1979 Gold Age

Chapter 5: Going to the stalls

Early April.

Another morning.

After breakfast, Chen Qi dressed in a gray outfit with a cotton shirt underneath and his usual black cloth shoes with red soles. He was excited to go sell tea, while his parents wore bitter expressions, as if they were about to disown him on the spot.

"You had a perfectly good job, but you insist on ruining yourself."

"I know your personality—do you even have the guts to call out for customers? You probably can’t even count the money properly!"

Yu Xiuli sobbed, wiping her nose and eyes. Chen Qi was speechless.

"Mom, don’t make me sound like an i***t. I’m smarter than a monkey!"

"Just be careful. If you can’t handle it, let us know," Chen Jianjun reminded him.

At the last moment, Yu Xiuli tried to put a cotton hat on him. Chen Qi refused no matter what—wearing that thing would ruin his whole look. At best, he’d resemble Edison Chen, at worst, Zhao Benshan.

Huang Zhanying had been waiting quietly by the side. Compared to Chen Qi, her parents didn’t seem to care at all.

Chen Qi waved his hand, and Huang Zhanying silently followed behind. The contrast was stark—anyone unaware of the situation might have thought the "turtle man" had finally paid an 800,000-yuan bride price and was about to get married.

The meeting point was at Qianmen Arrow Tower.

It was only a few hundred meters away, so they walked there, arriving in about ten minutes.

This central axis of Beijing housed the Forbidden City, Tiananmen Square, the Monument to the People’s Heroes, and Mao’s Mausoleum. South of the Mausoleum stood Qianmen, and even further south was the Arrow Tower. From the Tiananmen Square flagpole, it was only 1.5 kilometers—the very heart of the city.

The Arrow Tower, built during the Ming Dynasty, stood 38 meters tall, an imposing sight. Below it was a large gateway, the very same one through which the People’s Liberation Army entered the city in 1949.

"Huang Zhanying!"

"Chen Qi!"

To the east of the Arrow Tower, eleven unemployed youths were already there, busy working under Auntie Wang’s direction. When she saw them, she called out,

"Come help! Set up the bowls, get the stove going!"

"Got it!"

Chen Qi rolled up his sleeves and jumped in.

Setting up the tea stall wasn’t too complicated. They pooled together 40 yuan, bought two large teapots, some tea leaves, and 50 coarse porcelain bowls. The tables were borrowed, the stove was built on-site—that’s right, they built a stove right in front of Qianmen!

And that wasn’t even unusual. There were people selling radishes in Tiananmen Square, after all…

The tea was the cheapest kind—"Gao Mo", just 2 cents per bowl. That’s right, 2 cents.

For comparison, a bottle of Beijing’s Beibingyang soda cost 15 cents—a luxury. Their cheap and unpretentious "big bowl tea" had to go for bargain-bin prices.

Chen Qi looked busy, but in reality, he did nothing.

Schrödinger’s labor.

"Whew! I’m exhausted!"

Wiping his fake sweat, he asked, "Auntie Wang, can I have a bowl to taste?"

"Go ahead! Our tea may be cheap, but it quenches thirst. Travelers don’t care about flavor, just hydration. Here, you all worked hard—take a break."

Auntie Wang, ever capable, poured several bowls for them to share.

Chen Qi picked up a bowl. The coarse texture was obvious at first touch. Taking a sip, his taste buds instantly triggered a memory—back in his past life, when he spent 10 yuan on Taobao for half a jin of "Biluochun" tea.

The flavor was best described as: "Ptooey! Ptooey! Ptooey!"

"It’s just tea dust and stems!"

The others didn’t mind; they had been drinking this stuff since childhood.

What was "Gao Mo" anyway?

In old Beijing, the poor couldn’t afford premium tea but still loved drinking it. So tea shops marketed leftover tea dust as "premium tea dust", giving the poor both tea and dignity.

A classic Beijing tradition.

Even in later years, the famous Zhang Yiyuan tea shop in Dashilan continued selling this Gao Mo.

