Chapter 9: What I Have Lost, I Must Retrieve Myself

In these days, there was no such thing as commercial districts or pedestrian shopping streets; the commercial market was practically nonexistent.

Aside from the state-run stores and department stores, everything else was scattered in every nook and cranny.

Sometimes, the less conspicuous stores lasted longer.

Wan Shang Trading Company was located on a dilapidated, muddy street lined with old brick buildings.

It was easy to find because it was always packed with people.

A brand-new sign hung on the freshly whitewashed wall by the entrance, while the other side was painted and used as a blackboard.

In bold, vigorous chalk characters, it proclaimed: “Genuine goods at fair prices, honesty for all, guaranteed returns, exchanges, and repairs—the ‘Three Guarantees’ delivered to your door!”

Yes, that’s right—the legendary Three Guarantees policy, which would later become known to every household in the country, was first coined right here.

It certainly looked innovative.

But on the counter at the entrance sat several black-and-white televisions, rare for this era, broadcasting with both sound and picture; on the shelves behind were tape recorders, radios, and even a small refrigerator!

It seemed like a trendy electronics store at first glance.

But on the wall hung all sorts of fashionable shirts, Zhongshan suits, and floral dresses; large glass jars were filled with tea leaves and candies, and in the corners were stacked rebar and bags of cement.

Under the eaves were piles of oranges, and beside them were two or three stacks of bamboo chairs and mats taller than a man; in another corner, a few pigs and sheep were tied up!

Everything was for sale!

But only a little of each thing.

The two-room trading company was not large, but it was crammed with goods of every kind and crowded with people squatting in front of the shop, hungrily watching television.

Goudan gave a howl and dashed over too.

If not for the errand of selling cured pork, Tail felt it was utterly incredible that they hadn’t already been arrested in these past few days.

Who gave them the audacity to sell anything and everything?

Every item they sold was encroaching on the business of the hardware station (televisions), the meat factory (pigs and sheep), the commercial bureau (tea, bamboo ware), the farmer’s market (oranges), the supply and marketing cooperative (candies), the department store (clothes), the light industry bureau (steel, cement).

Weren’t they afraid that any of these state-run units could report them for disrupting economic order?

If not for knowing that the owner would become a billionaire in the future, Wei Dong would have scoffed and walked away—now, he could only guess that some powerful backer was involved.

So, unlike Goudan, Wei Dong hugged his knees and sat under the eaves across the street, focusing intently on observing what made this store so different.

From this moment, he was already unlike any passerby of the era.

He was different even from the tall middle-aged man inside the shop and the group he led.

Perhaps it was his old security guard instincts—Wei Dong automatically discounted everyone squatting at the entrance watching TV; they were just there for entertainment. The real focus was on those pushing to the counter and peering inside.

Young women and wives linked arms, curiously inspecting the colorful clothes, and two pretty female clerks managed to sell a few items, leaving delighted customers praising the affordable prices and attentive service.

But the men’s attention was mostly on making calls or engaging in animated conversations with hurried, travel-weary outsiders.

Wei Dong seized the opportunity to pretend to browse, edging closer to eavesdrop.

It turned out these were sales agents from nearby towns or even other provinces, representing communes, counties, and factories, all looking for sales channels or sourcing goods.

In an age without the internet or information flow, everything depended on word of mouth and wandering from place to place.

This trading company seemed to serve as a hub—“Alright, we’ve taken note of your information and phone number; we’ll contact you when we find what you need,” or, “The items you requested are ready; pay up and we’ll arrange delivery.”

Wei Dong’s eyebrows shot up—wasn’t this speculative trade?

Who was truly speculating? Was it him, selling sunflower seeds and cured pork?

To people in later years, this kind of business was perfectly ordinary, but in these days, every detail had to be scrutinized.

If you didn’t buy stock, or only brought in samples, then found a buyer and used their money, or got goods on credit from the seller and then collected from the buyer, you didn’t even need your own capital, let alone worry about unsold goods. You simply profited from the information gap.

