Chapter 57: Who Dares Say We Can't Afford Tea Eggs?

It was already half past seven in the evening.

Two AA batteries had run out, and the portable cassette player had fallen silent.

Yet Wang Qiang didn’t call out to attract customers, and the crowd in front of his stall remained constant. As soon as someone left, another would step up to take their place.

It wasn’t just the nearby vendors who stared in amazement—even Wang Qiang himself hadn’t quite processed what was happening. He kept wondering: earlier, playing music had drawn people in, but now, with the music off, what was going on?

During the last hour or so, when the music was still playing, he’d managed to sell a dozen pairs of jeans and three cassette players. He was already satisfied with that result and was even considering whether to go and buy two more batteries to keep the music going. Yet to his surprise, the crowd didn’t thin out at all.

After all, he was selling jeans and portable cassette players, not exactly coveted goods like, say, table salt during the Japanese tsunami, when people in China scrambled for it out of fear that nuclear pollution would contaminate the sea and future salt might be radioactive. Even if those fears were unfounded, there was at least a reason for the panic buying.

But now, there were no loud calls, no music blaring, so why were so many people still coming over? Why did they all crowd around, picking and choosing, brimming with interest? It made no sense at all. Was something supernatural at play?

Impossible. There had to be a reason.

Business was coming in—first things first, he had to greet the customers.

Before he could even speak, Wang Qiang overheard the reason from a mother and her teenage son who had just squeezed their way forward.

“Mom, look, this is the place! Someone said earlier that the cassette player for just a hundred yuan was definitely here. It’s written on the sign.” The boy, about fifteen or sixteen, tugged at his mother’s hand, whining in the local dialect, “I want the cassette player!”

“Is it really just a hundred?” the mother asked skeptically. “They sell for several hundred in the stores. I’m telling you, if it’s more than a hundred, forget it.”

A hundred yuan was a fortune in those days, but still within reach—especially since it was several times cheaper than the shop price. Naturally, customers would be curious.

Wang Qiang realized it was word of mouth that had drawn the crowd. With the square packed with people and so many gathering at his stall earlier, news of a super cheap cassette player must have seemed fresh and exciting. People love to talk about new things; even those who didn’t buy anything would mention it as they left, and others would be curious.

A cassette player for just a hundred yuan? Could it really be that cheap?

Young people especially, with a craving for trendy things but unable to afford them, were bound to check it out. It’s like those who can’t buy name-brand clothes opting for good knockoffs—they’re cheaper, look almost authentic, and satisfy a bit of vanity. Similarly, Wang Qiang’s cassette players were like knockoff brands—cheap enough compared to the real thing to make hearts race, so naturally, people would want a look.

The mother came forward. “Young man, is the cassette player really only a hundred?”

Wang Qiang, momentarily stunned, quickly put on a smile. “Yes, just a hundred.”

“So cheap? Is there something wrong with it?” she asked, still suspicious.

“Sis, that’s not fair.” Wang Qiang, now out of batteries, called over to the old man selling tea eggs nearby. “Uncle, didn’t my cassette player play music for over an hour just now without a problem?”

The old man, happy to help, called out loudly, “That’s right! I was enjoying the music when it suddenly ran out of power.”

The boy clamored, “Mom, I want the cassette player! Buy it for me!”

The mother hesitated, took five yuan from her pocket, and handed it to her son. “Go buy two batteries from the shop. If there’s really no problem, we’ll get it.”

The boy, delighted, took the money and hurried off.

Wang Qiang quickly called after him, “Get me two AA batteries too, I’ll pay you when you get back.”

“Okay!”

The young people hovering nearby, who had been hesitant, relaxed when they saw someone willing to test the player first. Many had wanted to buy but shared the same doubts—what if it didn’t work at home?

A girl in a pink dress said, “If it really works, I’ll buy one too.”

A freckled boy with dyed yellow hair wiped his hands. “A hundred for a cassette player? That’s a steal! But let’s see if it works first.”

