Chapter 18: Only a Fool Would Mess Around With You

Wei Dong’s approach to business was fundamentally different from that of You Qili and his companions. He never sought to strike it rich with a single lucky venture; as long as he confirmed the business was legal and doable, he preferred the slow and steady path, gradually accumulating profits. Even in his dealings with Hongguang Metalworks, he never resorted to deception or demanded a particular price; if the buyer was unaware of the market rate and later found out, they could always claim they’d only sold for eighteen or nineteen hundred. Money in one hand, goods in the other—where he sold them was nobody’s concern.

In essence, he only undertook what his financial means allowed, and always handled everything personally, doing the legwork and hauling himself. It brought him peace of mind.

The rest was pure tourism, with more than seven thousand yuan stashed away.

Back in July and August, Wei Dong had bought a pair of athletic knee pads in the provincial capital, which his mother had sewn with several cloth pockets between the layers, forming a secure band around his thighs. It was safe and stable, though sweltering in the summer heat, and he felt as if prickly heat was blooming on his legs. But it was a happy discomfort—the prickly heat born of banknotes.

He swapped the pads between his legs and even bought a new pair for his calves, commissioning a roadside Jiangsu-Zhejiang tailor to sew pockets in the same way. He could hide another couple of thousand there. In fact, he hadn’t spent much at all.

The two young men embarked on a whirlwind walking tour. Instead of heading directly to Shanghai, they first backtracked to see West Lake in Zhejiang, then visited the old site of the revolutionary congress at Jianan Lake. The ancient town, with its bridges and waterside homes, held their interest for only half an hour before they wondered what all the fuss was about—what exactly did Lu Xun write about in his essays, anyway? Following the long-distance bus routes, they continued to Suzhou.

Their intent was not to admire the famous gardens, but to observe the towns and villages along the route, gauging how developed this renowned region had become. Even in the less prosperous eighties, the economic situation in Jiangsu, Zhejiang, and Shanghai was leagues ahead of the southwestern basin.

Even a small factory could easily produce several thousand yuan at a moment’s notice. When Wei Dong handed over his seventeen hundred, the elderly woman was so delighted she phoned the manager and accountant to come collect it, treating it as if it were burning her fingers.

More importantly, he gathered all sorts of business information to see what was in demand here. From You Qili’s little notebooks to the group’s fondness for grandiloquent boasts, Wei Dong realized that the so-called tycoon’s style was less than reliable. Always dreaming of earth-shaking ventures, yet he hadn’t even investigated how many factories and products were in the nearby provincial capital, Jiangzhou.

Even tax inspectors knew to check each household to count the enterprises and their production and sales. In this, Wei Dong’s attitude was shaped by subtle influences.

But the Suzhou-Hangzhou region was truly “prosperous”—unremarkable villages teemed with factories and workshops, small in scale but spanning every industry, many already privately owned.

Far ahead of the southwest.

So dazzling, it was easy to lose one’s bearings.

After two days, they finally checked in at the incomprehensible Suzhou gardens for the obligatory photo, then headed straight for Shanghai.

By West Lake, Wei Dong saw cameras for sale—domestic models for 150 yuan. His fingers itched, but he refrained, not because of the price, but because it would make him stand out too much. Back in the city, he’d be the brightest star on the street—a look utterly at odds with his porter’s identity, and if anyone questioned his financial sources, prison would be the next stop.

He was cautious to the extreme on such matters; quietly making big money was the way.

Shanghai dazzled him. Gou Dan stood rooted on Sujing Road, unable to move his legs.

Wei Dong felt as if he’d glimpsed the bustling scene of the future.

Or perhaps, forty years on, it would be much the same, with a few modern touches added.

So, with only their letter of introduction, the two spent three or four solid days roaming Shanghai, took a tourist photo on the Bund, and waited for the developed print before heading back to the southwest.

Gou Dan never questioned why they carried such heavy loads on the trip; he savored every meal, leaving nothing behind, and happily followed Wei Dong across the river each night to stay at a country inn. The color photograph delighted him so much he hoisted his childhood friend onto his shoulders for a horse-back pose, earnestly copying Wei Dong’s instructions to flash a peace sign, his grin stretching to his ears.

They bought nothing.

Changed into ordinary, inconspicuous attire—the county’s fashionable gray-green military jacket, deep blue police trousers, and liberation shoes.

Even so, Gou Dan felt his new outfit was the height of fashion and was eager to show it off back home.

Wei Dong sternly warned him not to tell anyone they'd been to Shanghai, to keep the photo safe, and to say they’d just been out working. “This one hundred fifty is for cured meat, this one hundred is for your mother to save for your future bride.”

Gou Dan stubbornly refused to speak to Wei Dong, refusing to accept the hundred yuan.

They’d eaten well and enjoyed themselves—why should they get paid for sightseeing in the big city?

Was there any justice in that?

He felt insulted, as if he were being looked down upon—after all, they’d grown up as brothers in split crotch pants!

He stomped home in a huff, but still bought food, insisting on giving Wei Dong all the pork in the train lunch box to show he wouldn’t eat his meat out of spite.

