Chapter 17: Is Making Money Really This Easy?

This matter had become a topic of amusement in the city, discussed leisurely over tea and meals. Everyone regarded this robust and courageous country youth as a simpleton. Anyone with a touch more intelligence would have tried for a city job—even if only as a gatekeeper—or, if fond of driving, sought a government post as a driver. That would have been a leap from the pond to the dragon’s gate. Yet he chose to learn driving at the transport company, without even requesting official registration or a city household permit; it was merely a collective enterprise, so a rural newcomer remained a temporary worker. Alas, just as his family’s ancestral tombs had begun to smoke with fortune, he doused the luck himself.

Little did they know, in this entire city, the only thing Wei Dong truly set his sights on was learning to drive. There were no driving schools at the time; one could only acquire job skills through work placements. He simply acknowledged a master at the transport company, discreetly handed over a packet of Shancheng cigarettes, saying he’d wait for the commotion to die down before returning to learn. Then he called Goudan back home, and together they hauled the hundred-odd pounds of cured meat they had gathered to the provincial capital to do a titanium ingot business!

No one knew that night he sat in a corner of the construction site, staring blankly throughout the long hours. He soothed the forty years of his own history: this revenge was finally fulfilled. What lay ahead was an entirely different life.

The case itself was simple. The perpetrator was a butcher at the meat processing plant, whose skilled hand at slaughter and sharp steel knife had left Wei Dong crippled for decades in his former life—never caught. The man could kill a hundred pigs a day, his knife unmatched. But in the end, he fell to the blow of a porter’s crutch.

While the whole city watched the official announcement, Wei Dong was already aboard the train heading to Jiangsu-Zhejiang. Yes, he brought Goudan along; the two sturdy lads personally carried the titanium ingots for delivery. Over the phone, they confirmed the address with the buyer in Jiangsu-Zhejiang, checked at the provincial city’s storefront for the size—ten kilograms each—and agreed to deliver ten ingots, all in stock. He called it "testing the waters": if it worked, he’d buy more to sell.

The knitting ladies were stunned, but had nothing to say, because Wei Dong really paid seventeen hundred for those ten ingots and took the receipt. He bought high-density printed fabric at the neighboring dye factory, wrapped the ingots two per bundle, slung them around their necks, and set off. Goudan quietly but determinedly snatched one bundle, carrying six ingots, striding briskly.

After disembarking, Wei Dong went straight to the station to queue for tickets. Goudan was so excited he could barely control his strength—he needed the ingots to weigh him down, lest he fly off. Carrying only eighty pounds, Wei Dong stopped at a braised meat stall in the factory district, bought a pound of pig head meat, a packet of crispy peanuts, and two bottles of wine.

He had never ridden a train, but had watched countless scenes of it in short videos. Hard seat trains required food and drink, something he longed for. He had previously bought a train timetable, and while waiting for Mrs. Shi’s class to end, he’d calculated the journey repeatedly. The hard seat ticket cost 28.6 yuan; round-trip for two was under 120 yuan, but could earn several thousand. Why not make the trip? He knew freight was underdeveloped now, and couldn’t afford to buy tons for a whole car. So, two hundred pounds was a test run—a profit-making adventure!

This is why he insisted on doing business with such an item.

Steel was also in short supply, hard to source, and sellers and buyers all knew the prices—no windfall profits. Yet Wei Dong truly remembered that titanium dioxide would become big business in this region in another ten or twenty years; he didn’t know the specifics, but the character "titanium" stuck with him.

At ticket inspection, the two country lads carrying heavy bundles wrapped in floral fabric were checked. Wei Dong calmly presented an introduction letter from the Jiangzhou Hongguang Nonferrous Metals Processing Factory.

"It hereby authorizes Comrade Wei Dong to handle sales of precious metals on our behalf. Please cooperate as needed. If you have questions, contact us anytime. Regards." Official stamp.

This was the immunity token of the era! Even couples in hotels needed a marriage certificate, but with an introduction letter—even superior to a marriage certificate—as long as you weren’t caught in the act of illegal construction, co-workers traveling together were praised for saving on lodging.

In an era with no ID cards, only work permits, the introduction letter was the sole certificate distinguishing workers from vagrants. Wandering aimlessly, if caught, you’d be sent back to your place of origin. Even old security guards would check the letter before opening the gate.

