1979 Gold Age

Chapter 7 The Way of Life 1

The sky is vast, the earth is vast, but the biggest thing of all is a metaphorical "hat."

Chen Qi kept throwing figurative hats at his opponent, draining his health bar with each blow. In the blink of an eye, the guy was nearly down to zero HP…

Grabbing him by the collar, Chen Qi demanded like a relentless ghost, "Which unit are you from? Today, you insulted the working people! If you don’t answer, don’t even think about leaving!"

"Let go of me!"

"Let go!"

The leader of the group seemed to recall something terrifying, his face turning pale as he desperately tried to break free.

Chen Qi grinned. "I liked you better when you were all cocky. Want to reset and try again?"

"Big bro, brother, ancestor—I was wrong! I was so wrong! I shouldn’t have messed with you! I ran my mouth, okay? I’ll slap myself, just let me go…"

To be fair, these guys weren’t exactly evil—just obnoxious and immature. But now that things had spiraled out of control, they were panicking, desperate to escape.

"What are you all crowding around for?"

"Make way!"

At that moment, a police officer in a white uniform pushed through the crowd, his expression tightening as he took in the scene. Another fight?

You couldn’t blame him for assuming—after all, with 400,000 unemployed youths in the city, how many incidents did they cause every single day? The higher-ups had stressed time and again to handle such matters with extreme caution.

Chen Qi, however, calmly released his grip and stepped forward. "Officer, here’s what happened…"

The policeman listened expressionlessly before saying, "No matter what grievances you have, talk it out. No pushing and shoving. This is Qianmen—there are foreign guests here. Watch your behavior."

"Officer, we won’t cause you any trouble, but this man insulted us. We just want the neighborhood committee to communicate with his workplace. We would never resort to private retaliation, let alone violence."

The officer studied him for a moment, then glanced at the twelve young workers standing behind him. But this wasn’t just a group of twelve—it was a representation of an enormous social class. He then turned to the heckler.

"Which unit are you from?"

"Speak up! Which unit?"

The guy stammered, barely squeezing out an answer.

"Where?"

"Plastic Factory No. 2…"

"Got it."

Chen Qi nodded and stepped back. "Thank you, Officer!"

Then, as the troublemakers scurried away and the police left, he spat on the ground. "Plastic factory? Acting all high and mighty? What are you, a steel mill? A million readers of Red Star Over China, and you’re acting like some bigshot Qin Huairu?"

As soon as the dust settled, the atmosphere flipped.

The group erupted into cheers.

Their emotions had been on a rollercoaster—anger, confusion, shock, then excitement. This was more exhilarating than any drama!

"Chen Qi, you’re amazing!"

"Wow, how are you so good with words? I was completely speechless at the time!"

"I see you in a whole new light now—you’re a hidden master!"

Even the girl who had given him pickled vegetables earlier had changed her tune. "From now on, you don’t have to do any work! We’ll handle everything! You like squatting? Squat all you want! Squat the whole day if you feel like it!"

Chen Qi waved her off. "Why would I squat all day? Do I have hemorrhoids?"

Ignoring the laughter, he walked over to the cash box. "You guys keep selling. It’s already been half a day—let me count how much we’ve made."

This time, no one accused him of slacking off. They all happily went back to selling tea, as if this whole incident had been resolved, as if no one would ever look down on them again.

Chen Qi shook his head. "A bunch of naive rookies."

Then he picked up the cash box and started counting. It was a headache—almost all the money was in one- and two-cent coins. "I’m a business owner, and here I am counting pennies? What has my life come to?"

Half a day later, he finished counting.

Total earnings: 20 yuan, 6 mao, and 8 fen!

That meant they had sold over a thousand bowls of tea.

Damn.

No wonder early reform-era businesses thrived. In these times, you could sell literal crap and still become a millionaire. Sell sunflower seeds, and you’d be rolling in money.

He only shared this info with Huang Zhanying—better not let the others blurt it out in excitement. Then, on his very first day of work, he put in a leave request.

"I suddenly don’t feel well. Sorry, but I need to take the afternoon off!"

"Go, go! Get some rest!"

"No worries, we got this!"

"Yeah, you’re the brains—we’ll handle the work!"

Their attitudes had done a full 180°. No one minded in the slightest.

Chen Qi casually walked away, then glanced back at them, chuckling to himself.

"A bunch of innocent rookies."

