Chapter 68: Stocking Up Complete

After the discussion was over, the blazing sun hung high outside. Wang Qiang was sweating profusely, but excitement filled his heart, almost making him forget the girl beside him.

Just as he was about to turn and head back, a clear, crisp voice rang in his ear, “Is it really that simple?”

Only then did Wang Qiang remember he wasn’t alone. He turned his head and replied, “Yes, I’m sure I’m not the only one who does this. Honestly, there’s nothing really special—” He was trying to clear his name a little.

Fang Yueqing put on her small round hat. “You know so much.”

Wang Qiang wiped his brow. “That’s just how society works. You’ll understand once you’ve seen more.”

“That’s true.” Fang Yueqing nodded thoughtfully.

Wang Qiang knew well she was new to the world outside. He teased, “You’re lucky it was me you ran into. If it had been someone else and you followed them without thinking, you might have been sold without even realizing it—maybe shipped off to some remote mountain village to be the wife of a bachelor.”

Fang Yueqing laughed, “No way, you’re exaggerating.”

Wang Qiang couldn’t really talk to her about worldly experience. He squinted into the sunlight and said, “It’s pretty remote here. Looks like we’ll have to walk back. Sorry to make you go through this. Later, I might have to find a few things. If you get tired, you can head back to campus first.” He really didn’t want to drag a young girl around.

Fang Yueqing murmured her agreement and silently trailed behind, lost in thought.

They had barely walked a few steps when Wang Qiang felt the sweat pouring off him, his clothes soaked through. Southern summers were especially brutal.

After several hundred meters, Fang Yueqing suddenly squatted down, breathing hard. “Brother Qiang, I can’t walk anymore.”

Wang Qiang sighed. The girl clearly hadn’t suffered much hardship—and the weather really was oppressive. He glanced around and pointed at a big banyan tree ahead. “Go sit under the shade. I’ll head to Huaqiangbei and hail a rickshaw for you.”

“No need. If I rest for a bit, I’ll be fine.” Despite her gentle demeanor, Fang Yueqing was a bit stubborn, unwilling to appear weak.

She was still holding out.

If she wasn’t worried about heatstroke, Wang Qiang was. If she fainted in this deserted spot, who would help?

Recalling his own brush with heatstroke, Wang Qiang insisted she wait under the tree’s shade. Whatever his motives, at the very least, nothing must go wrong while she was with him.

“Go wait over there.”

“…I can really keep going, trust me.”

“Just wait like I said. It’s so hot—what if you get heatstroke?”

“Well, alright, Brother Qiang. Just don’t leave me here alone too long. I’m a little scared.”

Wang Qiang rolled his eyes. “So that’s what you’re worried about? I thought you were just being stubborn. Don’t worry, I’ll be back. Wait there.”

He finally persuaded her to sit in the shade. Wang Qiang headed alone toward Huaqiangbei, feeling like he was babysitting. Never mind, he thought, just hurry and hail a ride. He still had to find where to buy Famicom consoles and bring back some game cartridges. The time agreed upon with his mother was fast approaching—he needed to get his hands on ten thousand yuan, and quickly.

About half an hour later, his hair damp and clinging to his forehead, he reached a street in Huaqiangbei. He bought two bottles of iced cola and then hailed a rickshaw to pick up Fang Yueqing.

Back at the industrial area, Wang Qiang found the girl sitting with her legs together, leaning against the banyan tree and nodding off. Even as he drew near, he could hear her gentle, rhythmic breathing. She was truly exhausted—had she actually fallen asleep?

“Xiao Qing?” Wang Qiang called softly.

Fang Yueqing woke with a start, looking around in confusion. Her cheeks flushed. “Oh, I fell asleep?”

“Get in the car first. You can nap back at school.” Wang Qiang pointed to the rickshaw by the roadside, reached out to help her up, and handed her a bottle of cola. She gulped down half of it, clearly parched.

Once she finished, they climbed into the rickshaw together. It was much more comfortable inside, at least with a canopy to shield from the sun.

Glancing at the freshly awakened, rosy-cheeked Fang Yueqing, Wang Qiang felt a pang of emotion. He often heard the phrase, “Don’t let your child lose at the starting line”—perhaps the greatest lie of the 21st century.

Just look at Xiao Qing: she could whip out a hundred-yuan note without blinking, her father worked in Japan, her mother… well, the family was financially secure. She never had to worry about money, studied piano and painting from a young age.

But him?

He remembered the hardest days of childhood, when his family was so poor they had to rely on his grandmother for meals. There was nothing to be done—the rice at home had run out. How could he even dream of learning piano or painting? Those were luxuries for the wealthy. The price of a piano now was more than his whole family could scrape together.

So how could you not lose at the starting line? Some people are born hundreds of steps ahead, while ordinary folks must toil for a decade or two just to catch up—if they ever can.

With cool breezes blowing in from both sides, Wang Qiang gradually shook off his musings. He had lost at the starting line, but that didn’t mean his future had to be worse than others. Fate had given him an extraordinary opportunity.

…

Back at Huaqiangbei Street, Wang Qiang waited with Fang Yueqing by the roadside for a car.