So he understood. Even when selling the ingots, he was helping the nonferrous metals factory find a sales channel; issuing an introduction letter was reasonable. For the factory, it was nothing—a lady would casually fill a blank from the drawer. She intentionally left out the destination and time. So the whole world was his, time unlimited! Oh, yes, the stamp had a date—couldn’t use it for a year and a half. The red star header from the Metallurgical Ministry at the top of the letter made the train police wave them through.

Goudan joyfully spread out meat and wine on his seat. Wei Dong only tasted a bit, not daring to drink more, since he’d brought over two thousand out with him—seventeen hundred for the ingots, five hundred from selling cured meat, and over eight hundred left. Looking at the throngs on the train, he was cautious.

The crowds at Jiangzhou Station square stunned him. The waiting room was packed—people sitting and lying everywhere. Though society officially forbade movement, countless people were already on the move, mostly heading to Guangdong. Wei Dong watched the train to Guangdong at the window: people climbed in through windows, pushed from outside, packed like sardines. City folk and country folk alike went mad rushing south, drawn by rumors of openness and jobs, where you wouldn’t be arrested for anything.

No one really knew what that place was, but all squeezed toward it. Trains to Shanghai weren’t so crowded—at least there were seats at boarding, though the aisles filled up later.

Only by venturing out did one realize the world had changed.

Wei Dong greedily watched every station, town, and village pass by, comparing them to his map. Goudan ate and ate, slurping, embarrassed but insisting Wei Dong have some too. Only when reminded the food had to last two days did Goudan reluctantly wrap it up, still drooling as he watched the train staff pass by—pulling in his feet for sunflower seeds, peanuts, lunchboxes...

Wei Dong had guessed there’d be no instant noodles, but was surprised by the lunchboxes. He ordered two—even at the outrageous price of eighty cents each. Goudan carefully scooped every grain of rice into his mouth—too expensive! The foam boxes were marvelous, perfect for pig head meat.

When tired, they slept, the ten titanium ingots piled under their seats—nobody could move them. Less dense than iron, but still metal lumps; stacked up, safe to sleep atop.

Just over fifty hours later, past the Jiangsu-Zhejiang provincial capital, they got off at a small station just before noon. The scene was utterly different from the isolated mountain city back home: bicycles whizzed by in droves, the streets filled with fashionable shirts tucked into trousers—unlike their home, or even the provincial capital, where everyone looked rustic.

The streets were clean, tidy, and smooth; shops were spacious and bright, their signs dazzling. Oh, right—it was just after National Day, with festive laughter everywhere.

Goudan, carrying a hundred and twenty pounds, was dumbfounded. He’d tried to snatch a bundle at the station, but the load was too heavy.

Actually, there wasn’t much walking involved. From Jiangzhou, they used buses to the station, then boarded the train—mostly just transferring heavy loads. Like two barbell plates slung over their shoulders, nothing for country lads.

Now, two bus transfers landed them in another lively town.

Wei Dong found a small eatery, ordered food—not letting Goudan drink—and ate slowly himself. He chatted with the owner, confirming that such a small collective factory had indeed been operating for years. He thanked them for letting Goudan and the cargo be stored at the door.

Going empty-handed, he strolled a few hundred meters, observed for at least half an hour—everyone was at work, nothing looked like a den of thieves or scammers. Only then did he take the introduction letter to the gatekeeper, offering a cigarette.

He’d been through these gatehouse details countless times. A few words and he knew the old man was trustworthy.

In the eighties, countless people vanished in such chaotic migration. Fortunately, most were good, especially in prosperous, fertile regions where ordinary people had no need for desperate measures.

Besides, Wei Dong would leave immediately after the transaction.

The factory, overjoyed, opened the bundles at the eatery door for inspection. Their magnet showed no reaction; a lighter’s flame turned the silver-white ingots yellow, purple, red, green, each in order. Scraping the edge on a tile produced a black line like charcoal—the darker, the purer.

The security department arrived on a yellow bike to weigh and haul off the two hundred pounds. Wei Dong smiled, asking for payment first.

Six thousand six hundred yuan was withdrawn right then at the savings bank, their finance staff provided a receipt and contract stamp. They wanted the contact information for the Hongguang Factory’s stamp, thanking him and asking to call ahead next time.

Immediately, Wei Dong hopped on a bus; two hours later, he was aboard a train—only three hours from Shanghai.

He had come so far, but Wei Dong actually knew nothing at all.