Chapter 79: The First Enterprise of Life

Several days had passed since the official start of autumn, yet the blazing sun still rampaged across the sky, making the days even hotter than summer itself. However, as night fell, the cool breeze that drifted in finally brought with it a hint of autumn's presence.

After a refreshing bath, he returned to his room. The bustle of the past few days had at last given way to a night when he could truly relax. Wang Qiang sat by the bed, gazing out the window at the bright full moon. Its silvery light spilled across the ground, bathing the night in a pale glow. Suddenly, he felt a chill—autumn’s coolness had finally arrived.

He wondered about his mother back home. Was she keeping warm now that the weather had turned cold? Had she put on more clothes? He’d been away for more than ten days, and worry for his mother tugged at his heart. Knowing her frugal nature, she was probably reluctant to buy new clothing for herself. Wang Qiang resolved to purchase two sets of clothes for her the next day and send them home.

“Right, I should check how much money I have left.” He had been coming and going early and late these past days, too busy to count his earnings. Perhaps it was the lingering effect of the alcohol, but his hands fumbled a bit as he finally managed to open his suitcase after a moment’s struggle.

He reached into the inner compartment and pulled out a white plastic bag, spreading all the cash across the spotless bedsheet. The strong scent of ink from the bills seemed to invigorate him. Sitting cross-legged, he began to count:

“One bill…”

“Three bills…”

“Eight bills…”

He started by counting the hundred-yuan notes—sixty-two in all. Next, Wang Qiang moved on to the smaller bills. To his surprise, after a thorough tally, he found he had a total of 6,723 yuan.

Where had all this money come from? Hadn’t he only sold fifty-eight walkmans? Wang Qiang carefully reviewed the numbers. The first batch—thirty walkmans and fifteen dozen jeans—had brought in about five thousand yuan; the cost price was 3,900, and after deducting travel and miscellaneous expenses, about eight hundred yuan remained. Adding the profits from the fifty-eight walkmans and cassette tapes, the total seemed about right.

Wang Qiang was delighted. When he’d first boarded the train, there had been only a little over 2,700 yuan in his pocket. Now he had earned around four thousand yuan, and there were still forty-one walkmans left unsold. As long as the game room could bring in another seventeen or eighteen hundred, he would have met his promise to his mother—earning ten thousand yuan in half a month.

Tomorrow, he would open the game room. Around noon, he would make another trip to the foreign language college.

He put the money away and lay on the bed, his mind filled with visions of a bright future. Lost in thought, he drifted off to sleep without realizing it.

…

The next morning, Wang Qiang rose early and had breakfast with Old Zhu and his family.

Afterward, the three of them squeezed onto the motorcycle and rode to the sign shop to collect the rush-ordered signboard. Old Zhu had chosen the name—“Dragon Soaring Game Room.” It would do, Wang Qiang supposed.

They fixed the sign next to the lamppost downstairs. Wang Qiang and Old Zhu, along with his son, went upstairs for a final inspection. Once satisfied that everything was in order, they checked the time and went downstairs to prepare for the ceremonial firecrackers to mark the grand opening.

By the roadside, there were still no street vendors in sight—likely because the city inspection had not yet concluded. In any case, Wang Qiang had found a new outlet for selling walkmans, so he no longer worried about when he’d be able to set up a stall again. Perhaps, after earning this ten thousand yuan, he would never need to vend on the street again.

He had his own plans. Without money, he could barely move forward and had to toil for every hard-earned cent. But with money, things would be different; his “business” could expand. As for how, he hadn’t yet figured out the details—he would think it over in a few days.

Zhu Xiaofeng, brimming with excitement, called out, “Dad, let’s set off the firecrackers!”

Old Zhu glanced at his watch. “It’s only seven fifty-five. The fortune-teller said eight o’clock is the lucky hour. Let’s get the firecrackers ready first.” It was a bit chilly. Wang Qiang, wearing only a short-sleeved shirt, hunched his shoulders and smiled without comment. He wasn’t superstitious about lucky hours, but it was a festive gesture, so he let Old Zhu have his way.

Wang Qiang tied the string of small firecrackers to a bamboo pole Old Zhu had found somewhere. When he finished, Old Zhu and his son had already set up the main firecrackers by the roadside.

The three of them chatted for a while. Old Zhu kept his eyes on his watch. “It’s fifty-nine now. I’ll light a cigarette; you two stand back.” He pulled out a pack of Ashima cigarettes from his vest pocket and lit one with a flick of his lighter.

“Xiaofeng, let’s stand a little further back,” Wang Qiang said, pulling the boy toward the stairway.

Time was up.

Old Zhu bent down and lit the first firecracker, then quickly stepped back.

