Chapter 80: A Letter from Father

After sending off the clothes, Wang Qiang felt it was necessary to inform his mother, and while at it, ask how she had been lately.

There was no phone at the nearby small shops, so Wang Qiang exchanged some coins and wandered the street searching for a public phone booth. It took him a while, but eventually he spotted one, lantern-shaped, near the corner of the street. As he approached, a woman in her thirties was still on the phone, so Wang Qiang waited a short distance away.

Making a phone call these days was truly inconvenient—either you found a shop with a phone, which wasn't guaranteed, or you had to rely on these "lantern" phone booths.

"The phone's beeping, I have to hang up," the woman said hurriedly, placing the receiver back on the hook and leaving.

Typically, these coin-operated public phones would beep in the last few seconds to prompt for more coins; if you didn’t pay up, the call would be cut off automatically.

Seeing the phone was now free, Wang Qiang hurried over, inserted a coin, and dialed the village committee's number.

It rang several times before someone answered.

"Hello?" It was the village secretary, Wang Yufeng.

"Aunt Yufeng, it's Wang Baoguo's son, Qiangzi. Could you call my mom for me?" Wang Qiang asked quickly.

Yufeng sounded surprised. "You’re still in Shanghai? Haven’t come back yet?"

"I'll be back in a couple of days," Wang Qiang replied.

Yufeng asked, "What's the matter this time?"

Wang Qiang wiped a bit of sweat away—seemed the secretary was rather free today—and answered honestly, "I bought some clothes for my mom in Shanghai and mailed them home, just wanted to let her know."

"Oh, that's very filial of you. Call again in twenty minutes—I’ll go get her."

They hung up.

Wang Qiang checked his watch: 10:10. He waited by the phone booth.

During this time, two men came to make calls; Wang Qiang stepped aside out of courtesy, as it would be rude to listen in on someone else’s call.

Time passed, minute by minute.

When the watch showed 10:30, Wang Qiang inserted another coin and dialed again. The phone was answered almost immediately.

"Qiangzi?"

"Hi, Mom, it's me."

"Are you still in Shanghai? When are you coming back?"

"I’ll definitely be back before school starts. Oh, and I bought some clothes for you, Grandpa, Grandma, and my other grandparents. They should arrive the day after tomorrow. Just letting you know—the red jacket is for Grandma..." Wang Qiang carefully explained whose clothes were whose and what color, but halfway through, the phone started beeping. He quickly inserted another coin.

His mother chided, "Why are you spending money so carelessly? It’s fine to buy for your grandparents, but I have clothes—why buy for me?"

What clothes? Apart from the one decent set for visiting relatives, almost every piece you own is patched.

Wang Qiang knew she just hated to spend money, so he teased her, "Your son is making good money out here. Two sets of clothes are nothing. In the future, it won’t just be clothes—I’ll buy you a car, too."

She laughed. "A car? I wouldn’t even know how to drive one. If it ever comes to that, your dad can learn. Remember when Chengyu’s father bought a motorcycle? Your dad was envious for days." She paused, then added, "Speaking of your dad, he sent a letter a few days ago."

Chengyu had been Wang Qiang’s childhood friend, but after fourth grade she transferred to school in Shanghai. The most exasperating thing was, due to household registration issues, she eventually had to move back to Haitong for junior high, losing two years compared to her peers. Now Wang Qiang was about to enter high school, while she was just moving from seventh to eighth grade.

After these memories surfaced, Wang Qiang asked what his father had written. His mother recounted everything: his father said he was doing fine at the construction site, asked how things were at home, and wrote nothing more than the usual family stuff.

Even so, it warmed Wang Qiang’s heart. He asked for his father’s address, planning to write and ask him to come home soon.

After chatting about his father, his mother said, "I just received an express letter from Shenzhen for you, sent by someone named Fang Yueqing. Is that a woman? What does she do?"

"Yeah, she’s a woman—a friend I met on the train," Wang Qiang said awkwardly.

"Oh." His mother offered no opinion, then continued, "Are you seeing someone? You’re still young, there’s no need to rush. Just a few days ago, a girl named Jiang... Yes, Jiang Lijuan, came to our house looking for you. She said she was going off to school and told you to visit her when you have time."

He broke into a cold sweat.

How did she find my house?

Never mind, better to pretend he didn’t know.

He had no intention of writing back to Fang Yueqing, nor did he plan to visit Jiang Lijuan. He had his own goals and plans for life. Wang Qiang knew that on everyone’s journey, you meet all sorts of people—sometimes sparks fly, especially when the future is uncertain. But he was very clear about what he wanted, so he paid little mind to these things.

After a brief chat with his mother, Wang Qiang prepared to hang up.

As he was doing so, he faintly heard Yufeng chatting with his mother on the other end.

