Isn't This Just Bullying an Honest Man?!

“Your tea stall really is convenient for the masses. Give me a bowl!” “I’m from Tangshan. Whose idea was this? It’s really great!” “Your cooperative won’t be banned tomorrow, will it? Aiya, Qianmen gets so crowded, having a tea stall is really nice.” “This is jasmine tea, right? I can tell the moment I take a sip. Let me teach you a trick: boil a big pot in advance, then pour it into the kettles. Use that stove to keep them warm so every day you can open for business right away…” With someone taking the lead, the crowd hesitated no longer. In these days, if someone spat on the ground, a crowd would gather to watch, let alone for a novelty like this. Thirsty or not, people stepped up for a bowl. After all, it was only two fen; no one nitpicked about the poor flavor, even if many people, in their tone and between the lines, still looked down on outfits like cooperatives. Without any formal appointment, Huang Zhanying naturally became the backbone of the stall. A bowl of tea in one hand, coins in the other, constantly shouting out welcomes and thanks, she was busy off her feet. “Sister Ying! Sister Ying!” A young man dashed over and called out, “One kettle is already sold out! Should we boil another?” “Sold out?” Huang Zhanying went over to check, and sure enough, one kettle was empty. She hadn't harbored much hope initially, never imagining so many people would buy. She hurried to say, “Boil it, boil it! Quickly, get it boiling, don't let us run out!” Having given her instructions, she turned her head to look, and fury immediately surged within her. “Chen Qi! What are you doing?” “What’s wrong?” “Everyone is busy off their feet, and you’re just squatting here?” “I'm busy too!” Squatting off to the side like an old hound, Chen Qi tapped his head and said, “I’m calculating things. Don’t disturb me.” “You—!!” Huang Zhanying really wanted to kick him, but out of revolutionary comradeship, she held back and turned around to attend to the customers. Chen Qi continued squatting, his eyes fixed unblinkingly on the flow of pedestrians, observing how frequently people passed the Arrow Tower, noting what they wore, whether they walked, rode bicycles, or even rode in sedans, and checking if there were any foreigners... The property rights of this tea stall were very ambiguous. In the early stage, forty yuan had been pooled together; everyone had contributed a bit, and the neighborhood subdistrict had contributed some as well. In principle, it belonged jointly to the subdistrict and all the youths, but right now there were no detailed regulations, so by default it was treated as belonging to the subdistrict. At present, Auntie Wang’s stance was that the subdistrict took full responsibility for profits and losses, paying each person a monthly wage of thirty-six yuan. Whether it turned a profit or suffered a loss, all proceeds had to be handed over to the subdistrict. Yet cooperatives of this kind were consistently profitable. The subdistrict bearing full profits and losses easily led to unfair distribution and discontent, which was why the state would issue a document next year shifting them to assuming sole responsibility for their own profits and losses. Chen Qi did a rough mental calculation. Thirty-six yuan per person for thirteen people came to 468 yuan a month. Factoring in operating costs, count it as six hundred yuan at most. At two fen a bowl, selling thirty thousand bowls brought in six hundred yuan, which averaged out to a thousand bowls a day. Please! This was Qianmen! A thousand bowls a day? Who were they underestimating? Multiplying that several times over wouldn't be an issue at all. This shabby tea stall had massive prospects. Chen Qi planned to slip away eventually. Leaving Huang Zhanying behind all by herself felt a little guilty, so he was pondering how to make the business even better—that way, when he made his exit, he could leave with a clear conscience. Crowds arrived wave after wave, never tiring of the spectacle. In the blink of an eye, noon arrived. Seeing that they were growing more and more proficient, Auntie Wang had already headed back. Huang Zhanying finally found a moment to rest. Carrying two coarse-grain steamed buns, she sat down on the ground. “Whew! I'm completely exhausted!” “Thanks for your hard work! Is this lunch?” “What else did you expect?” “This is way too meager!” Chen Qi took one of the buns and took a bite. It was dry and coarse. He asked, “Forget fish or meat, don’t we even have a bit of pickled vegetables?” “Pickles? Let me ask…” Huang Zhanying asked one of the young women. The girl brought over a small chunk of pickled turnip root, giving Chen Qi a side-eye and muttering in a voice intentionally loud enough for him to hear, “Everyone's working their tails off, but certain isolated individuals are slacking off and dodging work, acting like some pampered young master! Hmph!” Chen Qi couldn't help but chuckle. *Certain isolated individuals.* Back in his school days, he had always been that "certain isolated individual" in the teacher's mouth, while one buddy was "some students," another was "what's even worse," and a third was "I won't name names, but you know who you are." They had called themselves the school's F4. Chen Qi silently split the bun open, stuffed the pickled vegetables inside, and crafted himself a Big Mac coarse-grain pickle burger. Huang Zhanying looked at him and said, “I've noticed a problem with you. You're becoming more and more obsessed with material indulgence lately, constantly complaining about this and that. What's the deal? Do you want to drive a car, live in a Western-style mansion, and restore capitalism?” “I don't have that kind of ability. That’s all the wisdom of future generations.” He quickly shook his head and asked, “How many bowls did you guys sell this morning?” “No time to count yet. In any case, business is great. I’m full of drive right now… By the way, you have to work in a bit. Everyone has complaints about you; don't undermine unity,” Huang Zhanying urged. “Yeah, yeah, I'll work!” Chen Qi mumbled noncommittally, gnawing on his Big Mac coarse-grain pickle burger washed down with gaomo large-bowl tea. Pure perfection. Because it tasted so terrible, he chewed very gently—gentler than tasting a girl’s tongue. He was only halfway through when a commotion erupted over by the