Wei Dong had no appetite for the unwashed pork skin.

He’d grown picky from later life, with habits of washing his face and feet daily, changing underwear frequently. He could rough it if needed, but preferred comfort when possible—after all, money was no object.

That’s why he rented rooms in the provincial capital and city, always having a place to stay.

Now, seeing Gou Dan sulking, he decided they should buy some things before heading home.

But he warned repeatedly: “Don’t let that old busybody Li Erfeng see the stuff. Give it to your mother to keep for your marriage dowry. And don’t fiddle with it!”

Gou Dan had a few yuan of his own, and Wei Dong taught him to hide it in his calf guard; Gou Dan couldn’t resist touching it every so often, as if he wanted everyone to know about his stash.

Especially after returning to the provincial capital, near the wharf’s wholesale market. The pickpocket Wei Dong had encountered in June left a deep impression.

Since he’d opened up the factory sales market across the river, he’d rarely come back here.

But security seemed to have improved.

Outside the wholesale market gate, court notices listed names in black on white, with a blood-red check mark under the words “this notice.” The names highlighted in red were all destined to meet their maker.

Serves them right.

But seeing the occasional economic criminal inside still made Wei Dong’s skin crawl; the seven thousand yuan hidden on his thigh was a constant reminder he walked a razor’s edge.

Brand new bedding, clothes for middle-aged relatives, sets of pots and pans—all totaled nearly a hundred yuan.

Each carried a set back to Shangzhou.

At the bus station, Wei Dong kicked Gou Dan onto the bus, reminding him to hide the money, and telling him, “When I come back for Spring Festival to butcher the pig and smoke the meat, you can start chopping oak charcoal if you have nothing to do.”

Gou Dan, feeling deeply wronged, pouted, “Can’t I stay in the city? I’ll work hard, as long as I’m fed!”

Wei Dong realized Gou Dan was dazzled by the city: “We’ll talk after Spring Festival. Without cured meat, what’s the point of coming to the capital? There’s a stick of Jiexiu sausage in the bag—make sure to honor your father with it.”

Gou Dan nodded fiercely, though it was unclear how much he understood.

Wei Dong himself had bought a pack of Hongta Mountain cigarettes in the capital—a high-end brand in his eyes. All through the nineties, this was the standard for negotiations in county and city offices.

Forty yuan—a sum higher than many people’s monthly salary.

He hid it in the bundle of kitchenware and bedding as he returned.

But when he knocked on the door, his mother said, “Your father’s at work. You’ve been gone ten days, and Teacher Shi and I were worried sick!”

Wei Dong staggered back, struck by two surprises: “At work? What work? Who’s Teacher Shi?”

Then his mother delivered another blow: “Comrade Dong comes by every day to ask when you’ll return, helps me with housework, and organized all these things. She says our lease ends this month and we can stay at her place—there’s a spare room, no rent.”

Wei Dong was baffled: “Which Comrade Dong?”

His mother thought nothing of the city women: “The one you rescued from the bullies in the alley, the lady comrade—so warm-hearted.”

Oh, right—Wei Dong had almost forgotten the saleswoman. “Those salespeople will say anything to anyone—don’t trust her. What’s this about work?”

His mother laughed: “Teacher Shi—her family works in the big unit next door. Your father’s been hired as a gatekeeper, thirty yuan a month, plus meals—he’s eating from the state now!”

Wei Dong inwardly cursed. Fate was moving forward regardless; he’d rescued Shi’s mother, and now her father had given the gatekeeping job to his family.

It seemed to have solved a major worry for him.

He nodded, “Fine, I’ll have Dad bring this pack of cigarettes to thank Director Shi… Oh, he’s not the boss yet.”

Just then, there was a soft knock at the door. Wei Dong turned and opened it—it was the saleswoman.

Her habitual frown vanished into delight: “You’re back!”

Wei Dong had noticed that the trade company had uniforms, rare in the prefectural city, even the provincial capital. He’d only seen it occasionally at large department stores on Sujing Road in Shanghai.

The two women usually wore drab workwear, so he hadn’t paid much attention to their figures; now, her floral blouse was stretched so tight the buttons threatened to fly off.

This young woman was utterly unreserved, making Wei Dong’s head spin. “Ah, you need to move something? Let’s go,” he said, blocking the doorway to keep her from entering.

After all, with all these brand-new goods, anyone would wonder where they came from.

Unexpectedly, Dong Xueying squeezed in politely: “Auntie, I just want to ask Wei Dong to help me with something…”

Wei Dong was nearly propelled out the door.

He came out blushing!

But the woman immediately reverted to her troubled expression: “Can you accompany me to Beijing?”

She even had a faint air of delicate sorrow.

If Wei Dong were truly a naïve nineteen-year-old boy, he might have nodded eagerly.

But now, he was instantly chilled, his restlessness vanishing: “Why do you need to go?”

Dong Xueying, short but resolute, raised her chin: “To file a complaint!”

Damn, going to petition the authorities? Only a fool would accompany her on such a quest!