Chapter 59: A Golden Path to Fortune (Second Update, Bonus Chapter)
Inside.
The place wasn’t large, just about twenty square meters, with a bed, a coal briquette stove set out on the balcony—nowadays it was a gas stove—and piles of black, honeycomb-shaped coal balls stacked nearby.
Wang Qiang saw the hotel owner, a handsome man in his forties, sitting at a small round table. The porridge was already served, and there was a plate of salted vegetables and edamame on the table.
Mr. Zhu, the owner, had clearly finished eating and was sitting there watching TV.
The landlady greeted him, “There’s not much to eat.”
“Just having something is already great, thank you.” Wang Qiang first invited her to sit, then pulled over a small chair for himself.
Mr. Zhu glanced at Wang Qiang, puzzled, and silently wondered if his wife had changed her ways. He was a straightforward man, but every time he brought friends home for a meal, his wife would scold him thoroughly. Why was she, usually so stingy, now actively inviting this young man to breakfast?
Wang Qiang picked up his chopsticks and began to eat.
The landlady held a half bowl of cold porridge and asked, “By the way, I still don’t know your surname?”
“My surname is Wang, just call me Xiao Wang,” Wang Qiang replied, his words muffled as he ate hungrily.
She took a bite and smiled, “You seem to be doing pretty well for your age. Do you make several hundred a day?”
Mr. Zhu instantly understood—his wife was sizing up the young man. But he was also curious about Wang Qiang: earning several hundred a day? That was impressive.
Actually, Wang Qiang guessed she had overheard him earlier. He kept eating and replied vaguely, “More or less, just some small business.”
“This is small business? I run this hotel and only make two hundred a day, and that’s before expenses,” the landlady said. Then she slipped in, “Old Zhu doesn’t have much to do all day. Can you take him along?”
Wang Qiang certainly wouldn’t reveal his secret for making money through information gaps, but since he’d been treated to breakfast, he felt he ought to offer something in return.
He thought for a moment and asked, “How many guests do you get here in a day?”
Mr. Zhu replied casually, “On busy days, fifty or sixty; on slow days, around twenty. We’re close to the station, so business is decent.”
Wang Qiang took another sip of porridge, swallowed, and smacked his lips, “I have an idea for you two. If you think it’ll work, if I stay here in the future, just treat me to a few meals. If not, forget I said anything.”
“If your idea is good, next time you stay, I’ll let you stay for free,” the landlady said, greedy but sweet-talking.
Mr. Zhu looked over, curious what money-making idea the young man had.
“Alright, here’s my suggestion.” Wang Qiang put down his bowl and chopsticks, “Since you have plenty of guests, try offering meal service. Price it just a bit higher than outside, and whenever a guest checks in, ask if they want meals. Cook a few simple dishes and deliver them to their rooms. It’s just a suggestion; do as you see fit.”
Mr. Zhu’s eyes lit up, “That sounds worth a try.”
The landlady hurriedly said, “Hey, Old Zhu, bring out the leftover braised chicken from last night!”
“Alright, alright.”
Wang Qiang stopped them. Breakfast was pleasant, and the landlady didn’t press him about his business anymore. Instead, she promised next time he stayed, he wouldn’t have to pay.
As for whether they’d remember him next time, Wang Qiang didn’t count on it, but at least his meals for the next couple of days were covered.
After breakfast, he grabbed some pants and his portable music player from the room, then bought a few more AA batteries at a nearby shop.
…
North Square Entrance.
By the time he arrived, the old man had already set up his stall. Seeing Wang Qiang run over, he greeted him, “Here you are, young man.”
Wang Qiang started arranging his goods while responding, “Hey, good morning, Uncle.”
“Morning? The sun’s already high,” the old man chuckled.
They chatted as they finished setting up the stall.
With yesterday’s experience, Wang Qiang switched on his portable player and played Faye Wong’s songs. The first track was “Fragile Woman,” the one he’d listened to before. Then he crouched beside the old man, chatting about anything and everything.
At first, the old man didn’t say much, but soon he was talking nonstop about how many comrades had died in the war, and how Vietnamese kids and women would stab you in the back.
