I Want to Make Progress So Badly

At six-thirty in the morning, Chen Qi crawled out of bed. Outside, it was far too noisy. Everyone was bustling about cooking breakfast and getting ready for work, making sleep impossible. He felt around for his nylon socks, pulled them on, and tucked his long johns into them. The socks were blue with a plaid pattern, with notably reinforced heels. Durable, easy to wash, brightly colored, and stretchy, they didn't absorb sweat at all and tended to make one's feet stink. Especially in winter, when you took your feet out of your shoes and toasted them over the stove, they would sizzle and smoke. A pair of nylon socks like this cost two or three yuan; ordinary folks couldn't bear to spend that kind of money. In later generations, cotton goods would be expensive and synthetic fibers cheap, but right now it was the exact opposite—cotton was cheap, while synthetics were pricey. Take the famous Dacron, for example—it was actually just polyester. So what kind of socks did poor people wear right now? They wore cloth socks. They had no elasticity and easily slid down, so they had two ties to fasten around the calves, looking like something ancient people wore. Buddhist monks and Daoist priests wore cloth socks like that too. In later years, once the textile industry developed, nylon socks would be found in every household, worn by almost anyone born in the seventies, eighties, or nineties. Back then, there was a popular jingle: *Cropped trousers and little white shoes, showing half a nylon sock—that was seriously cool...* “Stay home and don't cause trouble!” “If anything comes up, come find me at the bookstore!” After breakfast, his parents left for work. Yu Xiuli nagged him just as she would a little kid. In parents' eyes, their children never grow up—even at twenty, you're told not to open the door for strangers, and at thirty, they still buy treats for you... Chen Qi resumed his role as a left-behind child. Yet he was very busy. After securing the door, he pulled the manuscript paper from beneath the bedding, sat at the table, and continued writing, consulting the *Geographical Atlas* from time to time. In his past life, he had worked at a media company before starting his own business. He had written plenty of things, long and short, so his pen was reasonably sharp. But right now, he was deliberately writing a bit weaker—because he wanted to freeload! Culture workers in this era were hot commodities and enjoyed generous treatment. Whether it was a novel or a screenplay, if a magazine or film studio saw potential, they would invite the author over to revise the draft—reimbursing travel expenses, covering room and board, and providing a daily living allowance. Take Yu Hua, for instance. Back when he was still an inexperienced dentist, he submitted a manuscript to *Beijing Literature*. The editor gave him a long-distance call: “What you wrote is pretty good, but the ending isn't bright enough. Could you make it a bit more upbeat?” Yu Hua replied, “As long as you publish it, I'll make it bright from start to finish!” The guy went over happily, mooching food and drink at the magazine's guesthouse and pocketing a daily stipend of two yuan. He stayed for an entire month, and when he headed home, not only had he not spent a dime, but he also had several dozen yuan extra in his pocket. In Chen Qi's view, though, a month was far too short! When he freeloaded, he measured it by the year! Measuring by the year was tough for a magazine, but a film studio had no such problem. Those screenwriters treated the studio like home year-round, professional freeloaders to the core. That was why Chen Qi wasn't writing a novel; he was writing a literary screenplay. Screenplays paid handsomely, far more than novels—unless it was a full-length book. *I don't want to live in a hutong!* *I want to stay in a guesthouse!* He buried his head in his work, toiling hard to escape emptying chamber pots. As he wrote, Huang Zhanying's voice drifted in from outside again, carrying a slight sob: “Chen Qi, are you there?” “Here, I'm here!” “Whoa, what's wrong?” He opened the door and saw tear tracks on the young woman's face, her expression crestfallen. Hurriedly letting her in, he asked, “What happened?” “Auntie Wang came by our place yesterday too, talking about the tea stall. My parents actually agreed!” “Why did they agree?” “Both of them work in the same work unit, and there's only one succession quota. They decided long ago to give it to my younger brother. He just graduated from middle school, didn't test into further studies, and is awaiting employment at home too... *Sniff*... I don't want to sell tea...” Huang