayfish, but it didn’t matter if he couldn’t. Who could’ve expected such a windfall from the turtle—six hundred yuan, just like that.

He carried the bucket to Zhang Yong’s vehicle shop.

As he approached, Zhang Yong was lying on his recliner, yawning. Wang Qiang called out from afar, “Uncle!”

Zhang Yong glanced over and quickly got up. “You really caught so many crayfish?”

“They’re easy to catch—two or three with every cast.” Wang Qiang walked in, set down the bucket, and nodded toward it, “This one’s for you. Give me a snakeskin bag so I can pack the rest for lunch.”

It was best not to use plastic bags for crayfish—they tear too easily.

Zhang Yong’s face broke into a broad smile. “Alright.” Then, remembering something, he pulled five yuan from his pocket and shoved it into Wang Qiang’s hands. “Take it.”

Wang Qiang hurried to refuse, “What’s this for? If my mother finds out, won’t she scold me?”

Zhang Yong waved him off, “Just keep it. Don’t let your mother know, that’s all.” Without waiting for Wang Qiang’s reply, he went in to fetch the bag.

He was rough around the edges, but always loyal.

Wang Qiang was amused. These days, crayfish were worth next to nothing—fifty cents a catty if someone even wanted them. A bucket held at most ten catties, so this uncle really wasn’t taking advantage.

When Zhang Yong came out with the snakeskin bag, Wang Qiang tried to give him money for repairs, but the uncle scolded him. So Wang Qiang packed the crayfish and rode home.

…

All the way, Wang Qiang was in high spirits.

Much of the gloom of this era had lifted. He had money, and his heart was at ease.

Still cheerful, he picked a mulberry from the tree near home and popped it into his mouth—the taste was just as he remembered, sweet and tart.

When he got home, he found the door open and his mother gone, probably off visiting neighbors.

He didn’t bother searching. After parking his bike, he found some scissors and began snipping crayfish heads and pulling out their veins.

Later, many restaurants, to save money, would skip this step. But it wasn’t good for diners: the head of the crayfish was where heavy metals accumulated, and the vein along the back was its intestine, often full of grit. For a clean, safe meal, it was best to remove both.

Removing the vein was simple. The crayfish had three tail segments; grab the middle, the smallest, and pull—the vein came right out. Snipping the head took a bit more skill: first, cut downward from the forehead at a forty-five-degree angle, then use the scissors to pick out the brain—the black matter, the red blood, all must go. The yellow near the front was the roe, a delicacy—keep as much of it as possible.

Wang Qiang had eaten crayfish since childhood and knew exactly how to handle them. In no time, he’d cleaned a pile.

He heard footsteps outside. Looking up, he saw his mother return, her face troubled. She stepped over the threshold and, seeing him cleaning crayfish, managed a smile, “Went fishing for crayfish?”

“Mm. And caught a turtle.” Wang Qiang snipped another crayfish and asked, “Where did you go?”

“Nowhere, really.” She denied it, went into the room to fetch another pair of scissors, sat down on a small stool, and started working alongside him. “Starting tomorrow, you’ll cook for yourself. I found some work.”

A country boy, Wang Qiang knew a bit about crops and asked, “The cabbage’s ready?”

His mother didn’t reply, just kept her head down, snipping crayfish.

Whenever she was upset, she turned silent. Wang Qiang knew her temperament well. Last night’s fight with his father was one thing, but now his father had gone to the Xixi construction site. Normally, even if she was unhappy, she wouldn’t skip planting cabbage—so why work?

Wang Qiang sighed inwardly. He roughly guessed why she was worried: Third Aunt was bedridden, and money had to be repaid. Where would his tuition come from? Memories began to resurface. He recalled that his mother, to scrape together his high school tuition, had worked as a temp at the textile factory in summer, earning seven yuan a day. When school was about to start, she still hadn’t saved enough, and in the end, his father borrowed fifteen hundred yuan from a coworker.

He remembered, a few months later, on New Year’s Eve, their house was full of creditors. He could never forget his parents’ humble apologies.

He still hadn’t decided whether to continue with that high school, but he knew he had to reassure his mother. Otherwise, she’d worry about tuition day and night, unable to sleep soundly. He put down the scissors, took five hundred yuan from his pocket, and handed it over. “Mom, here.”

“What’s this?” She looked up, “You…” Halfway through her words, she was stunned by the sight of the bills, then flustered. She put down her scissors and said hurriedly, “Qiangzi, how did I teach you? Poor or not, we have our pride. I won’t ask where you got this money—just return it, and apologize.”

So she thought he’d done something shady?

Her suspicion was understandable. Workers toiled a month for only three hundred yuan. For him, a student, to suddenly have five hundred—it was natural to question its source. Wang Qiang knew he had to explain. “Mom, you don’t have to worry at all. It’s legitimate.” He recounted his morning, fishing crayfish, catching the turtle, and selling it. Of course, he said Lu Dahai had paid five hundred, keeping a hundred as “startup capital.” “If you don’t believe me, I can take you to ask Lu Dahai.”

His mother was taken aback. “A… a single turtle is worth that much?”

Wang Qiang chuckled, “You don’t know its value—this thing is precious. Take it. Don’t go out to work; I’ll handle the tuition myself.”

Should he go to school? He was inclined not to, but feared his mother’s opposition.

For now, he’d worry about that later. There were still a hundred and seven yuan left in his pocket; with that, he could buy some tools to earn money. Crayfish weren’t worth much, but fish fetched a better price and were in demand. He’d start with fishing.

Too little money to do much else.

But Wang Qiang was confident. With over twenty years of history in his mind, he had no reason not to make something of himself. He remembered many industries yet to rise: courier services, e-commerce, instant messaging—each like a pearl, its brilliance yet unseen. If he could just build up his funds a bit more, he could seize the opportunity and ensure his parents lived a good life.