Chapter 11: All Calamities Are Brought by Beauty

So on this trip to the provincial capital, the greatest good news was that Old Rang had regained feeling in his legs.

After lying in bed for several days, though he still couldn’t stand and his whole body was still bandaged like a mummy, his toes were able to move.

When he saw his son come in, his eyes were filled with excitement.

As soon as Wei Dong came over, he tore open a carton of cigarettes, took out a pack, and handed two to his father and Gou Dan.

He even offered a cigarette to each of the other men in the ward, earning a chorus of thanks.

In these times, smoking in the ward was nothing unusual. Tears almost sprang from Old Rang’s eyes.

It was his son who helped him take the cigarette, lit it, and brought it to his lips for a deep, satisfying draw.

It felt as though his very soul had returned to his body!

Wei Dong leaned over the side of the bed, smiling, and all the exhaustion, all the caution and hardship, melted away in that moment, leaving only contentment.

He himself didn’t smoke, but he always remembered how his paralyzed father used to boast about his robust health, and how, back then, a cadre from the construction company had given him a Mountain City cigarette—a real luxury smoke.

Though countless brands had appeared since, and despite having to switch to hand-rolled tobacco out of frugality, his father always considered Mountain City cigarettes the best.

So each time Wei Dong returned home from the Tax Bureau compound, he would try to bring back a carton.

After his father passed away, he would still buy a pack of Mountain City on the anniversary, tossing it into the river.

Old Rang finished his cigarette in a few quick drags, looking at his son, his lips trembling but unable to speak.

Only when Wei Dong tucked the rest of the carton under his father’s pillow did Old Rang become anxious and protest, “No, no, you take these... Use them for your wedding. Wait for me, wait until I recover, and I’ll build you a house and host your wedding…”

“What’s the rush? All I want now is to make money, not to get married.” His son grinned, leaned close, and whispered, “We just sold another thousand or so of cured pork today. We’ve still got six hundred stashed at home. You just focus on getting better. No need to do heavy labor again—we can earn plenty just running this little business.”

The mummy almost sat bolt upright—a thousand six hundred!

Surely this couldn’t be legal.

Wei Dong quietly explained his business strategy: “I’ve looked into it. There are people doing business in the county, city, and provincial capital. Only in the countryside do they still crack down on this sort of thing. So I’m quietly testing the waters ahead of time. When the policy relaxes and you’ve recovered, we’ll go legit. It’s definitely not illegal.”

Old Rang couldn’t quite imagine it, but his son sounded so confident, and he had no grounds to object.

So the hospital stay, originally twenty days, was extended: after discharge, Wei Dong arranged for them to stay another two months in the rental room next door.

A hundred days to heal bones and tendons.

This made it easy to go back for check-ups and rehabilitation at any time.

Especially the latter—being able to do rehabilitative therapy at a professional hospital would benefit him for life.

Every time they came to the city, they could carry him to the hospital, or he could massage and exercise his atrophied muscles himself.

Thus, through July and August, the two young men made nine more trips to the provincial capital!

Later, the intervals between trips grew longer, mainly because cured pork was becoming hard to source.

Selling it was no problem—Wei Dong became increasingly adept at hawking their wares in factory canteens and dormitory districts. The vast market of the provincial capital easily absorbed over a hundred pounds each trip.

The real challenge was supply—even though Er Feng had recruited several friends, seven or eight young people collecting pork from all directions, this rare treat, usually only prepared at New Year, was quickly snatched up.

In such a poor county, it was rare for a family to have twenty or thirty pounds; five or ten was more common.

Some households couldn’t spare it or simply refused to sell such a treasure. Each run could clear out two or three villages.

By August, their collection radius had spread to a fifty-li range.

Wei Dong began to feel that the “cost” of walking dozens of miles just for a basket of cured pork was getting too high.

Worse, the commune had started to ask questions—was someone buying up pork to turn back the tide of history?

Even the clay jars buried behind the main house were almost too full to hold all the cash.

Wei Dong decided to suspend operations for a while and took his fortune to Shangzhou.

By day, he kept an eye on the Wan Shang Trading Company; by night, he waited and watched for that certain someone’s appearance—and, truth be told, he was also dodging Er Feng.

He came home to collect pork and stash money, and also brought brand new silk quilts, several yards of floral cloth, sheets, and bedding for his grandparents, certain they’d be warm and comfortable that winter.

Little did he expect his grandparents would side with Gou Dan.

No sooner had Wei Dong left than they gleefully delivered the quilts, cloth, and bedding to the Li family!

They even covered them with a red cloth, calling them the bride price young Dong had earned.

When Wei Dong returned and heard of it, he nearly coughed up blood.

