Chapter 60: A Game, A Dream

But when the first university student lowered his voice and suggested to Let Weidong, “I can sell this camera in all the campuses across Beijing,” he clearly had a flash of insight. This was precisely the method of sales he’d been racking his brain to find!

Let Weidong’s problem was that he hadn’t attended university himself; he had no firsthand experience with the powerful purchasing force of campus life. One might think students are all penniless, but even in 1984, it remained true that they were among the rare elite—the youth intellectuals at the very pinnacle of society’s pyramid. Their families were generally much better off than the national average. Crucially, university students at that time often had another characteristic: if the household could afford it, they would bring an entire semester’s living expenses at once. Due to inconvenient transportation, students rarely returned home mid-term, and remittance or banking fees were troublesome, not to mention the hassle of moving ration coupons and grain books. Families who’d been saving for their child’s education since middle school tried to provide everything at once. So, most students genuinely had dozens of yuan in cash, especially now, just after the start of the semester. They were flush with funds.

Right then, everyone whipped out their cash and snatched up all ten cameras. The newspaper reporters, eager to add fuel to the fire, photographed and interviewed the buyers. As long as the “People’s Camera” was seen being snapped up before their eyes, it was as good as witnessing the fervor of thousands being bought. Their purpose in inviting Let Weidong to Beijing was fulfilled—real, reliable, with first-hand interviews from eager buyers.

Yet, a few students didn’t bother with the rush for a camera; instead, they clung tightly to Let Weidong. “Comrade Let, I have connections in every major college in Beijing—I’m confident I can sell these cameras well!” “Comrade Let Weidong, I’m from Sichuan, and I’m certain I can sell plenty at Beijing’s universities.” “Comrade Let, we have a photography club at our university—I know photography, and I can find many related events to promote the camera.” “Let…”

Let Weidong was a year or several younger than most of them, yet his demeanor was naturally more mature and composed. He smiled, gesturing toward their surroundings: the fierce-eyed staff, the curious students peeking over, the helpless teachers—none of them were the right audience for a business discussion at this moment. Even though today’s theme was sales. That was Let Weidong: he didn’t know all the grand theories, but he’d seen plenty of human nature in his life, and watched quite a few short dramas and TV series.

He was no longer just a naive youth. The enterprising students quickly scattered a little but remained close by. After the endless rounds of speeches, encouragement from the newspaper, and commemorative photos, Let Weidong finally smiled and discreetly refunded a yuan to each of the ten buyers. Then, accompanied by the seven persistent university students who wished to become “Beijing agents,” he led them to a stone table and bench in a patch of greenery to “hold a meeting.”

To be honest, Let Weidong was simply using this downtime after the formalities to think things through, and decided to put on a show for these Beijing students. He ended up overdoing it. Two boys from the countryside squatted outside the shrubbery, more like guard dogs than bodyguards. The two girls and five boys gathered curiously around the stone table, still bickering: “You guys from the Steel Institute shouldn’t waste your effort on these petty speculative trades.” “Hey, this is our home turf—why should the Aerospace guys meddle?” “I think us geology students, always traveling around, are best suited for this—you highbrow types don’t need to dirty yourselves with the stink of money… Hey, Comrade Let, I’m not saying your business stinks—I personally love that smell.” “We should kick you out first, that’d be best!”

Let Weidong was building up the atmosphere, hiding the gentle touch he’d shown at the earlier discussion, borrowing the big brotherly air he used with Er Feng and Dog Egg, and mimicking Director Shi’s authority. He sat down, trying to deepen his voice, “This isn’t just a little camera business. On a grand scale, it’s about the economic strategies discussed in the meeting—activating the economy and so on. But the key is, on a small scale, what does it mean for us participants?”

The group was playful, but the seven students quickly became solemn and attentive. Then they heard Let Weidong say something they’d never forget: “We can see this as a game—a game that might run through our whole lives.”

In all honesty, it was 1984. At the word “game,” every student probably pictured childish things like handkerchief tosses or hide-and-seek. There was no concept of video games, mobile games, or anything like RPGs, FPS shooters, RTS strategy games, or the vast ocean of genres. They were a bit bewildered.