Seeing everyone’s interest, Wang Qiang raised his voice, “Folks, I’ve asked someone to bring back some batteries. If you want a cassette player, you can try it with the batteries first. Pay only if it works.”

“Great!”

“You’re an honest guy!”

“Alright, we’ll wait.”

Before long, the woman’s son came running back with four AA batteries in his hand.

Wang Qiang took out a blue cassette player. “How about this one?”

“That’s perfect!”

He handed it over, along with a Little Tigers tape. “Try it.”

The mother fumbled with the batteries, but her son quickly took over, popped in the batteries and the tape, and pressed play. Right on cue, the player burst into the chorus of “Butterfly Fly”: “I weave the years slowly into a painting, dreams are the wings of butterflies…”

Her son cried out, “It’s Little Tigers! I love them! Let me buy this tape too.”

His mother frowned. “You want it even though it’s already been used?”

Wang Qiang jumped in, “How about this: you give me a hundred, and the tape is yours as a thank you for buying the batteries for me. Deal?”

The woman’s face lit up. “How can I accept that?” she said, but still pulled out her wallet and handed him a crisp hundred. “Thank you.”

Wang Qiang took the money and smiled. “No, thank you.”

Her son eagerly pulled out the headphones, put them on, and nodded along to the music, completely absorbed.

The mother and son walked off.

The others could wait no longer.

“Hey, brother, get me one too!” called a particularly anxious-looking young man.

Wang Qiang couldn’t help a silent chuckle—calling me brother, and you look at least thirty.

He didn’t stop moving, though, and handed the man a player to test with the batteries. He even opened a box of Jacky Cheung tapes, the first song being “Goodbye Kiss.”

To his amusement, this anxious-looking customer ended up buying the tape as well.

Originally, the tapes were meant as freebies, but Wang Qiang wasn’t being greedy—he sold them for two yuan each.

“Let me get a cassette player too!”

“It’s a hundred, right? Here.”

“Can I have that Andy Lau tape as well?”

“Can you give me a discount on the jeans if I take three pairs?”

Soon, his stall was abuzz with customers buying cassette players and jeans. Wang Qiang was so busy he broke out in a sweat.

Of course, some people only asked about prices and left without buying—who knows what they were after.

This flurry of business lasted until around nine o’clock.

By then, Wang Qiang had only five or six pairs of jeans left, and he’d sold more than a dozen cassette players—he hadn’t even had time to count, business was just too good.

Seeing that the crowd was thinning out, he decided to pack up. He stuffed the cassette players and jeans into a woven sack, rolled up his cardboard sign, and tucked it under his arm.

He walked over to the old tea egg vendor to thank him. “Uncle, thank you so much for your help just now.”

The old man, sitting on his little stool, beamed. “No need to thank me, it was nothing.”

It had only been a few words, but Wang Qiang was truly grateful. He patted his stomach and said, “I’m a little hungry—let me have five tea eggs.”

“Alright.” Happy to have some business, the old man scooped up five “split-skinned” tea eggs and chatted as he worked. “Young man, you were impressive tonight—that rhyme you were shouting was really catchy. How did you come up with it?”

Wang Qiang grinned. “Just made it up on the spot—whatever came to mind.”

And the tea eggs really did smell good. He realized how hungry he was.

“One and a half yuan.” The old man handed him the bag.

Wang Qiang took out two yuan, got fifty cents in change, then peeled a tea egg. The inside was a deep, savory brown, and the first bite filled his mouth with flavor. Delicious.

As he ate, a funny rumor popped into his head. It was said that in ’91 or thereabouts, someone in Taiwan claimed people on the mainland couldn’t afford tea eggs. Pure nonsense—back in ’91 or ’92, tea eggs were only twenty cents each. No matter how poor you were, you could still afford that, right?

Still, it did reflect how poor the country was at the time.

Wang Qiang was very pleased with his earnings tonight.

Why?

Well, because he got to eat tea eggs.

He even got to eat five at once—who could say people here couldn’t afford tea eggs?