Chapter 56: "Love" by Little Tigers

Night gradually descended, and the tall streetlights radiated brilliant beams, wrapping the North Square in their glow.

Countless pedestrians carried or shouldered bags, some in small groups chatting and laughing, others hurrying along alone with their heads down.

Suddenly, the crowd ahead gathered into a circle.

Ren Yan, who had just stepped off the train, glanced over curiously. What was happening?

No sooner had he wondered than a hoarse shout rang out from within the circle.

“Twenty or thirty doesn’t count as money, spend it here and it’s gone before you know it.

Twenty or thirty isn’t much, can’t buy a house or a car, can’t get you to America or Singapore.

Spend a little, buy convenience, save time and effort, it’s worth your while.

Spend small, accomplish big, won’t delay buying a house or finding a bride for your kids, a pack of cigarettes, a bottle of liquor, half a day’s work and it’s gone.”

People love a spectacle, and a rhymed chant always adds a touch of performance. Even in 2017, if someone hawked goods with such slick patter on the street, it would draw curious eyes, let alone in a time when entertainment was scarce. The young man at the center, dressed in worn but clean clothes, was like a solo comic performer, and Ren Yan couldn’t help but pause and squeeze into the crowd to watch.

Drawing attention was simple.

As the saying goes, simplicity is the ultimate sophistication; the simplest things often wield the greatest power.

Many people, like Ren Yan, were lured over by the young man’s rhymed pitch. In just a short while, two or three dozen had gathered, some watching with amusement, others pointing and commenting.

At that moment, a young couple pushed their way out of the crowd.

“How much for the jeans?” the young man asked.

“Twenty-five, just twenty-five. Take them home for twenty-five, make your wife smile and your child praise. You don’t have to be a factory manager to feel like an entrepreneur,” Wang Qiang replied without missing a beat.

The young woman laughed, picked up a pair of men’s jeans from the ground, and asked, “Is the quality guaranteed?”

Wang Qiang didn’t hesitate; he tugged hard at the pant leg and improvised, “My word isn’t enough, try it out for yourself. Can’t tear, can’t break, good for ten years or more, still sturdy enough for a tug-of-war contest.” As he spoke, he pulled the jeans taut with both hands.

The young woman tapped her husband’s arm. “Erfa, these jeans are good quality. Let’s get a pair, what do you think?”

The man called Erfa pulled out twenty-five yuan and handed it over. “You’re quite the entertainer, brother!”

Wang Qiang took the money and grinned, “Thank you, big brother and sister-in-law, may you have a long and happy marriage.”

He asked for the man’s size, picked out the style he wanted, and took the payment. Wang Qiang felt a rush of excitement.

He’d done it.

His second sale was made.

He’d been shouting for ages with little result, but as soon as he started his rhymed pitch, customers appeared. To keep the momentum going, Wang Qiang continued his chant.

The crowd whispered among themselves.

A sixty-something gentleman chuckled, “This young man is wasted selling jeans; he should be performing comedy.”

A middle-aged woman beside him said, “Yes, I’ve never seen anyone hawk jeans in such a funny way.”

A little boy, standing at her heel, piped up, “Grandma, grandma, I think he’s even funnier than that ‘Idea Company’ sketch by Feng Gong at this year’s Spring Festival Gala!”

Elsewhere, a pair of siblings watched.

The brother remarked, “Is his mouth a machine gun?”

The sister giggled behind her hand, “He’s really interesting. Hey, bro, those jeans look nice. Should we get a pair?”

A matron behind them interjected, “Twenty-five for a pair is too expensive.”

The sister turned and rolled her eyes. “Jeans for twenty-five is expensive? Go to a shop and it’s at least thirty. Look at the pair I’m wearing—they cost thirty-two, and they don’t look as good as his.”

The matron gasped, “Oh my, jeans are that pricey? I was thinking of bargaining for a pair for my daughter.”

The brother urged, “You’re stingy about buying your daughter jeans? Honestly, twenty-five for a pair is tempting, but setting up a stall by the train station makes me worry about quality. If there’s a problem, how would we find him?”