stall. Huang Zhanying sprang up in a flash and rushed straight over. A large crowd was still gathered around, but right at the front stood several insolent youths laughing and joking flippantly. “Yo! Where'd these mangliu come from?” “What mangliu? Show some respect—they're called individual businesses!” “I heard individual business folks are all fresh out of prison!” “Oh-ho!” The term *mangliu*—blind vagrants—first appeared in a 1950s document titled *Directive on Dissuading Peasants from Blindly Inflowing into Cities*. Simplified over time, it gave birth to this deeply derogatory concept. Huang Zhanying bravely blocked their way, shouting at their leader, “What do you want? If you're not here to drink tea, get lost!” Judging by the other party’s attire, he was clearly someone coddled by a prestigious work unit. He gave a strange squawk. “Whoa, this girl is fierce! As expected of someone running an individual business!” “You don’t know anything. They’re not an individual business, they’re called a cooperative!” “Ohhh~~ So it’s called a cooperative!” The group burst out laughing. At their snide mockery, the onlookers in the crowd actually joined in with laughter. Not a single person stepped forward to stop them, because everyone agreed with the hierarchy of positions: state-owned enterprises were iron rice bowls, collectively owned units were despised by men and dogs alike, and individual businesses? Sorry, they were lower than dogs. You couldn't guarantee everyone was kindhearted, not to mention the immense prejudices of the era... The youths at the stall couldn't take it and spoke up one after another: “You’re being so rude!” “How can you talk like that?” “Exactly! We’re doing legitimate work too!” “What legitimate work? You're just youth awaiting employment! You think we don't know? It's just some odd job tossed together to resettle you. To think people are actually selling tea water on the street!” “Hey, won’t you guys be banned by tomorrow? Pack up your bedding and scram!” “How did that song go again?” The leading youth’s face lit up, and he began singing with growing smugness: “Aba lagu~ Aba lagu~ Oh, oh, oh…” This was an interlude from the 1950s Indian film *Awaara*, titled "The Song of Raj," known popularly as *Awara Hoon*. It had screened in China back then and had been re-released last year to massive sensation. Its enchanting, catchy melody had spread through every street and alley. Xu Jingqing had drawn inspiration from it to write "Tianzhu Maiden," and Bai Zhantang had sung it in *My Own Swordsman*. Almost everyone from the parents’ generation had heard it. Translated, it meant: “Wandering everywhere… wandering everywhere…” The moment this song rang out, a young girl in the team burst into tears from sheer indignation. Several boys turned pale with anger, at a loss for how to fire back. Huang Zhanying’s eyes flared wide with fury, on the verge of flipping the table and throwing punches. Her clenched fists trembled. The faint sense of accomplishment she had just felt vanished completely under this barrage of sneers and mockery. Yet alongside her rage was an underlying sense of inferiority: *Why do I have to be the one selling large-bowl tea???* She was a young woman after all; mixed emotions welled up inside her, her eyes reddening as she fought back the tears. “Comrades, which work unit are you from?” Right at that moment, an inquiry suddenly came from the corner of the tea stall. A young man stood up languidly. Taking several steps forward, he asked once more, “Which unit are you from?” “What do you mean?” The leading youth craned his neck and countered. Seeing him approach, he sneered even more insolently, “What, looking for a brawl?” “A brawl? No, no. I just want to find your leadership and ask them to their faces: Is this how your school staff discriminates against the working people? Is this how your faculty ignores unity, pouring cold water and sneering at brothers and sisters, flaunting a sense of class superiority here?” “Don't you dare!” The leading youth’s face changed. “How could I ever be as daring as you?” Chen Qi pointed behind him and said, “Look here. We are members of the Dashilar Production and Service Cooperative, thirteen of us in all. You cursed us as mangliu and called us ex-convicts. Do you have any idea how many youths awaiting employment there are across the entire city? “Four hundred thousand! “All four hundred thousand of them—you just insulted every single one! “You’re really something!” Chen Qi gave a thumbs-up, words firing like a machine gun: “The newspapers have made it clear: resettling youths awaiting employment is national policy, the top priority of the year! “From top leadership down to subdistrict cadres, everyone has racked their brains and worked themselves ragged just to carve out a path for us. And what happens? In the end, we still have to suffer discrimination from trash like you, listening to your snide remarks and cynical sneers! “What’s wrong with selling tea? We earn our pay through our own honest labor—we are glorious! “You discriminate against tea sellers, you discriminate against the working people—what, were your ancestors landlords? Or were they goddamn capitalists? “How many years has it been since the Old China collapsed? Have the Three Great Mountains come back already? “Are you goddamn trying to stage a capitalist restoration?!” “Y-you… don’t talk nonsense!” The youth’s face turned green, and he took hurried little steps backward. Chen Qi stepped forward first and seized him by the collar, raising his voice: “The thirteen of us haven't stolen, haven't robbed! Our hearts are red and loyal to the motherland! Wherever the organization needs us to go, we go! Yet here you are, spewing filth all over us! “Did we do wrong by obeying the organization? Did we do wrong by serving the people? “Should we have refused to be honest and obedient, and instead cried and wailed for the organization to hand us cushy jobs? Where on earth is the sense in that?! “Speak! Which unit are you from?! Today I’m going straight to your work unit's gate to put up big-character posters! I'll make sure everyone sees…” Chen Qi waved his arm, the veins on his neck bulging. At this moment, as if possessed by the spirits of Zhang Muzhi and Master Tang from *Let the Bullets Fly*, he roared at the top of his lungs: “Isn’t this just bullying an honest man?!”