1979 Gold Age

As people get older, they realize that sometimes having a good bowel movement is something to be proud of. Spring, 1979. Chen Qi pulled up his pants and stepped out of the public restroom in Menkuang Hutong, feeling completely satisfied as he drew an imaginary circle in the air. He had just had a perfect bowel movement—smooth and refreshing. His spirit was uplifted, his 19-year-old heart pumped strong and steady, and the pressure in his abdomen even stirred some long-dormant impulses—what a long-lost feeling! 9 AM. The workday had already started, and the alley was eerily quiet. It was a narrow, unremarkable lane, only about a hundred meters long and three meters wide, tucked away behind Dashilan. But thirty years ago, this place had been a famous street for snacks. Fushunzhai’s braised beef, Ruibinlou’s fried dumplings, Kang’s old-style tofu, along with Nian Gao Qian, Bao Du Feng, and Baozi Yang—all of them contributed to making this one of the most bustling spots in Beijing. Chen Qi took a few steps to the entrance of Courtyard No. 12. A sign was nailed to the door: Xinhua Bookstore Dormitory. The famous novelist Zhang Henshui once lived here. The courtyard had seven inner yards and was exceptionally spacious. Zhang Henshui had written Jin Fen Shi Jia here before moving to Nanjing. The place had since changed hands multiple times and was now a dormitory. As expected, a dormitory was far from orderly. Dozens of households shared the same water supply. Unauthorized coal sheds and storage rooms cluttered the space. The constant clatter of pots, pans, and daily chores filled the air. People often romanticized the “charm of ordinary life,” but that was only from a privileged, distant perspective. If you were truly living in it, you wouldn't find it charming at all… Chen Qi couldn’t stand this shabby place. His parents were at work, so he entered the house, washed his hands, and splashed his face. In the "Dong Fang Hong" mirror, a young man’s face reflected back at him. His hair wasn’t styled in the popular side part but was cut very short, sticking up like bristles. His eyes were bright, and his lips were thin, adding a hint of rebelliousness to his handsome features. He stood around 178 cm tall—a remarkable height for the era. How tall was that, exactly? For comparison: Aaron Kwok was around 165 cm, Andy Lau 169 cm, Jacky Cheung 173 cm, and Leon Lai—at 179 cm—was considered very tall. If the first three ever seemed taller, it was because they wore custom-made height-boosting insoles... “Chen Qi?” “Chen Qi?” A sudden voice called from outside. A girl rushed in. She had short, ear-length hair, an apple-shaped face, rough skin, and was tall—at least 41 in shoe size. She wore a worn-out gray cotton outfit and a pair of black cloth shoes with red soles. “Why are you still dawdling? Hurry up, we’re going to a meeting!” “I don’t want to go.” Chen Qi sprawled lazily, unwilling to get up. “If you keep this up, I’m going to criticize you! Ever since you returned to the city, you’ve become so negative and unmotivated. Chen Qi, pull yourself together! Don’t let temporary setbacks drag you down. The organization will arrange work for us!” “Comrade Huang Zhanying, please let me sink into my own depravity…” “Cut the nonsense! Get up!” Huang Zhanying had a loud voice and even greater strength. She grabbed him and pulled him up. With no choice, Chen Qi slowly put on his jacket and slipped into a pair of matching black shoes with red soles. They each got on their bicycles and rode out of the alley. As they emerged, the Dashilan area was gradually coming back to life. They weaved through the streets and headed east on Zhushikou Street. The city of 1979 unfolded around them like a series of old photographs. The sky was gray. The streets, with their sparse traffic, felt especially wide. Bicycles ruled the road, while the buildings on both sides were low and worn out, covered with a dense web of electrical poles and wires. The crowd dressed in somber blues, grays, and military greens—only the police in their white uniforms added a touch of brightness. On both sides of the road, people were planting trees at intervals. A few years ago, the United Nations Environment Programme had declared Beijing a city on the brink of desertification. This was a hard fact. Spring sandstorms were brutal. That very year, another massive dust storm had hit, prompting Xinhua News Agency to publish a special report titled Sandstorms Press Towards Beijing. Coincidentally, this happened during the Fifth National Conference, leading to the official establishment of Arbor Day on March 12. This was the first year of citywide tree planting. Poplars were being planted everywhere, which meant that future springs would not only bring sandstorms but also endless floating catkins… After biking about five kilometers, they arrived at a building east of the Temple of Heaven: The Chongwen District Workers’ Club! “So many people?” “All the unemployed youths must be here.” “You mean job seekers.” “Yeah, yeah, job seekers… Man, even in this era, people were coming up with new terms.” Chen Qi muttered to himself. The place was packed. The crowd was full of young men and women, all looking disheartened, their outfits even drabber than each other’s. Occasionally, they glanced around, waiting for the club’s doors to open. Huang Zhanying, an extrovert with no concept of social anxiety, grabbed a skinny guy with glasses and asked, “Comrade, we just got here. Have you heard anything?” “I actually did hear something…” The guy, also quite friendly, lowered his voice and said, “I heard we’re a test group. They’re experimenting on us first. They want to establish production and service cooperatives.” “Cooperatives? Those are collective units!” Huang Zhanying’s eyes widened. They were big to begin with, but now they looked like they might pop out. She also lowered her voice. “No way! Collective units have low wages, poor benefits, and no perks. Worse, people will laugh at us.” Chen Qi replied, “If it’s a proper state job, I’d even be willing to clean toilets. But a collective unit isn’t official. Don’t laugh at me—you’d feel the same way. Would your parents be able to stand the embarrassment?” “I don’t care…” Before they could continue, the crowd began to stir. Waves of people pushed forward as club officials shouted for order. The doors had finally opened. Huang Zhanying dragged Chen Qi inside like a charging warrior, determined not to be left behind. Inside, a large auditorium could accommodate a thousand people. It had two floors, a stage at the front, and could host events or screen movies. A banner hung overhead: Government Employment Solutions for Job-Seeking Youth – Live Conference! The two found seats. Soon, several leaders took the stage and began the meeting. At the beginning of 1979, there were 20 million people in China needing jobs—10 million of them were former “sent-down” youth. There were also 2.3 million urban unemployed, 1.05 million college graduates, and demobilized soldiers. Beijing alone had 400,000 unemployed youth—one for every 2.7 households. This ratio was terrifying. Even worse than post-pandemic unemployment.