Around One in the Afternoon.

Chen Qi returned home. His parents were at work as usual.

He glanced at his script—it was mostly finished, with only a little left to wrap up. The whole piece was around 50,000 words. Since selling tea had already cost him half a day, he didn’t want to waste any more time and immediately got into the zone.

The pen scratched across the manuscript paper, bringing to life a simple love story. Simple, yet in an era where people were embarrassed to talk about romance, this kind of story could easily shock a whole crowd.

When he finally looked up again, he let out a satisfied breath. After a quick review, he packed the manuscript into a kraft envelope and wrote on it:

"To the Editorial Office of Film Creation Magazine, Beijing Film Studio."

Because of constant interruptions, it had taken him ten days to complete the script. Chen Qi felt a little thrill—he was finally about to check into the guesthouse. The Beijing Film Studio’s guesthouse wasn’t bad at all.

Just because they were in the same city didn’t mean he had to pay for it—getting a free stay was tradition.

"Chen—Chen Qi, are you home?"

"Chen Qi, are you home?"

Through the dry spring wind came the panting voice of Auntie Wang.

The old lady had practically run all the way over, her high blood pressure about to explode—clearly, she had heard the news. As soon as she stepped in, she caught sight of him flipping the kraft envelope over and immediately shrieked, "What’s that? What are you holding?"

"This?"

"Oh, my dear ancestor!"

Auntie Wang nearly fainted. "You actually wrote it? Don’t be reckless!"

"What’s wrong with writing this? You know about this stuff, don’t you?"

"It’s because I know that I’m scared! I’m too old to handle this kind of trouble. The moment I heard about it, I rushed over to find you…"

Auntie Wang was practically more concerned for him than for her own grandson. She spoke earnestly, "I’ve heard the whole story. But really, is this necessary? They just made a few snide remarks, and you refused to let it go. Is this something you can write about so casually?"

Chen Qi’s expression darkened. "I don’t like what you’re saying. That wasn’t just ‘snide remarks’—they were pointing at us, at 400,000 unemployed youth, and insulting us!

Be honest with yourself—aren’t the thirteen of us obedient enough? We haven’t fought, we haven’t messed around, and when you asked us to sell big-bowl tea, we agreed without complaint. We respect you as an elder. But why should we be insulted?

We were the ones who got scolded—we’re the victims. But instead of standing up for us, you’re siding with them? I feel wronged!"

Chen Qi rubbed his eyes, nose turning sour, looking like he was about to cry for real.

"I know it’s not easy for you…"

"No, you don’t!"

He interrupted, "Let’s say we listen to you and let this go. We don’t pursue it. But can you guarantee it won’t happen again? You know very well that selling big-bowl tea comes with discrimination. If it happens again, should we just endure it? Keep enduring? Endure until one day it all explodes—aren’t you afraid of that?"

Explode?

Auntie Wang shuddered.

"Then what do you want, kid? How do you plan to handle this?"

"First, those guys need to be punished. Second, they must apologize publicly."

"Publicly?"

"Yes, right at the tea stall, in front of everyone. A proper, formal apology!"

"That—that’s humiliating for their unit. They won’t agree to that."

"That’s not my problem. If they don’t agree, I’ll post it everywhere!"

"No, no, don’t be rash! Let me talk to their workplace first. Wait for my response, okay?"

"Fine, but only because it’s you."

Chen Qi reluctantly agreed. Auntie Wang left, her head throbbing with high blood pressure.

Truthfully, he didn’t really want to write anything. That kind of thing could easily stir up trouble. But he wasn’t sure if that lousy plastic factory would back down, so he had to be prepared for both outcomes.

Chen Qi wasn’t like Huang Zhanying and the other rookies. Today’s issue wasn’t over. As long as they kept selling big-bowl tea, discrimination would be inevitable. The real solution was to change people’s perception—but that was far too difficult.

The simpler way? Make the tea stall famous!

If it became well-known—better yet, if a leader came to inspect it—that would act as a protective shield.

"Words are like knives. They can destroy someone, but they can also elevate them."

"And I need to become famous too. Gotta seize fame while I’m young!"

Chen Qi sat down, grabbed a new piece of manuscript paper, pondered for a moment, then wrote the title:

"Why Does Life’s Path Keep Getting Narrower?"

He paused, then continued writing.

Ideas poured out like a flood—his inspiration flowed like an uncontrollable stream…