Chapter 54: The Walkman That Took the Country by Storm

There were countless opportunities in Deep Town during the 1990s. Many people never regarded this city as home; their only intention was to make a quick profit and leave—either through the stock market or by doing business. Yet as Wang Qiang walked down a street in Huaqiangbei, he understood that the real opportunities weren’t found in stocks or casual business ventures. The chance lay with a young man known as Pony Ma, who had just earned his science bachelor’s degree from Deep University, and was temporarily interning at the largest private telecom company, Runxun, which specialized in pagers and BP machines.

There’s an old joke that goes: If I could return to the 1990s, what would I do? Some say they’d buy property, others say they’d take out loans to buy stocks. But I would say: I’d go to Hangzhou, find a young man named Jack Ma, and treat him to dinner every day. Or I’d head to Deep Town to find a young man named Pony Ma and do the same. Buying property is too pedestrian; what I need is brotherhood! Of course, it’s just a joke. The future titan of the Chinese internet, one of the two heroes, Pony Ma, hadn’t started his own business yet—he was still an ordinary young man working for others.

Wang Qiang laughed at himself. Even if he found Pony Ma and treated him to dinner every day, so what? Would Pony Ma gift him Tencent shares out of friendship? Impossible—no one’s money is blown in from the wind. As for Huawei, he didn’t dare dream; their sales had already surpassed a hundred million in 1992.

So, one must rely on oneself. For example, the street before him in Huaqiangbei was, in Wang Qiang’s eyes, equally full of opportunity. Huaqiangbei, known as "China’s First Electronic Street," was just a small street in South China then, nothing like the soaring skyscrapers and luxury cars that would come later. It wasn’t yet the global center for electronics manufacturing or the world's largest hub for electronic components. But it was already taking shape; many electronics companies clustered around Huaqiangbei, and shops selling all kinds of electronic products lined the street.

Wang Qiang, carrying a woven sack, strolled down the not-so-crowded street, surveying his surroundings. Diagonally opposite him was a shop selling cell phones and BP machines, its sign written in calligraphy—"Cell Phone Specialty Store." Posters on the wall announced, "Cell Phones and Pagers, Ready to Use."

Across the street, a portly man walked by, with a brand-new cell phone pressed to his ear, shouting, "Brother Hua, it’s Little Xu! Yes, yes, I just bought a cell phone, number is…"

Not far off, a young man cradled a red-and-white game console, chatting excitedly with his friend, "I got a cartridge with both Galaxy Hunter and Super Mario Bros 2!"

The red-and-white game console—such a nostalgic item. Especially Super Mario Bros 2, Wang Qiang couldn’t help but smile wistfully. He hadn’t decided which electronic products to invest in, but the wildly popular red-and-white consoles of the 90s seemed like a good choice.

Just as he was about to ask where the consoles were sold, a girl of eighteen or nineteen, dressed provocatively, swaggered out from around the corner. At her waist was a bootleg cassette player, and she was humming a Cantonese song: “…A heart once broken, today gently drawn close to you… Love is hard to restrain, but I am, in truth, a woman easily hurt…”

Faye Wong’s "Woman Easily Hurt," Wang Qiang listened for a moment—yes, it was that song. If memory served, Faye had just reverted her stage name this year. His eyes followed the girl, not because of her looks or her outfit, but because he was fixated on the bootleg cassette player at her waist.

He changed his mind. He’d been planning to buy game consoles to resell, but now wondered: Was there anything more fashionable than a portable music player nowadays? Anything more beloved by young people? No! The portable cassette player was the most sought-after item; many could only dream of owning one, as they were too expensive—for example, an Aiwa player cost six or seven hundred.

Of course, not all were genuine. The girl’s device was not a true portable player, merely a small playback machine without recording capability, cheaply made. The price dropped drastically. These scraps of electronic technology from developed countries were sweeping through China, becoming immensely popular.

Wang Qiang couldn’t contain himself. He hurried forward, calling, “Miss, Miss!” The girl didn’t hear, so he tapped her smooth shoulder.

She took off her headphones, smiling sweetly, “Handsome, what’s up? Want to come over to my place?”

Wang Qiang was caught off guard. Come to your place? What did that mean?

“Just ahead.” She pointed nearby, blinking, “Twenty—no, fifteen yuan, how about it?” She deliberately swayed her body.

