1979 Gold Age

Chapter 4 I want to Improve too much

At 6:30 in the morning, Chen Qi got up.

It was too noisy outside—people were busy cooking and getting ready for work, making it impossible to sleep.

He reached for his nylon socks, put them on, and tucked his thermal pants inside. The socks were blue with a checkered pattern, with the heel area slightly protruding. They were durable, easy to wash, brightly colored, and elastic, but they didn’t absorb sweat, making them prone to foot odor.

Especially in winter, when you took your feet out and put them near the stove, they would sizzle and smoke.

A single pair of nylon socks cost around 2 to 3 yuan—not something the average person could afford. In later years, cotton products would become expensive while synthetic fibers would be cheap. But right now, it was the opposite—cotton was cheap, and synthetic fabrics were costly.

Take the famous "Dacron," for example—it was just polyester.

So what did poor people wear for socks back then? Cloth socks. They had no elasticity and were slippery, so they came with two straps that could be tied around the calves, just like in ancient times. Monks and Taoist priests also wore them.

A few years later, as the textile industry developed, nylon socks became a household staple. Anyone born in the '70s, '80s, or '90s probably wore them. Back then, there was a popular rhyme:

"Tapered pants, little white shoes, nylon socks half-exposed—that’s real swagger!"

"Stay at home and don’t cause trouble!"

"If anything happens, come find me at the bookstore!"

After breakfast, his parents left for work. Yu Xiuli reminded him like he was a little kid. In a parent’s eyes, their child never grows up. At 20, they still tell you not to open the door for strangers. At 30, they’re still buying you treats...

Chen Qi continued his role as a "left-behind child."

But he was quite busy. After locking the door, he pulled out his manuscript paper from under the bed and sat at the desk, cross-referencing content with a geography atlas.

In his past life, he had worked in a media company and later started his own business, writing all sorts of things—long and short. His writing skills were solid. But now, he was deliberately writing a bit worse than he could.

Because he wanted to freeload.

During this era, intellectuals were highly valued and well-compensated.

Whether it was novels or screenplays, if a magazine or film studio saw potential in a work, they would invite the author to revise it. Travel expenses would be reimbursed, food and lodging covered, and they’d even get a daily stipend.

Take Yu Hua, for example. Back then, he was just a clueless young dentist who submitted his work to Beijing Literature.

An editor called him long-distance and said, "Your writing is good, but the ending is a bit bleak. Can you make it a bit brighter?"

Yu Hua immediately responded, "If you’re going to publish it, I’ll make the whole thing shine from start to finish!"

So off he went, happily freeloading at the magazine’s guesthouse. Free meals, free lodging, and a 2-yuan daily stipend. He stayed for a whole month, and when he went home, not only had he not spent a dime, but he even had dozens of yuan left in his pocket.

But in Chen Qi’s view, one month was too short.

He freeloaded by the year.

If magazines were too strapped for resources, film studios were a different story. Many screenwriters practically lived at film studios, mooching indefinitely. So Chen Qi wasn’t writing a novel—he was writing a literary screenplay.

The pay for screenplays was much higher than for novels—unless it was a full-length novel.

"I don’t want to live in a hutong!"

"I want to live in a guesthouse!"

He buried his head in work, striving to avoid a life of slop buckets.

As he was writing, he suddenly heard Huang Zhanying’s voice outside—tinged with a sobbing tone.

"Chen Qi, are you there?"

"I’m here, I’m here!"

"What happened?"

When he opened the door, he saw her with tear stains on her face and a dejected expression. He quickly let her in and asked, "What’s wrong?"

"Yesterday, Auntie Wang came to my house too, talking about selling tea. And my parents actually agreed!"

"Why did they agree?"

"They work at the same place, and there’s only one spot for a successor. They already decided to give it to my younger brother. He just graduated from middle school, didn’t get into any schools, and is unemployed at home... sob sob I don’t want to sell tea..."

Huang Zhanying wiped her eyes. It wasn’t clear whether she was crying about selling tea or about her parents’ favoritism.

Chen Qi wasn’t great at empathy—he couldn’t fully relate. But when he needed to be serious, he wasn’t flippant; and when he was flippant, he wasn’t serious. He said, "So, you’re going to sell tea now?"

"Mm!"

"That’s great! I’m going too!"

He acted overjoyed. "I was worried about doing this alone. Now that you’re with me, I’m not scared anymore. You’re even better at fighting than I am!"

"Pfft, listen to yourself! You’re still a man, aren’t you?"

Huang Zhanying rolled her eyes.

"I’m weak! Who’s built like Zhang Fei like you?" Chen Qi chuckled. "Honestly, I think you’re perfect for this job. You’re straightforward, bold, and smart. Back when you were sent to the countryside, you were the leader of the educated youth. It’s just that you never had the chance to shine.

Now that they’re starting cooperatives, I think you’re the best fit. This is a vast world full of opportunities—I fully support you!"

Some people like relying on others.

Some people like being relied on.

Huang Zhanying was the latter. Being praised like this, she felt a bit shy. "But... but we’re just selling tea. What’s there to achieve?"

"There’s more to it than you think!"

Chen Qi glanced outside, making sure no one was eavesdropping, then lowered his voice. "Auntie Wang said there are 80,000 unemployed youths in the district, right?"

"Yeah, so?"

"Do you know how big of a social problem it would be if these 80,000 people remained jobless?"

"Uh..."

Huang Zhanying thought for a moment. "I get it. The government takes employment seriously."

"More than seriously—it’s their top priority! Policies are flexible. They shift based on the bigger picture. To solve unemployment, the government has already relaxed many restrictions.

Don’t think of selling tea as just selling tea. What if we also sell sunflower seeds? What about salted broad beans? What if we add some chairs for people to rest? Or even set up performances, rent a place, and open a proper shop?

Or, if we think even bigger—Guangdong just established the Shekou Industrial Zone. China and the US have established diplomatic relations. Foreign goods will start pouring in. Could we get our hands on some and sell them?"

Hiss!

Huang Zhanying gasped. "Isn’t that speculation and profiteering?!"

"Hey, remember what I said—policies shift. Of course, don’t go overboard. Just keep it small, and the authorities will turn a blind eye.

What we need now is the right mindset. Stop thinking of selling tea as shameful. Let the winds blow from all directions—I remain unmoved."

"Good grief, how do you know all this?"

"Just from reading random books. I have a little understanding."

"I don’t fully understand, but it sounds amazing!"

Huang Zhanying had just been fed Chen Qi’s first big dream. She instantly adopted an entrepreneurial mindset and said excitedly, "Tell me more in the future, Comrade Chen Qi! I really want to improve myself!"

Chen Jianjun and Yu Xiuli had been searching for job opportunities for their son.

Unfortunately, the job market was tough. The good positions had long been reserved, the decent ones were out of their reach, and even the low-tier jobs were fiercely contested. In the end, what was left wasn’t any better than selling tea.

It felt just like a 985 master's degree holder grinding away for a mere 5,000-yuan salary—endless competition with little reward.

This moment was just like that moment in the past...

No matter the struggles, every family had their own difficulties. Within just two days, all 13 unemployed youths recruited by Auntie Wang had agreed to sell tea.

Meanwhile, in other neighborhoods of Chongwen District, cooperatives were being established one after another—bamboo blinds making, knife sharpening, engraving, hand-knitting sweaters, painting doors and windows—you name it. Just like every previous campaign, things were unfolding in full swing.

At the same time, a few individual entrepreneurs had also started to emerge in the streets and alleys. Without business licenses, they weren’t officially recognized—like rats lurking in the shadows, cautiously watching the tides of reform.