"Cheng Lin, your son is quite something, even buys you clo—" The line clicked off.

Wang Qiang shook his head with a smile. Knowing his mother’s character, she would probably boast to Yufeng about how capable her son was, and when the clothes arrived, she might even show them off to the neighbors.

That was normal—one way parents expressed pride in their children.

He just figured he'd have to answer all sorts of questions when he got home. The neighbors would surely ask where he got the money, what he was doing in Shanghai, and the like.

No matter what, as long as his mother was happy.

...

He returned to the game room.

It was already 10:45 a.m.

As soon as Wang Qiang opened the door, he saw two unfamiliar young men sitting in front of the first TV on the left, playing "Tank Battle." "Tank Battle" was a very fun Famicom game, or rather, its power-ups made it fun. For example, the star icon boosts tank firepower; collect three and you can destroy concrete walls. There’s also a stopwatch that freezes all enemies for a few seconds.

He was a bit surprised and glanced at Old Zhu. "Brother Zhu, business already?"

Old Zhu, sipping tea and looking pleased, said, "Yes, they found their way here themselves."

Wang Qiang walked behind the counter, pulled up a stool, and sat down with a grin. "A good start. Business might be slow at first, but once people come to play, they’ll bring friends, word will spread, and soon we’ll be thriving."

"I know, you don’t have to comfort me," Old Zhu said with a wry smile. "I’m not so old that I can’t keep my cool."

Just then, Zhu Xiaofeng, who was playing at a TV nearby, suddenly called out, "Uncle Wang, can you help me?"

"What’s up?" Wang Qiang walked over.

Zhu Xiaofeng said, puzzled, "After being driven out of Xuzhou by Cao Cao, I don’t know where to go next."

One look at the screen, and Wang Qiang immediately understood. Liu Bei and Chen Deng, the two characters, were at the ferry with no boat in sight.

He gave directions: "Go back to Xuzhou, head north—there’s a cave. Get the map inside, then head up again. When you see a little house, go in and talk to the old man to get a letter. Then you can take the boat elsewhere."

"Oh, that’s it," Zhu Xiaofeng said, maneuvering his character.

Suddenly, the young man in black sitting nearby turned and asked, "What game is that?" He and his friend had been so focused on their own game they hadn't noticed Zhu Xiaofeng playing something different until he started talking with Wang Qiang.

Wang Qiang replied offhandedly, "Destiny of an Emperor—a strategy game, level-based."

The young man in black said to his friend with the close-cropped hair, "Ah Bin, that game looks pretty fun."

Not many Famicom players had tried strategy games, likely due to their expense. Regular cartridges already cost a lot—eighty to a hundred yuan—while strategy games went for at least a hundred and fifty.

Even years later, strategy games remained pricey. Around the year 2000, regular cartridges dropped to eight or ten yuan a box, but strategy games still fetched thirty or forty. So the young man in black had good reason to be unfamiliar.

Ah Bin, itching to try, turned to Old Zhu. "Boss, do you have any strategy games?"

Old Zhu nodded at Wang Qiang. "Ask him—he’s the real boss here. I don’t know much."

The two young men looked at Wang Qiang in mild surprise, evidently impressed that someone their own age owned the place. Their eyes clearly asked what strategy games were available.

"We have several—Destiny of an Emperor, Metal Max, Dragon Quest," Wang Qiang said casually. "But strategy games cost more—three yuan an hour."

"Three yuan? That’s expensive," protested the young man in black.

Wang Qiang explained, "Strategy games are single-player and can save progress, and we have to buy batteries for them. Wait, I’ll show you." He went to the counter and fetched a Metal Max cartridge, opened the box to show the cartridge inside, and pointed to the button battery. "See? This here."

Ah Bin was tempted. "Let me try it first. Xiao Lin, you start up another console."

Xiao Lin, not wanting to be left behind, said, "I want to play a strategy game too. Boss, recommend one."

Wang Qiang couldn’t be bothered to think, so he grabbed a cartridge at random. It turned out to be "Satomi Hakkenden." He couldn't help but feel sorry for the young man in black—this game was notoriously difficult, with pitch-black caves where you had to rely entirely on memory. Difficult was an understatement—it was downright fiendish!

But with his mind on selling the portable stereos, Wang Qiang had no time to dwell. He handed over the cartridge and bluffed, "This is a great game, just a bit challenging."

Xiao Lin boasted, "If it’s not hard, I wouldn’t play it."

Wang Qiang was amused—he just hoped Xiao Lin wouldn’t curse him later.

After recommending their games, Wang Qiang borrowed the motorcycle from Old Zhu, took the key, and went downstairs to pick up the portable stereos from the hotel. He was determined to sell them all as soon as possible—after all, it was already the 25th, and he only had six days left.