This was called reselling, called speculation.

If anyone was going to be caught by the authorities, it would be them.

Just like when Wei Dong first started collecting cured pork, he instinctively paid cash for meat on the spot. Only this time, because Er Feng had collected so much and he was worried about his father’s surgery costs, did he take the pork on credit and sell it before paying.

But if he always took advantage of trust and neighborly relations to work empty-handed, the nature of his dealings would surely change.

Decades spent in the tax bureau had given Wei Dong this basic awareness.

So, as noon approached and Goudan drooled over braised pig’s trotters, asking if he wanted some, Wei Dong stood and led him away for lunch:

“This meat will spoil by afternoon—take it home now. Here’s a hundred and twenty yuan; give one hundred to Er Feng for the pork, and the other twenty is your wage for helping me.”

Goudan, already beaming at the dining table, nearly knocked it over in protest: “How can I take your money? I helped Uncle get to the hospital, and I’ve eaten and drunk so well these days—I’ve never had such good food in the provincial capital!”

Wei Dong pressed him to sit, quietly slipping ten large bills across, teaching him to roll them up and tuck them into his basket strap:

“There are towels, vests, and undershirts in here for each household—as thanks for helping out during this incident. When my father is discharged, I’ll invite everyone to a banquet. You helped me with all these things and missed work at home—keep the twenty yuan, or I won’t ask for your help again.”

Hearing the severity in Wei Dong’s tone, Goudan finally accepted the money, embarrassed: “I already feel bad enough eating with you, how can I take your money?”

Wei Dong fished out another five yuan in change: “Do you know how to get back to the county from the bus station? I’ll take you there—just find a truck at the station entrance, two or three mao will be enough to get home.”

Goudan suddenly lost his appetite, clutching the twenty yuan as if it were burning hot, and now another five.

Wei Dong sweetened the deal: “This is your travel money—give all the rest to your mother when you get home, but don’t tell anyone how you got it. If you keep working with me, we’ll come to the provincial capital every few days, and you’ll earn this much each time. Tell your mother to save it for your future marriage.”

Goudan grinned sheepishly, and Wei Dong quietly reminded him to watch out for pickpockets on the road.

After their meal of pork belly and salted vegetables, Wei Dong gave him further instructions as he walked him to the station.

Goudan wanted to take the army-green rucksack home as well.

Wei Dong told him he’d be back in a few days and suggested he could buy some cured pork in the meantime, offering fifty yuan in advance if needed.

Goudan hastily refused, saying the twenty yuan was more than enough as a deposit.

Wei Dong was actually worried that carrying too much cash would get him into trouble.

Finally, he strolled back to Wan Shang Trading Company, once more hugging his knees across the street, observing like a bystander.

He tried to learn from the future billionaire’s methods.

At least now he knew—if selling clothes here didn’t get them arrested, he could confidently bring hundreds of yuan worth of clothes from the nearby wholesale market and sell them here for a small markup.

He didn’t expect to make a fortune; if he could cover his travel and food expenses this way, then all the cured pork sales would be pure profit.

A white undershirt costing 1.2 yuan could be sold here for 1.8.

Hauling back a few hundred pieces meant over a hundred yuan in income.

Wei Dong quietly watched until nightfall, ate a bowl of noodles at random, and then slung his bag over his shoulder, sneaking around to the construction site of the new tax bureau office building.

He pretended to loiter at the alleyway, and when no one was looking, scaled the gap in the wall and slipped into the half-finished brick-and-concrete building.

It was meant to be five stories, but only three and a half were done—completion would probably be before next Spring Festival.

Wei Dong recalled spending his first New Year’s Eve as an adult in the mailroom of this building, his hands wrapped in bandages from injury.

The pain was unforgettable.

This time, he swore never to endure such hardship again.

Someone else was going to pay a heavy price!