Zhanying wiped her eyes, unclear whether she was crying over having to sell tea or over her parents' favoritism. Chen Qi's capacity for empathy was rather weak, so he couldn't truly share her pain. Still, he was never uncouth when seriousness was called for, and never serious when being a rascal was required. He asked, “So that means you're going to sell tea?” “Yeah!” “That's great! I'm going too!” He acted delighted, saying, “I was terrified wondering what I'd do all on my own. With you there, I won't have to worry—you're way better at fighting than I am.” “Listen to yourself! You're a guy!” Huang Zhanying curled her lip. “I'm frail! Who can compare to you—you're like Zhang Fei! Honestly, I think you're cut out for this job. You're candid, generous, and smart. Back when you were sent down to the countryside, you were a leader among the educated youth. It was just a shame you didn't have much room to show what you could do. Now that we're setting up a cooperative, I think you're better suited than anyone. This is the vast world where great things can be accomplished! I support you one hundred percent!” Some people liked relying on others, while some liked being relied upon. Huang Zhanying was the latter. Flattered into embarrassment, she said, “B-but we're just selling tea. What kind of great thing could come from that?” “There's a whole world of opportunity in this!” Chen Qi stood up and glanced outside to ensure walls had no ears, then lowered his voice. “Auntie Wang said there are eighty thousand youth awaiting employment in the district, right?” “Right. What about it?” “Do you know what kind of hidden social dangers there would be if these eighty thousand people can't find work?” “Uh...” Huang Zhanying pondered for a moment and said, “I get that part. The government places a lot of importance on employment.” “Importance doesn't begin to cover it—it's practically the top priority! Let me tell you, policies are flexible things. They shift with the needs of the bigger picture. To arrange jobs, the government has already relaxed a lot of restrictions. Don't think selling tea is just selling tea. For instance, couldn't we sell some melon seeds too? What about salted broad beans? Could we add a few chairs so customers can take a rest? Or even put on small performances, rent a space, and open a proper shop? Or looking even bigger: Guangdong has established the Shekou Industrial Zone, Sino-US diplomatic relations have been established, and foreign goods will pour in continuously. Couldn't we get our hands on some goods to resell?” *Hiss!* Huang Zhanying gasped, thoroughly startled. “Isn't that speculation and profiteering?!” “Hey, remember what I just said: when faced with the bigger picture, sensible compromises can be made. Of course, you shouldn't go too overboard. Keep it modest, and the authorities will turn a blind eye. What we need to do right now is get our mindset straight. Don't think selling tea is shameful. Let the winds blow from east, west, south, and north; I stand firm and unyielding.” “Good grief, how do you know all this?” “Just picked it up from idle reading. I only dabble.” “I don't completely understand, but it sounds incredible.” Huang Zhanying was lucky: she had been served the very first pie Chen Qi had drawn in the sky since transmigrating. She spontaneously developed an entrepreneurial mindset and said excitedly, “Tell me more about this in the future! Comrade Chen Qi, I want to make progress so badly!” *** Chen Jianjun and Yu Xiuli had been constantly seeking connections for their son's job. Alas, the employment situation was severe. Good posts had long been reserved; for medium ones, they weren't qualified; and people were tearing each other apart over the low-grade ones. What was finally left over was even worse than selling tea. It gave a distinct sense of deja vu to a Project 985 master's graduate working themselves to the bone for five thousand yuan a month. This exact moment was just like that one... Regardless, every household had its own difficulties. Just two days later, all thirteen youth awaiting employment under Auntie Wang's charge agreed to sell tea. Other subdistricts across Chongwen District also established cooperatives one after another: weaving bamboo blinds, sharpening knives and shears, stencil carving, hand-knitting sweaters, painting doors and windows, and so forth—everything imaginable. Just like any mobilization before, it unfolded in full swing. Meanwhile, in the streets and alleys, a small number of self-employed individuals also appeared. Without business licenses or public recognition, they peeked out like rats in the gutters, watching this great tide of reform.