Chapter 74: Renting a House

The rising sun nestled among the willow branches was perfectly round and a deep, vibrant red, as if it had just been cleansed by the river waters, as fresh as a newborn child. Through the slits in the willow leaves, countless specks of light trickled down, and the trunks cast long, lingering shadows. The river breeze gently stirred, causing the branches and leaves to sway. Seated on the back of the motorcycle, Wang Qiang could glimpse through the twigs several people on the opposite bank doing their morning exercises, some in pristine white athletic wear, others in loose shirts.

A humid, dewy scent wafted to his nose, and he relished it.

Boss Zhu, who was driving, yawned, his tone unable to conceal his excitement. “Xiao Wang, let’s check out the property first, then head over to Old Sun’s to deal with the television.”

The roar of the wind was loud, and Wang Qiang didn’t catch it. “What did you say?”

Old Zhu repeated himself loudly.

“Alright,” Wang Qiang replied.

The motorcycle sped forward, and Wang Qiang’s thoughts raced. Opening a game room was one thing, selling portable music players another. Over at the North Square, there were inspections from the authorities, so that was likely out of reach. He could imagine the scale of such inspections would encompass the whole city, making other locations equally inaccessible.

Finding a place with plenty of young people, those with spending power and unaffected by inspections, seemed no easy task.

Boss Zhu, full of energy, said, “Once the game room’s open, I’ll have my brat keep an eye on it. I’ll feel more at ease having him nearby, instead of him hanging out in Xuhui all day, who knows what trouble he could stir up.”

This time, Wang Qiang heard clearly and responded, “Why didn’t you get him into vocational school? It’s just a bit of money, isn’t it?”

“His grades weren’t enough,” Old Zhu sighed. “He missed the mark by more than thirty points. Even if I paid, the schools wouldn’t take him. I hoped he’d get into university, but what can you do if he’s not up to it?”

He almost forgot that now, vocational schools had pretty high admission scores, especially the technical ones, sometimes even higher than some high schools.

Wang Qiang comforted him, “Honestly, whether he goes to university or not doesn’t matter. As long as he can make money in the future, people will respect him just the same. Besides, lots of university students skip classes and waste their parents’ hard-earned money.”

He paused for a moment after saying that.

Right!

University students!

Something as trendy as a portable music player was sure to appeal to university students. Some could afford it, and many didn’t really understand how hard it was to earn money—they’d just buy what caught their fancy.

Wang Qiang recalled his senior year, when the Nokia 3310 had just launched for 2,350 yuan, and a guy in his dorm borrowed money just to get one. Back then, it was the year 2000; the average monthly wage in urban China was about 780. A university student daring to spend over two thousand on a phone—clearly, students knew how to spend.

Of course, that national average wage was a rough estimate; in big cities like Beijing and Shanghai, incomes were nearly double that, while in some places, they barely reached the average.

In any case.

Wang Qiang felt he had found a new sales path. His mood brightened, and he quickly asked, “Brother Zhu, are there any universities nearby?”

“Plenty! There’s the Foreign Languages University on Guangzhong Road, the newly opened Shanghai University on Yanchang Road, the Drama Academy on Huashan Road, the Music Conservatory on Fenyang Road, lots of them,” Old Zhu rattled off a few names, then asked curiously, “Why do you want to know?”

“Nothing, nothing,” Wang Qiang replied, secretly planning to visit those universities with his portable music players once he finished dealing with the property and the television, to see if he could sell some.

...

Seven o’clock in the morning.

JA District, a small alley off Chang’an Road.

Wang Qiang and Boss Zhu first surveyed the surroundings and found three middle schools and four elementary schools nearby, so they decided to search for a storefront here.

They wandered around, spotting many rental notices posted on walls. Following the addresses, they found that the properties were either too expensive or too small—too cramped for a proper business.

They parked the motorcycle by the market; walking made checking out the shops easier.

Boss Zhu, cigarette dangling from his lips, walked along the clean street, puzzled. “Why aren’t there any vendors today? That’s odd.”

Of course there weren’t. The Urban Management Bureau had already warned everyone, and no one dared set up stalls—getting caught would be no joke, especially since the North Square was being inspected, let alone the streets.

“I heard there’s an inspection on city appearance,” Wang Qiang explained offhand.