A middle-aged man joined in, “I think the quality’s fine. Didn’t you see him pull and tug like that? And for twenty-five, you’re not going to get a name brand.”

Wang Qiang looked at the crowd gathering before him, astonished. He knew the rhymed hawking worked, but never expected it to be so effective.

After just a short while, several people had asked about prices.

One young man couldn’t find his size, and Wang Qiang regretted missing that sale.

In fourteen or fifteen minutes, he sold three pairs of jeans—an excellent start.

Compared to the previous hour, when he'd only sold one, this was a miracle.

People tend to follow the crowd. Seeing others buy, more rushed over to pick and chatter.

“Can you give me a discount?”

“These jeans feel pretty nice. My waist’s twenty-one inches, pick one for me.”

“Wow, your jeans have a fresh style—I haven’t seen anything this nice in the shops. Where did you get them?”

“Young man, will you do two pairs for forty-five?”

“Hey, you don’t have my size. I was about to buy a pair.”

“Twenty-five, right? Here’s the money.”

“Let me take a closer look. The jeans are well-sewn, but I don’t like the color. Do you have darker ones?”

“Uncle, light colors are trendy this year—they’re very stylish.”

With the crowd stirred, many ran over to check out the jeans, Wang Qiang still spouting his rhymes, occasionally tossing in a new line, and helping buyers pick their sizes.

Of course, some sharp-eyed folks noticed the portable cassette player.

“Is this cassette player any good?”

“Such an expensive item at a stall?”

“What if it doesn’t work when I get home? It’s a hundred yuan!”

Several young men and women eyed the cassette player hungrily. Many had seen others wearing headphones, nodding along stylishly, but buying jeans from a station-side stall seemed safe—you could wear them immediately. But what about a cassette player? If it didn’t work, who would they turn to?

A hundred yuan.

That was ten days’ wages for some.

So, despite their longing, no one dared buy the cassette player for that hefty price. Everyone knew that in the shops, an Aiwa player cost six or seven hundred, even a no-name brand would be four or five hundred. What quality could you expect for just a hundred?

But Wang Qiang decided to prove them wrong.

Hearing their doubts, he didn’t hesitate. He opened up a player, popped in two AA batteries, and slid in a Little Tigers tape.

Many watched his actions closely.

Next, Wang Qiang pressed play.

The player didn’t have a recording function, but the tiny speaker was loud enough. Immediately, melodious music drifted out, followed by the Little Tigers’ “Love”: “Let’s string your heart and mine together, turn them into a lucky clover, into a single circle… Shout to the sky, say ‘I love you’… No one can erase the promise we made…”

As the chorus began, many young men and women cheered.

“Little Tigers!”

“So beautiful!”

“The cassette player seems pretty good!”

“Let it play longer, don’t let it stop.”

“Yes, yes!”

“Oh, I can’t resist. The shop sells them for hundreds, but here it’s only a hundred—I’ll buy one.”

“Yeah, a hundred for a player is a bargain.”

A chubby young man in his twenties hurried over, tried to haggle, but Wang Qiang held firm on the price. In the end, the young man bought one.

Seeing his first cassette player sold, Wang Qiang decided to leave it playing, letting the Little Tigers’ songs ring out. Unexpectedly, the music drew even more people than his rhymes.

Many passing by stopped in their tracks at the sound.

Ten people.

Twenty.

Thirty.

In just the time it took for two songs, there were at least thirty people crowded around his stall.

Truth be told, Wang Qiang found it almost comical—his chanting had drawn a few, but just playing music brought a crowd? Then it dawned on him: audio devices were luxury items in this era. Whether a tape recorder, VCD, or cassette player, they cost a fortune. And the popular songs in China were few—mostly Tu Honggang’s “Red Sun,” Mao Amin’s “Tonight’s Feelings,” nothing as captivating as the Little Tigers.

But it was a boon. He’d sold his first cassette player.

Wang Qiang brimmed with confidence, unafraid of the player breaking down, cranked the speaker to maximum volume. Judging by the momentum, tonight he was bound to make a tidy profit.