1979 Gold Age

Chapter 3 Labor is the Most Glorious

Unknowingly, it was already dusk.

Chen Qi checked the time, gathered the few pages of manuscript he had written, and tucked them under his bed.

As the soft glow of the setting sun fell on the table, the once-quiet courtyard finally came to life. The ringing of bicycle bells, the chatter of children, and the clanking sounds of chopping vegetables mixed together, while wisps of smoke drifted through the air.

"Mom, you're back!"

"What delicious food did you buy?"

"No holidays, no festivals—why buy anything special? Just cabbage, potatoes, and some pickled vegetables."

Yu Xiuli arrived home from work on time. Without wasting a moment, she took off her coat and began to prepare dinner while giving instructions:

"Put the pickled vegetables on a plate. There’s still half a block of tofu left from this morning—bring it out!"

"How should I prepare the tofu? Should I cook it with the pickles?"

"Cook your head! Just blanch it in hot water and mix it with sauce!"

There were two types of pickles: soy-pickled cucumbers and sweet-spicy r****h, both from Liubiju.

Liubiju used to be called "Red Flag Pickle Store." In 1972, when Japanese Prime Minister Tanaka Kakuei visited China, his delegation specifically requested to visit Liubiju, prompting the store to restore its old name.

The small kitchen was built outside the house, a simple shed made of bricks and tar paper. A single stove and a cupboard filled the space to the brim. Next to the kitchen was a storage area for honeycomb briquettes, neatly stacked and covered with tar paper—a sign of a tidy household.

Lazy families would leave the coal scattered around, and when it rained, black water would seep out, pooling in dark puddles.

Chen Qi took the initiative to help.

He had only transmigrated a few days ago—how could he have any deep feelings for these parents?

Of course not. But since they treated him well, he wasn’t stingy in returning the favor.

Yu Xiuli, efficiently preparing the meal, occasionally glanced at him, feeling puzzled. Just a few days ago, this kid had been as lifeless as a salted fish. Why had he suddenly sprung to life like a carp flipping out of the water?

By the time the sky darkened, dinner was ready, and his "cheap" father, Chen Jianjun, had also returned home.

Chen Jianjun was in his forties, tall and thin, with a refined demeanor. Though his clothes were old, they were clean and tidy, with a fountain pen clipped into the breast pocket.

Chen Jianjun was a sales representative.

The Xinhua Bookstore was the largest book distribution unit in the country. If a book or magazine wanted to be published, it had to go through sales representatives, who would assess its content and propose an initial order quantity to the bookstore—perhaps 1,000 copies. The store would then stock that amount and adjust future orders based on market response.

Later, however, the role of sales representatives changed—they became more like salesmen because the book industry had been opened up, and Xinhua's monopoly was gone.

"Dad!"

"Did you attend the meeting?"

"I did!"

"Alright, we’ll talk after dinner."

Chen Jianjun smiled, a very refined smile—the kind of person who had never uttered a curse word in his life.

Dinner was simple: potato vermicelli stewed with cabbage, tofu, and pickled vegetables.

It wasn’t that they couldn’t afford meat—it simply wasn’t available. Urban residents were rationed only 3–5 ounces of pork per month. During the Three Years of Difficulty, the annual per capita pork supply in Beijing was only 8.5 ounces. Other places had it even worse—many had no meat at all.

Both of his parents were educated and had a certain level of refinement. It was a family rule not to discuss business during meals.

After finishing dinner, Chen Jianjun finally asked, and Chen Qi repeated the details of the meeting.

"What do you think?"

"I..."

Just as he was about to answer, someone called from outside:

"Is Chen Qi home?"

"Oh! Auntie Wang!"

"Please, come in! What brings you here?"

The visitor was an elderly lady with graying hair and a kind smile—one of the neighborhood committee officials. She sat down confidently and said with a grin:

"We had a meeting this morning, and by the afternoon, we were already assigned tasks. The neighborhood committee has 13 people to place, and we must find jobs for them."

"I figured everyone would be home in the evening, so I came to check in. Yours is the first household I’m visiting."

"Oh, thank you for taking the trouble! It’s late, and you still have to go around..."

Yu Xiuli poured her a glass of water. She had been meaning to ask about this anyway and said:

"Auntie Wang, my son mentioned they’re setting up a production and service cooperative. You know those collective units never get much attention. Not that I have anything against collective units, but isn’t there a garment factory in our neighborhood? Can’t he be placed there?"

"Ah, that’s easier said than done! Do you know how many unemployed youths there are in our district?"

Auntie Wang slapped her thigh and held up her hand to show a number:

"80,000! Where is the government supposed to find 80,000 jobs? Everyone from top to bottom is worried sick. Many of them are already 25 or 26 years old and have been jobless for years. We have to prioritize them."

"As for that garment factory, we pleaded and bargained just to squeeze in a little over a hundred people. Don’t even think about it."

"Then what exactly do you have in mind for them?"

Chen Jianjun asked.

"My idea is..."

Auntie Wang took a sip of water and continued:

"Qianmen is a prime location. Beijing residents love visiting it, and so do people from other provinces. Every year, countless out-of-towners come on business trips, and they always make a stop there. But despite all the shops in Qianmen, not a single one sells water! These visitors come all the way here and can’t even find a drink."

"If they want Beibingyang soda, that’s 1.5 yuan, and it requires ration coupons—most people can’t afford it. I’ve even seen people drinking from garden hoses!"

"So we thought—why not set up a stall selling tea in Qianmen? People would definitely buy it."

Selling tea?!

Chen Qi’s parents exchanged glances. This… this was disgraceful! They were cultured people, working at Xinhua Bookstore, and now their son was supposed to sell tea? In the old days, that was the job of the lowest class!

How low?

In Rickshaw Boy, an old man who could no longer pull a rickshaw was forced to sell tea just to survive. It was a pitiful existence. Even the protagonist, Xiangzi, fared better—at least he had rented a house, bought three rickshaws (though he lost them all), and had a wife (who died in childbirth).

"Auntie Wang, is there really no other position?"

"There is! Technical jobs. Can your son do carpentry?"

"No!"

"Does he know tailoring?"

"No!"

"Can he cook?"

"No!"

"Well, there you have it!"

"..."

His parents exchanged another glance—was their son… useless? Even more infuriating, this "useless" son looked completely unbothered, as if the conversation wasn’t about him.

"Alright, discuss among yourselves. I need to visit the next family."

With that, Auntie Wang left.

The family of three sat in silence. Yu Xiuli finally said, "Say something! What do you think?"

"I follow the organization’s arrangements. Whatever they assign me, I’ll do!" Chen Qi said.

"If they tell you to sell tea, you’ll do it? Right in Qianmen, just a short distance from the bookstore—won’t my colleagues laugh at me?"

"They won’t, because their kids will be selling tea with me."

Pfft!

Yu Xiuli nearly choked with anger.