Was this marriage truly unavoidable? Was this wife the only possible choice?

He had money now—surely he could find a bride!

He’d only wanted to save Er Feng’s face, not make a big fuss, and now he was stuck on the horns of a dilemma.

So he simply settled in Shangzhou.

In August, he rented a tiny room beside the construction site near the Tax Bureau compound.

If anyone asked, he produced a medical certificate showing a disabled patient at home, convalescing after treatment in the provincial capital—naturally, they needed a place to rest and recover, with the city hospital right across from the Tax Bureau compound.

After decades as a security guard, Wei Dong knew exactly how people thought during inspections.

As long as you produced a legitimate reason, they wouldn’t dig too deeply.

So he sustained this all-too-familiar life on a diet of hatred, working feverishly to prepare for what was to come.

Even when he sat every day opposite the Wan Shang Trading Company, he disguised himself as a porter looking for work.

As a porter, hauling heavy loads in a bamboo basket up the riverside steps of the mountain city, it made perfect sense for him to carry a T-shaped walking stick welded from metal pipe.

This was the chief distinction between a professional porter and an ordinary farmer with a basket.

If you got tired halfway, you could wedge the T-stick beneath the basket and rest while standing.

Wei Dong had even had a short crosspiece welded at the base, making it resemble an inverted “earth” character.

When other porters asked about it, he explained it helped keep the stick from sinking into the sand and mud on the riverbank.

He could carry loads up to nearly two hundred pounds, his legs trembling as he climbed the steps—far more effective than any squat at a modern gym.

But most of the time, Wei Dong didn’t take jobs; he made his two runs early each morning, then relied on his youthful, innocent rural face to sit by the street and watch the local tycoon work his sales magic on travelers from all directions.

He soon came to know the dozen or so people inside the trading company like the back of his hand.

The two pretty young salesgirls, clueless about business, followed around selling goods every day, while a sour-faced matron sat watchfully at the cash desk—probably sent to keep an eye on the group.

Because every day, Wei Dong saw the tycoon and his men make frequent “bathroom trips.”

In truth, they were avoiding the matron to hold meetings, smoke, and boast in the alley beside the Tax Bureau’s public toilet. Sometimes, a visiting salesman or client would be signaled over for a private chat.

All these furtive business dealings made it clear they knew they were risking a clampdown.

Blending in among the porters on the busy street, the old security guard soon noticed that someone else, who had even changed clothes, was also watching the trading company.

One of the regulars at the tycoon’s bathroom meetings was a lean fellow who exchanged glances and subtle signals with the watcher.

Wei Dong seized an opportunity to meet face to face, and immediately recognized that the “peasant” on surveillance would, a few years later, become the deputy chief of police on that very street.

He hesitated for a few days, but finally, during a bathroom visit, he followed the tycoon into the stinking public latrine, and, over the sound of trickling water, quietly muttered, “Eight-Character Bro is the cops’ informant.”

Then he pulled up his trousers and left.

Leaving the tycoon standing there for a long moment, stunned.

That lean fellow, known as Eight-Character Bro for his talent in fortune-telling and his glib tongue, often helped the tycoon boast and entertain clients, so everyone at the trading company called him that.

Wei Dong had revealed the secret, not only out of empathy for the businessman about to be caught, but mainly because he’d finally caught sight of Shi Linyan.

He’d seen a fellow porter help her carry a large box, clearly returning from the docks to the Tax Bureau compound.

Only then did Wei Dong realize how foolish he’d been.

Three years his senior, the daughter of a bureau chief, she’d graduated from the teachers’ college this year and was to start teaching at the city’s top school in September. Of course, July and August were summer vacation.

She must have been vacationing with her grandparents in Rongdu.

He’d been waiting here for nothing!

A rare college woman in this poor city, pampered those days in the provincial capital, her dress and bearing far outshone the blue and gray crowd.

Her stylish short hair was clipped back with a red barrette. She wore a sleeveless, vertically striped dress with a wide collar, black leather sandals with ankle-high white socks. Even without high heels, her walk on the stone paths made her sway with grace.

Her sweet, delicate features called to mind a pink lotus blossoming amid green leaves.

Her fair arms alone made many passersby stare, swallowing with longing.

Wei Dong, who had seen this girl grow old, watched without a flicker, instead covertly monitoring the eyes fixed on her swaying figure, trying to spot which one belonged to the predator who would later covet her.

At this point, Wei Dong had invested himself entirely in preparing for the coming danger.

He found the tycoon’s affairs less and less interesting.

Soon enough, Wei Dong would understand why, in his previous life, he had no memory of this tycoon who lived just a street or two away.