Old Zhu realized, “No wonder. I saw on the news the other day that someone from the central government was coming. That explains the lack of vendors.”

Indeed, that’s how things worked—the higher-ups say the word and everyone scrambles, especially when big leaders are visiting. Naturally, they want to show their best side.

“There’s a rental notice up ahead,” Old Zhu said, pointing to a piece of paper on a shop wall.

Wang Qiang ran over for a look. It read: “Second-floor shop for rent, street-facing, inquire upstairs.”

“Shall we take a look?” Old Zhu asked.

Wang Qiang nodded.

The two climbed the stairs.

On the second floor, the left side of the landing was a wall, and the only room with its door open was on the right, where a woman in her sixties was cleaning.

At the door, Wang Qiang didn’t rush in. He carefully surveyed the room: bright windows on all sides, about sixty square meters, with posters of female celebrities like Christy Chung and Vivian Chow on the walls.

The décor was extremely basic—cement floors, walls barely whitewashed with lime. For most businesses, a second-floor location wasn’t ideal, even if it faced the street. The space was essentially unfinished, probably the reason it hadn’t been rented out.

But Wang Qiang was quite satisfied—a game room wasn’t like a clothing shop; the environment could be rough as long as the space was ample.

He knocked on the door.

The old woman looked up, delighted, speaking in Shanghai dialect, “Looking to rent?”

Boss Zhu replied in dialect, “Yes, Auntie, how do you rent your place?”

Wang Qiang understood the dialect but couldn’t speak it. He knew Boss Zhu was asking about the terms.

The old woman grinned, “It’s not expensive, three hundred a month.”

“That’s not cheap! You think your place is a palace?” Boss Zhu exclaimed.

“How can you talk like that?” The old woman didn’t care much for Boss Zhu, boasting, “My shop is street-facing, look how spacious it is—sixty-five square meters. Where else can you find such a cheap rental? Three hundred, it’s not three thousand. You really lack an eye for things.”

Wang Qiang sensed she was exaggerating and took the initiative, “Auntie, it’s true your shop faces the street, but it’s on the second floor, and the stairwell is so narrow. Who would notice it unless they looked closely? And, if your place were really as good as you say, why hasn’t it been rented out yet?”

The old woman, caught out, smiled awkwardly, then threw the question back, “How much do you think is fair? I’ll say upfront, if it’s too low, I won’t rent.”

He pulled Boss Zhu aside for a quick discussion; after settling on a price, Wang Qiang bargained down by a hundred yuan, “Two hundred.”

The old woman shook her head like a spinning wheel, unable to accept the price.

Boss Zhu argued until his mouth was dry. The old woman relented a bit, but wouldn’t go below two hundred fifty.

When Wang Qiang first heard the price, he felt as if she were insulting Boss Zhu—after all, Boss Zhu had joked about her shop being a palace, and it seemed she held a grudge. Wang Qiang couldn’t help but smile.

They couldn’t bargain any further, and Boss Zhu looked to Wang Qiang.

Wang Qiang nodded, signaling to take it.

“Alright, two fifty it is,” Boss Zhu said.

The old woman’s tongue was sharp, “I told you, that’s about right. If you don’t rent it this cheap, I’d really think you’re a fool.”

Boss Zhu: “...”

Wang Qiang burst out laughing—she was clearly getting her own back at Boss Zhu.

Renting a shop wasn’t as complicated as it would become later. Once they agreed, both parties scribbled a rough lease, with little more than the amount paid and the rental period.

After handing over the money, they received the keys.

Holding the golden keys in his hand, Wang Qiang exhaled deeply. The first step toward opening his Famicom game room was settled; next was sorting out the televisions, and then he could open for business—no need for licenses, much like the later underground internet cafés.

Honestly, he owed it to Boss Zhu for being a local. If Wang Qiang had tried on his own, he might not have found such a good spot in a day or two. The location was perfect for a game room, though it would be a disaster for a clothing shop or hardware store.

What pleased Wang Qiang most was the size—twenty televisions wouldn’t take up more than twenty square meters. The rest of the space could be used for other money-making ventures, like a billiard table or slot machine. But since the game room hadn’t opened yet, those ideas could wait.

Not spending a penny of his own to secure the shop was a real boon for Wang Qiang, whose finances were stretched thin.