Wang Qiang broke into a sweat, finally realizing her profession. Deep Town’s rapid development had drawn countless migrant girls; some failed to find work and, when money ran out, took up streetwalking—a term slowly entering people's vocabulary in this era.

He quickly waved his hands, “No, no, I just wanted to ask where you got that cassette player.”

“Boring.” She rolled her eyes and lazily pointed to a shop around the corner, “First shop on the left.”

“Thank you.”

…

Inside the shop.

As soon as he entered, Wang Qiang saw countless bootleg cassette tapes neatly displayed on the racks—covers of singers like Zhang Yu, Faye Wong, Jacky Cheung, Pan Yueyun, and more. Inside the glass counter were many small playback machines, but none had price tags.

The shopkeeper, a thin man in his forties, greeted him, “Young man, want to buy tapes or a portable player?”

Wang Qiang walked to the counter, glanced around, and pointed at a blue playback machine, “How much for this?”

“Fifty,” the owner replied.

He pointed at a red one, “And this?”

“Fifty.”

Wang Qiang looked up, puzzled, “So everything here is fifty each?”

The owner shook his head, “Not Aiwa.” He took out a genuine blue Aiwa player from the left side of the counter, “Two hundred, want it? It’s Aiwa’s, sells for six or seven hundred outside.”

Are you kidding me? Selling for two hundred here when it’s six or seven hundred outside?

Wang Qiang snorted; clearly it was a knockoff. But he wasn’t after a genuine portable player, just a simple playback device. He cut to the chase, “What’s the lowest price on these small playback machines?”

“Really not interested in Aiwa?” The owner seemed disappointed, but seeing Wang Qiang’s lack of interest, he clicked his tongue, “Cheapest is forty-five, I’ll throw in a tape.”

Actually, forty-five was already cheap. But Wang Qiang knew the price could go lower. He feigned, “Boss, you’re not being fair! My cousin bought one from you for thirty, but you’re charging me forty-five?”

He was just guessing, but luck was on his side.

The owner wasn’t offended. Instead, he grinned slyly, “Oh, so Amin is your cousin? She… heh heh.”

Wang Qiang realized the girl’s profession and almost choked at the owner’s words. He quickly changed the subject, “Thirty each, will you sell?”

“Deal! Amin’s cousin gets special treatment.” The owner sounded generous, “Which one do you want? I’ll fetch it.”

“I want a tape with it,” Wang Qiang insisted.

The owner shook his head like a spinning wheel, “No way, I’ll lose money if I throw in a tape.”

Wang Qiang surprised him, “If I buy thirty-five, you give me thirty-five tapes. Is that okay?”

The owner was stunned, “You—you want how many?”

“Thirty-five.”

“Alright, I can give you thirty-five tapes, but the price has to be a bit higher,” he said with false concern. “All my tapes are genuine, thirty-five each…”

As if. The tape covers were as flimsy as toilet paper.

Wang Qiang cut him off without hesitation, “You and I both know whether they're genuine. Thirty each for thirty-five units, and thirty-five tapes. If not, I’ll find someone else.”

The owner had a thick skin and tried to save face, “They really are genuine tapes. Fine, since you’re buying in bulk, thirty it is.” The playback machines had no recording function and cost him only twenty at the factory next door. The tapes were pirated, bought for a yuan each. Thirty-five units would net him over three hundred, so he didn’t mind.

They settled the deal, and Wang Qiang picked out thirty-five tapes—both male and female artists, but mostly the Four Heavenly Kings and the Little Tigers. Then he followed the owner into a back room and selected thirty-five small playback machines.

To be sure, Wang Qiang had the owner bring two AA batteries and tested each device; he found one faulty and swapped it. Finally, he packed the machines in boxes, loaded them into his woven sack, and left contentedly.

Here, thirty yuan per playback machine—back in Shanghai, Wang Qiang could easily sell them for a hundred each.

With most of his money spent, only five hundred remained in his pocket, which he guarded carefully—tickets, shipping, and living expenses all needed to be covered.

He had the goods; now it was up to the market to see whether his choices could fetch the high prices he envisioned. His goal was ten thousand in half a month, all depending on the jeans and playback machines.

Of course, Wang Qiang knew making ten thousand in one go was unrealistic, so he planned to return to Deep Town for more stock. This time, he’d test which sold better—if jeans did, next time he wouldn’t buy playback machines; if playback machines did, he’d skip the jeans. If neither sold well… well, then there would be no next time. Let the market decide!