Let Weidong went on, “For example, the rules of the game are: cameras can only be produced in Jiangzhou. To sell in large quantities, you must target first-tier cities like Beijing, Zhejiang, or Shanghai. As players, our job is to travel diligently between Jiangzhou and these cities. On the road, there may be thieves, sales may attract police who want to arrest you, or bullies might rob you. After selling, you have to pay taxes. So, tell me: how can you maximize your profits and speed within a unit of time?”

The seven students exchanged glances, clearly seeing shock, delight, realization—and countless “damns!”—in each other’s eyes. Wasn’t this the ultimate realm of playing life as a game?

University students of the reform era in the eighties, caught in the enormous rift between planned economy and marketization, were constantly asking themselves: What are we? Ordinary workers or peasants rarely pondered these deep questions, even when facing setbacks. What caused this transformation?

How should we respond to it? What can we do to adapt, or even change the world? These were questions only intellectuals would ask themselves at a certain level.

The geology student, incredulous, asked, “Are you… suggesting we approach this trade philosophically?”

Let Weidong, not knowing a thing about philosophy, waved it off, “Don’t make it so complicated—it’s just a game. Haven’t you played games? I already asked you: how can we sell as fast and profitably as possible? Now it’s your turn to ask.”

A short-haired girl, quick-witted, tucked her hair behind her ear, “Alright, I’ll try first. How much do we get per camera? The sale price today was twenty-nine yuan, right?”

Let Weidong nodded, “I’ll give you twenty-four yuan per unit. But that price… I expect you’ll collect them in Zhenjiang. The rest—getting them to Beijing—you’ll have to work out yourselves.”

The boys perked up, “Why Zhenjiang? Is there some contact reason?”

Let Weidong pulled out a large transport atlas from his little brother’s bag, “There’s a train from Jiangzhou to Beijing, but as everyone knows, train cars are in high demand and short supply. Besides, we don’t need such large capacity for cameras. Our main route right now is to ship by water to Zhenjiang, then two helpers there transfer the goods to Zhejiang, selling four or five hundred units a day. I don’t know if you can achieve that scale in Beijing.”

That’s two thousand to twenty-five hundred yuan in daily profit!

The seven students’ eyes widened, the stink of money making one boy flush red.

Let Weidong calmly cooled them off, “Remember what I said about game rules? Don’t fixate on profit—this is just a game. Otherwise, one of you might run off with the money—whether it’s a thousand, ten thousand, or a hundred thousand, greed could drive someone to crime, missing out on the golden age you could have legitimately profited from!”

Honestly, these words would be useless for Dog Egg or Er Feng, even hard to convey to the Dong sisters. But for eighties university students, it was like a revelation. The girl with glasses pushed up her thick frames, “You’re teaching us a mindset—how to maintain that mindset as we play this money game, able to step back and observe ourselves and our partners at any time?”

Let Weidong thought, I didn’t mean anything so deep—just that calling it a game might help you understand. But he nodded, inscrutable, “That’s about right. So, are you getting the picture? Maybe every time, one or two of you go fetch the cameras from Zhenjiang. Maybe you’ll explore shipping parcels from Jiangzhou to Beijing by train. Here, look…”

He pulled out a train timetable. The students leaned in as if examining a battle map at command headquarters.

“The rail distance from Jiangzhou to Beijing is 2,550 kilometers. According to this freight table, cameras count as category two goods. For this distance, every fifty kilograms costs seventeen yuan sixty in freight. I’ll deliver to the train in Jiangzhou—you figure out how to receive it here and divide up the sales.”

“It’s obvious that separating the cameras from the packaging boxes for shipping, then assembling them here, saves space and weight. If you’re resourceful, you could find a local printing factory in Beijing to split the cost of thousands of packaging boxes, further lowering shipping costs and making things safer.”

Later, the eldest of the group, Han Guobin, often described this scene: “From that moment on, the game never ended. There was no GAME OVER.”