Wang Qiang listened, utterly fascinated.
As he listened, more and more people gathered around the stall, much like last night—mostly young folks.
A girl with a great figure but a face covered in freckles asked, “Is the portable player a hundred?”
Wang Qiang stopped talking to the old man, looked up, and flashed his usual harmless smile. “Yes.”
The freckled girl was skeptical, “They cost several hundred in the shops. Why are you selling for only a hundred?”
Wang Qiang pointed to the player that was playing music, “It can only play songs, not record. That’s why it’s cheap. Want one? Just a hundred.”
The freckled girl hesitated, “Can’t you go lower?”
Wang Qiang shook his head, “A hundred is already cheap. My cost is ninety, plus travel expenses. I’m really not making much.” In reality, his cost was thirty, but he’d never admit that—a true businessman never reveals his actual costs.
The old man chimed in, “If you want one, hurry up. Lots of people bought them last night, and he’s running out. If you wait, they’ll be gone and you’ll regret it.”
The freckled girl bit her lip, torn—a hundred was a lot, but her eyes showed she really wanted it.
Seeing her dilemma, Wang Qiang launched into his spiel, “I won’t pressure you to buy, but whoever gets one is stylish. Generals have horses to ride, soldiers without horses can only fret. If you want it, grab it now, don’t miss your chance—opportunities don’t come every day. When it’s time to act, act! Ride boldly across the land…”
As he finished, he realized he’d slipped—blame Liu Huan’s “Hero Song” for being too catchy. Every time he said “When it’s time to act, act,” his mind reflexively added “Ride boldly across the land.” That song wouldn’t even come out until 1998, so no one had heard it yet.
The freckled girl burst out laughing, “You’re funny.” Her hesitation vanished, and she pulled out her little wallet. “I’ll take one.”
“Great! Want a tape? Two yuan each.” Wang Qiang handed her a pink player and pitched her some tapes.
The freckled girl had already spent a hundred, so she didn’t mind spending two more. “Do you have anything by Yang Yuying?”
Yang Yuying was very popular now, and many girls liked her songs.
“No,” Wang Qiang recommended, “How about Lin Zhiying or Emil Chau?”
“Lin Zhiying, Lin Zhiying—I want his!” The freckled girl immediately changed her mind.
Deal done: one hundred and two yuan in hand.
After she left, the old man sighed enviously, “You make money so easily, a hundred yuan just like that.”
Wang Qiang chuckled, “I have costs too. You sell a tea egg for three mao—is that all profit?”
Perhaps growing familiar, the old man scoffed, “Don’t think I don’t know—your cost isn’t more than five…”
Wang Qiang was startled and quickly shushed him. He hadn’t expected the old man to be so sharp.
“If I weren’t so old, I’d follow the chief designer south,” the old man mused.
Maybe the freckled girl had set a good example.
Soon, people were attracted by the music, some buying jeans, others asking about the portable player.
“How much for the jeans?”
“It says on the tag—twenty-five.”
“Can you go lower?”
“I’m not making much. Go to a shop and you’ll pay more.”
“Alright… I’ll take a pair, size two point two.”
Next customer.
“I… I want… want a player.”
“One hundred. Want a tape?”
“Want… want Emil… Emil Chau.”
A stutterer. Wang Qiang nearly started stuttering himself.
As time passed, business got better and better.
He was so busy he didn’t even have time for lunch, so he bought a few tea eggs from the old man to fill his stomach.
Around two in the afternoon, Wang Qiang, drenched in sweat, stared wide-eyed at his stall.
Of twenty players, only one was left.
That last one had been opened to play music, so it hadn’t sold. Otherwise, it would be gone too. Several young people came running after hearing the news, only to find the players were sold out, disappointment written all over their faces.
And all this after just a few hours last night!
All the players sold out?
Wang Qiang suddenly realized he’d underestimated their appeal to young people, and even regretted not bringing more. Why take jeans? Only about two-fifths of the jeans had sold; the rate couldn’t compare to the players.
He’d thought not to put all his eggs in one basket, fearing total loss.
But instead of losing everything, he’d made a fortune with the players.
His heart thumped with excitement—he knew he’d found a golden path to wealth.