With a hiss and a shower of sparks, several seconds passed before a loud bang sent the firecracker rocketing into the sky, where it burst apart with a sharp crack.

Zhu Xiaofeng hurried forward with the bamboo pole of small firecrackers. “Dad, hurry, hurry!”

Old Zhu, grinning, lit the fuse.

A fierce crackling of firecrackers followed, filling the air with the acrid scent of gunpowder. Wang Qiang covered his ears and smiled broadly. There was no ribbon-cutting, no crowd of well-wishers, and the ceremony was exceedingly simple, yet he was genuinely happy—for he finally had his first real business.

When the last of the firecrackers had gone off, Zhu Xiaofeng tossed the bamboo pole to the ground. “It’s open!”

Old Zhu was still setting off the main firecrackers, while Wang Qiang was already looking forward to how the game room’s business would fare.

…

There was little business at the start. In the morning, students were in class, and the game room had yet to make a name for itself; it was no surprise that no one came. Wang Qiang showed Zhu Xiaofeng how to play “Destiny of an Emperor” for a while. Around nine thirty, he told Old Zhu he was going out to buy something, and hurried downstairs.

He wandered along the north-south street until he found a clothing store of decent size.

He pushed the door open.

Wang Qiang saw rows of racks filled with every kind of garment. The shop owner, a man in his forties, was dozing behind the counter. Inside, a woman of about twenty-two or twenty-three with disheveled hair was hanging up clothes. She didn’t look like the owner’s wife—probably an employee.

Perhaps it was just that time of morning, but there were no customers.

Hearing the door, the owner called out, “Xiao Su, take care of the customer.”

The woman immediately put down the clothes and came over with a cheerful smile. “Hello! Are you looking for any particular style of clothes or trousers? I can help you choose.”

Wang Qiang asked, “Do you have clothes for women around forty?”

“Shopping for an elder, I guess?” the woman replied enthusiastically. “Come, let me pick out a couple for you—see if they suit your needs.”

He followed her to the third row of racks, which were filled with women’s clothing in all colors, both long and short-sleeved. With her help, Wang Qiang picked out two jackets, a woolen sweater, and a pair of trousers for his mother. In his previous life, he’d always bought clothes for his parents at New Year’s or other festivals, so he knew his mother’s size. As for his father, Wang Qiang would have liked to buy something for him, too, but since he hadn’t written back yet, he didn’t know the current address.

Wang Qiang decided that once his father wrote back, he would reply right away and urge his father to stop working as a laborer on construction sites and to come back and help out at the shop with some easier work.

Just as he finished picking out clothes for his mother, the saleswoman blinked and said, “It’s getting chilly, and you’re still wearing short sleeves?”

Wang Qiang was momentarily surprised, then laughed. “All right, I’ll pick out a couple for myself, too.” As he spoke, he thought of his grandparents. In the next twenty years, his grandfathers and grandmothers would pass away one after another, leaving only his maternal grandmother. The old saying goes that children long to care for their parents, but time waits for no one. Though he wasn’t their son, the time left to fulfill his filial duties was growing short. He decided to buy some new clothes and trousers for his elders as well. He added, “Help me pick out some clothes for elderly folks too, please.”

It took nearly half an hour.

He carefully selected two sets of clothes each for his paternal and maternal grandparents. Only after that did he turn to himself, buying two jackets and a long-sleeved T-shirt. One jacket had a hood, the other was off-white. Trying them on, he found they looked good, so he took them both.

He paid at the counter.

It was a significant sale, and the owner’s grin nearly split his face. He waved cheerfully and said, “Come again next time!”

It truly was better to have money.

Not to mention the several bags of clothes he’d bought, just the contrast in the shop owner’s attitude before and after said everything about the importance of money.

Wang Qiang responded with a casual “Sure,” and stepped out of the shop with several large bags.

Nearby, he found a post office. Wang Qiang chose EMS, spending a bit more than for regular mail—he simply wanted his elders to receive the new clothes as quickly as possible.

China Post’s EMS had been around since 1980, but its speed was still no match for the express delivery companies that would come later. Indeed, even in later years, EMS would remain slower than its competitors, lagging behind in speed.

As for why he didn’t choose another courier, to be honest, he would have liked to use something like SF Express. But there was no real alternative. The courier industry was still in its infancy—SF Express had only been founded a year ago, and ZJS Express had only started this year, and neither was widely available. ZJS operated only in Beijing for now, and while SF Express served many cities in the Pearl River and Yangtze River deltas, it wasn’t as convenient as the post office. Since he still needed to sell walkmans later, he decided not to waste time—if he had to pay extra, so be it.