Chapter 75: Songjiang Women's Institute of Physical Education

After renting the apartment, Wang Qiang and Boss Zhu wasted no time and rode off together on the motorcycle to sort out the televisions.

QH Road was lined with shops on both sides. The motorcycle came to a halt at a corner, and Wang Qiang spotted Xiao Sun’s Appliance Repair squeezed between a bakery and a clothing store. All manner of used goods cluttered the entrance: televisions, radios, electric fans, and more.

Old Zhu parked the motorcycle by the roadside and called out, “Lao Sun!”

A man with a small mustache, crouched over tinkering with an electric fan, looked up and quickly stood. “Brother Zhu! What wind blew you here today?”

Wang Qiang and Old Zhu got off the bike and walked toward the shop.

“We need a favor,” Old Zhu said, fishing half a pack of Ashima cigarettes from his shirt pocket. He tapped one out and handed it over, sticking one between his own lips as well.

Sun Weixing wiped his hands on his dark trousers and took the cigarette, pulling out a disposable lighter to light Old Zhu’s cigarette first. “What’s up?” he asked.

Lighters these days all had flint wheels. Wang Qiang watched as Sun Weixing struggled to get a spark. After several attempts, Old Zhu finally pulled his own lighter from his pocket and lit them both up.

Old Zhu took a drag and said, “Do you still have any secondhand black-and-white TVs? I need a few.”

“I’ve got three or four fourteen-inch ones left. Brother Zhu, you can come in and pick whichever you want. Just toss me fifty or sixty yuan each, and I won’t lose out,” Sun Weixing replied, lighting his own cigarette with Old Zhu’s lighter and taking a deep, satisfying puff.

Through the smoky haze, Wang Qiang glanced inside. Three or four TVs lay scattered on the floor, some upright, some on their sides. One black-cased television faced the door, its screen flanked by three small silver knobs to the right, and a bit further, two larger knobs and a speaker—looked a bit like a Panda brand, but it was too far to see clearly.

Old Zhu frowned. “Three or four isn’t enough. I need twenty.”

Sun Weixing was startled. “Why so many?”

Old Zhu gestured toward Wang Qiang and chuckled. “My young friend Wang and I are planning to open a gaming arcade. We need about twenty of them.”

Sun Weixing eyed Wang Qiang curiously, then turned back to Old Zhu. “Brother Zhu, don’t kid me. He looks barely twenty—does he really have the money to start an arcade with you?”

“What, judging a book by its cover?” Old Zhu shot him a look and jerked his chin at Wang Qiang. “I’m just tagging along for the ride. You think I have that kind of spare cash lying around? Wang’s bringing in twenty game consoles and sixty or seventy game cartridges. I’m just helping out by sourcing the TVs.”

“What?” Sun Weixing shot Wang Qiang a look of concealed astonishment. Others might not know the value of game consoles and cartridges, but he did—just last month, his son had begged for one, and when he went to the mall, a console with one cartridge cost a full three hundred and twenty yuan.

Now this young man was putting up twenty consoles and over sixty cartridges?

Sun did a quick calculation and couldn’t help swallowing nervously. This kid must be loaded, he thought, to throw down ten grand or more for an arcade and not even worry about losing money.

Wang Qiang noticed Sun Weixing studying him. He smiled and nodded, then asked, “Brother Sun, do you think you can get twenty TVs? We don’t need anything fancy—no seventeen-inch screens, no color sets. Fourteen-inch is just right.”

Now Sun Weixing looked troubled, silently puffing on his cigarette for a while.

Instead, Old Zhu grew impatient. “Come on, Sun, just say it. Can you or can’t you?”

“I can, but…” Sun trailed off.

Wang Qiang saw right through him. “Is it a matter of price?”

Sun nodded, turning to Old Zhu. “Brother Zhu, I swear I’m not trying to fleece you. If you just wanted the three or four I have, sixty yuan apiece would be fine. But for twenty, I’ll have to source them from other repair shops. I doubt I can get them for less than a hundred each.”

Wang Qiang made the call. “That’s fine, Brother Sun. One hundred each is not a problem. How soon can you get them?”