As they worked, a crowd started gathering.

Since the Qing Dynasty, Qianmen had been a bustling commercial hub. Shops were everywhere, and transportation was convenient—buses, car stations, subway stations (opened in 1971), and even an international hotel, the Qianmen Hotel, whose entrance was lined with cars.

Beijing’s population at the time was 8.97 million, plus out-of-town visitors, overseas guests, and people from Hong Kong and Macau—countless people passed through daily.

Men and women, young and old, dressed in gray, blue, or military green uniforms, surrounded the tea stall in layers upon layers, their curious expressions making them look like NPCs with question marks above their heads.

Just one step forward would trigger the "Buy Big Bowl Tea" quest.

When Huang Zhanying and the others snapped back to reality, they panicked.

"Auntie Wang, what do we do?!"

"Call out to customers!"

"We have a sign!"

"Signs alone won’t do! This is business—you have to call out to attract people!"

"Shout… Shout… Shout…"

All twelve of them, including Huang Zhanying, froze—like naive college students in later years, who wouldn’t dare to call out when setting up a stall.

Let’s be real—even in 2024, many people wouldn’t dare do this.

Auntie Wang refused to help:

"Don’t count on me! I helped you once—are you expecting me to do it every time? You have to rely on yourselves!"

Suddenly, someone in the crowd spoke up:

"Hey, what are you guys selling?"

"What’s this about?"

"Why aren’t you saying anything?"

The spectators weren’t exactly friendly, but they weren’t hostile either. They just wanted to watch the drama unfold.

Huang Zhanying glanced at Chen Qi—who was pretending to count ants on the ground. With no other choice, she clenched her teeth, her face turning bright red, her voice trembling:

"B-Big bowl tea! 2 cents a bowl!"

BOOM!

Even though the sign clearly said "Big Bowl Tea – 2 Cents Per Bowl", even though the crowd expected it, her shout still caused an explosion of chatter.

That first call-out was like:

China’s first bottle of Coca-Cola

The first TV commercial

The first swimsuit poster

The first disco party

The first Teresa Teng song

The first red dress on the streets

Just another tiny wave in the tide of reform, slowly building into a massive movement.

Someone asked hesitantly, "Comrade, which unit are you from?"

"Dashilan Production Service Cooperative."

"Do you need ration tickets?"

"No tickets needed!"

That was it.

The crowd stirred, and the man who had asked—a middle-aged official-looking guy with a briefcase and a Shandong accent—finally stepped forward.

"Three bowls for me!"

"Got it!"

Huang Zhanying quickly signaled to her companions. They hesitated for a moment before realizing what to do, then hurriedly poured the tea. The golden-colored liquid flowed into the rough porcelain bowls with a white base and blue floral patterns, sending up wisps of steam.

None of them had experience; they should have poured the tea out first and covered it with a lid so it would be warm and ready to drink immediately.

The middle-aged man reached out and touched the bowl—scalding hot. He simply decided to chat instead. "We've been running around all day and couldn't find a sip of water. This tea stall is a great idea—we really appreciate it."

"We’re just here to serve the people. Are you here on a business trip?"

"Yes, we’re from Shandong."

"Welcome to the capital! If you have time, you should explore the city—The Great Wall, the Forbidden City, and the Summer Palace are all worth visiting."

As she spoke, Huang Zhanying gradually regained her composure, and her extroverted nature began to shine through.

The middle-aged man and his two companions each finished a bowl in one go. Still unsatisfied, they ordered another three. Then, he pulled out two five-cent coins and two one-cent coins, neatly lining them up on the table—what a perfect word, "lining up"!

"Thank you for supporting our work!"

"Come again!"

Huang Zhanying’s hands trembled as she took the money. She felt a mix of embarrassment and pride—selling six bowls of tea in one go! She dropped the four coins into the cash box, where they clinked together melodiously. The same emotions flickered across her companions' faces.

Meanwhile, Chen Qi was still busy counting ants.