1979 Gold Age

Chapter 2: Don't Want to Empty the Urinal

Every Speck of Dust in an Era is a Sharp Sickle When It Falls on an Individual

The meeting ended. Unlike the eager and crowded entrance, people now exited slowly, like a weak, stagnant stream of water. They had spent their prime years being sent to the countryside, endured hardship, and now, returning to the city, they found themselves jobless. Confusion and worry were etched onto every face—they had no idea what the future held.

Huang Zhanying had also grown silent, wobbling on his bicycle. After a while, he asked, “What kind of jobs do you think we’ll get?”

“No idea.”

“You’re not worried at all?”

“Didn’t they say the neighborhood committee would come for visits? We just wait at home; we’ll know when the time comes.”

“……”

Huang Zhanying stared at him without blinking before suddenly saying, “I’ve noticed you’ve been acting really strange lately. You used to be so preoccupied, wearing your thoughts all over your face. Now you seem carefree and indifferent.”

“I’m 19 now. Shouldn’t I be a little more mature? A little more easygoing?”

Chen Qi brushed it off casually and changed the subject, “I’m heading to the bookstore. You coming?”

“I’ll pass. I’ll go ask around for more information.”

“Alright, I’ll head off then!”

With a push of his foot, he rode off, his old bicycle rattling like thunder as he sped toward Dashilan.

Dashilan, stretching less than 300 meters from east to west, was the heart of Beijing’s commerce, home to renowned establishments like Donglaishun, Tongrentang, Neiliansheng’s cloth shoes, Ruifuxiang’s silk, Zhang Yiyuan’s tea, Liubiju’s pickles, Daguanlou’s cinema, and Tianhuizhai’s snuff. However, during past political movements, many of these old brands had been renamed, and only now were they gradually being restored.

There was also an old theater called Guangdelou, where, years later, a man named Guo Degang would take the stage.

The Xinhua Bookstore was in Dashilan too, just a hundred meters from Menkuang Hutong—stepping out of his home, he would already be at work. The Xinhua Bookstore headquarters was a bureau-level state enterprise, with its city, district, and county branches functioning like subsidiaries.

Chen Qi parked his bicycle and stepped inside. The store was crowded, with people eagerly browsing the social science section.

A few years ago, bookstores were only allowed to sell nine categories of books, six of which were works by revolutionary leaders. But after the 1978 National Science Conference, social science books had gradually increased. To Chen Qi, they weren’t particularly interesting, yet people devoured them like they were starved.

A young girl was engrossed in a geography atlas. An elderly intellectual-looking man was reading an English edition of China Travel. Literary magazines, especially those featuring serialized novels, were in such high demand that people swarmed them like Gorky to a loaf of bread.

Chen Qi tiptoed behind a woman and suddenly shouted, “Mom!”

“Good grief! You scared me to death, you brat!”

The woman turned around. She was in her forties, still slender and graceful—it was his mother, Yu Xiuli.

“Meeting’s over?”

“Yeah, it’s over.”

“Come with me…”

She pulled Chen Qi outside to a quiet corner and asked, “What did they say?”

“The gist of it is that we’ll be placed into collective cooperatives to resolve unemployment.”

“Collective cooperatives? That won’t do…”

Yu Xiuli frowned. “We also received a notice saying children could inherit their parents’ jobs. Your dad is always out running around as a salesman, while my position in the store is more stable. How about I take early retirement and free up a spot for you?”

“You’re barely over forty, why retire so soon? What are you gonna do—join the elderly ladies for square dancing?”

“What dancing?”

“Never mind. I don’t need you to do that—I can handle things myself.”

“Handle what? Collective work units are second-class jobs. The pay is low, and it’ll even affect your chances of finding a good match.”

“But I’m handsome! No problem finding a wife!”

His confidence was unwavering. Yu Xiuli had to admit—her son really was good-looking.

“Alright, let’s not argue about this now. We’ll talk tonight.”

Not wanting to debate further, Chen Qi changed the subject. “Mom, that Geography Atlas looks pretty good. Buy me a copy, will you? I’ll read it at home.”

“All you do is read these useless books.”

Despite her words, Yu Xiuli went back inside and soon returned with the book. She handed it to him and said, “Go straight home, don’t run around. Wait for your dad to get back so we can discuss this properly.”

The Courtyard House

Their home was inside a large courtyard with seven inner courtyards.

Chen Qi’s family lived in one of them, in a 20-square-meter space. His parents slept in the inner room, while he had a bed in the outer room.

There was no heated brick bed (kang), so they burned honeycomb coal in winter. Power outages were frequent. Bathing meant either going to the public bathhouse or boiling three pots of water at home—one per person. One person would bathe in a large tub inside, while the other two waited outside.

Toilets were communal. Every household had a chamber pot for nighttime use, which had to be emptied at the public latrine in the morning. Even Faye Wong had done this chore—it meant she, too, had woken up in the middle of the night.

Xinhua Bookstore was a decent job, but it couldn’t compare to working in a large factory. Factory workers were the envy of all—cradle-to-grave benefits, fully covered.

Chen Qi’s family of three had both parents earning wages, bringing in about 100 yuan a month, with no financial worries. But some coworkers had elderly parents to support and three or four kids—that was real hardship.

Current market prices were:

Rice: 0.19 yuan per jin

Pork: 0.75 yuan per jin

Cabbage: 0.03 yuan per jin

The real issue wasn’t price but supply. Goods were scarce, and everything required ration coupons—even with money, you couldn’t buy what you wanted.

By now, it was noon.

Sunlight finally broke through the yellow-gray clouds, casting a faint hint of spring into the room. Chen Qi sat at the table, absentmindedly flipping through his Geography Atlas, which introduced China’s famous mountains, rivers, and landforms.

Others might be clueless about what was discussed in the meeting, but he understood perfectly.

It was a plan to assign them to collective enterprises—repairing furniture, sewing clothes, making popcorn, opening community kitchens—anything to keep them occupied.

The idea made sense. In 1949, Beijing had 73,000 service industry outlets; now, only 10,000 remained, even though the population had grown significantly. People’s daily needs weren’t being met. With this workforce available, there was no shortage of work.

Collective enterprises existed to solve unemployment, though their ownership structure was always ambiguous, leaving behind historical issues. Yet in Beijing, they were still better than private businesses, which lagged behind—true individual entrepreneurship wouldn’t take off until next year.

Others resisted collective work units, but he didn’t care where he ended up—it was just a temporary stop.

As for long-term plans, the early reform era only had a few paths:

Become a literary intellectual writing “scar literature”

Secure a job in a work unit and lay low

Head south to be a trader and get rich first

Enter the entertainment industry and chase stars like Gong Xue, Zhu Lin, Li Jianqun, Tao Huimin, He Qing, Chen Hong, Lin Fangbing…

He, of course, would do what he was best at.

“This is a great era for overturning the norm… but those plans are too far off. First, I need to get out of this shabby hutong. I don’t want to be emptying chamber pots forever.”

Feeling relieved after making up his mind, he flipped another page.

The image was of a breathtakingly beautiful, towering landscape.

“Lushan?”

He grinned and nodded.

"A natural immortal’s cave, where infinite beauty lies atop perilous peaks… Lushan is a great place."