Sun’s face lit up. “With money, it’s just a matter of minutes. Twenty TVs, right? Here’s the deal—you come with me, pay whatever they cost, and I won’t quibble over the price. As long as nothing goes wrong, we should have them all before nightfall.”

Wang Qiang had wanted to go along, but when he checked his watch, it was already close to ten. He still had fifty-four Walkmans left to sell and wanted to try his luck at the university. If he followed the others around, he’d never get the chance to sell any today.

“Wang, you have something to do?” Old Zhu noticed.

“Yeah, I need to take care of something. How about you and Brother Sun go handle it?”

“If you’re busy, go ahead. I’ll sort out the TVs.” Old Zhu pushed his motorcycle keys into Wang Qiang’s hand. “Take my bike. I’ll ride with Sun.”

Wang Qiang didn’t hesitate, thanked him, and set off for the inn with the keys.

Luckily, traffic in Shanghai wasn’t as busy as it would be in years to come.

Relying on his memory, he quickly found the inn, exchanged greetings with the landlady, and returned to his room to load twelve Walkmans into his suitcase before heading out again.

He would have packed more, but the suitcase was small and could only hold twelve. Besides, he wasn’t sure if he could sell them at the university, so it made sense to test the waters first.

Still, Wang Qiang was pleased. If not for his partnership with Boss Zhu, he’d never have had time to sell the Walkmans himself.

…

Foreign Languages Institute.

Inside, the shouts of drill sergeants rang out.

“One-two, one-two!”

“One-two, one-two!”

“One-two—halt! Left turn!”

Meanwhile, the roar of a motorcycle echoed from outside the campus wall.

Wang Qiang had prepared a string of excuses in case the gatekeeper stopped him, but to his surprise, the motorcycle rode right through the main gate unhindered. It was almost comical—he’d spent so much time rehearsing, only to find it completely unnecessary.

He followed the cement path between rows of osmanthus trees, their rich, sweet fragrance wafting through the air, intoxicating and refreshing. Wang Qiang thought the scent was thick, reminiscent of cream or honey. The petite yellow blossoms tempted him to pick a few, but after a moment’s hesitation, he decided against it—better to mind his business.

He found the bike shed and parked the motorcycle, then lugged his suitcase toward the sports field.

At this hour, the students were all in military training. He figured it would end soon, and they’d head to lunch.

A pang of nostalgia for college life hit him. He wanted to see how these students coped with the grueling drills. Perhaps it was a bit of schadenfreude, wanting to witness firsthand the misery he once loathed so much—maybe the freshmen at the Foreign Languages Institute would be pushed to their limits.

He had to admit, the turnout on the field was impressive.

At least twenty squads stood straight on the grass. Some had a hundred or more; the smallest, a dozen or so—it must have been organized by department.

What Wang Qiang envied most was that the vast majority of each squad was female, with only a handful of men. He thought back to his own days at Suzhou University and couldn’t help but sigh. Comparing people only brings frustration, and as for goods—some just need to be thrown out. Look at all these beauties at the Foreign Languages Institute! Why had his alma mater been full of burly guys?

Speaking of beauties, Wang Qiang suddenly recalled a nickname for the Foreign Languages Institute—Songjiang Women’s Sports College.

He wasn’t sure when this became popular, but as far as he knew, sports scores counted heavily toward scholarships, and there were far more female students than male, hence the nickname. He wondered if it was still in use.

Yes, let’s see how “miserable” they are.

That was what Wang Qiang thought as he reached the edge of the field, but soon he regretted it.

He was the only one on the entire field not wearing a military uniform.

Standing alone on the track, he was the focus of hundreds of curious stares.

Wang Qiang broke out in a cold sweat, feeling like a complete fool.

Enough—time to make himself scarce.

Being stared at by hundreds of people was bad enough, but when most of them were girls, the psychological pressure was immense.

He hurried away in embarrassment. He’d come to laugh at others, but nearly became the butt of the joke himself. In the end, he decided to wait by the cafeteria and try to sell his Walkmans when the freshmen came for lunch.