“Brother Qiang, we’re friends now, aren’t we?” Fang Yueqing looked up with her big, bright eyes.

Wang Qiang nodded, “We’re friends.”

“Then let’s exchange contacts.” Fang Yueqing opened her little purse and fished out a heavy, dark mobile phone. She recited her phone number.

Wang Qiang nearly rolled his eyes. Just now he’d been thinking about the starting line, and here was her mobile phone—a clear sign of a privileged upbringing. Even most business owners wouldn’t splurge on such a device, yet Xiao Qing carried one with her.

He said bluntly, “I don’t have a mobile or a pager.”

Fang Yueqing made a sound of acknowledgment, put her phone away, and took out a small notebook and pen. She wrote down her number, tore out the page, and handed it over. “Give me your address, and I’ll write you letters.”

He hadn’t planned to leave any contact information, but seeing how earnest she looked, Wang Qiang couldn’t bear to refuse. After a moment’s thought, he gave her his home address. In any case, he wouldn’t be home for a long time; she wouldn’t get a reply and would eventually stop writing.

A chance encounter—a pleasant memory to part on.

Before leaving, Fang Yueqing suddenly remembered, “Oh right, you had an agreement with Boss Jia for fifty portable stereos. Are you still going to pick those up?”

Wang Qiang paused and smiled, “I’ve already gotten the goods from the factory. Why bother going?”

Fang Yueqing covered her mouth, giggling. “Boss Jia will be furious when he realizes you’re not coming.”

Wang Qiang chuckled. He caught sight of a taxi approaching and quickly said, “Here’s a car.” He flagged it down.

Fang Yueqing waved goodbye and got in.

Wang Qiang watched the car drive off, then slipped her phone number into his pocket.

…

After asking around, Wang Qiang finally found a game console shop, thanks to the guidance of a kind young man.

The shop was small, barely twenty square meters, but tidy and well-stocked. On the shelves were various educational consoles and Famicoms—Nintendo, Subor, and many other brands.

Wang Qiang browsed the store, noting prices with astonishment. For example, the Nintendo FC cost a whopping 150 yuan, Subor’s first-generation educational console was 250, and this was southern China; prices would be even steeper if he took them to Shanghai in the north.

The owner was a young man, quite handsome, who Wang Qiang learned was surnamed Li. He was clearly knowledgeable about games, speaking fluently and eagerly as he introduced different consoles and cartridges—Adventure Island, this year’s Fire Emblem: Mystery of the Emblem, and Destiny of an Emperor 2: Kongming’s Story, among others.

Suddenly, Wang Qiang spotted a generic brand Famicom called “Little Ling Tong,” marked at just fifty yuan. “Is this console really only fifty yuan?” he asked in surprise.

The young owner picked up the Famicom. “Yeah, it’s a knockoff—cheap stuff. If you want it, I’ll throw in a box of game cartridges, but not the RPGs; those cost more.”

Wang Qiang didn’t know how well these knockoffs would sell back home, but fifty yuan was a bargain. Even generic Famicoms there cost at least two hundred yuan, and cartridges were expensive, with four-in-one, six-in-one, or even eight-in-one starting at eighty in official stores.

As for why the owner could sell a console for fifty yuan and include a cartridge, Wang Qiang understood: in Shenzhen, many people made game cartridges using imported junk chips—just burn them and the cost was negligible, unlike Shanghai, where cartridges were still luxury items.

“If I buy a lot of consoles, could you give me a better price?” Wang Qiang asked.

The young owner shook his head. “No way. Fifty is the bottom line. Ask around—no knockoff FCs are cheaper than this. Any lower, I’d lose money.”

Wang Qiang bargained, but the owner held firm.

There was nothing to be done; not a single yuan could be shaved off.

Wang Qiang realized this was the absolute lowest price, so he said, “Alright, I’ll take twenty Famicoms. Don’t forget the cartridges you promised.”

“No problem,” the owner replied with a smile. “You’re lucky; I just got a fresh batch this morning. Otherwise, I couldn’t supply twenty at once. Pick your cartridges—over there.” He pointed to a shelf on the right.

Wang Qiang nodded and walked over, asking, “How much are the cartridges?”

The owner headed to a side door behind the counter where stock was kept. “Regular cartridges are five yuan each. RPGs—the ones with batteries—are twenty yuan.”

It was incredibly cheap.

Compared to the Yangtze River Delta, these prices were the most reasonable imaginable.

Wang Qiang was thrilled, though a bit regretful. The country was still lagging in many ways. Whether it was Famicom games or portable stereos, these were leftovers from developed nations, discarded four or five years ago, but only now causing a craze in China.

Backwardness invites hardship.

The saying was painfully true.

Foreigners could make a fortune in China with their industrial trash—a sad reality.

But what could be done? China’s technological progress lagged behind.

After pondering, Wang Qiang selected sixty boxes of regular cartridges and ten boxes of RPG cartridges.

When the owner brought out the goods, they settled the bill.

Twenty boxes of regular cartridges were free, so he paid four hundred yuan for the game cartridges. The Little Ling Tong Famicoms cost Wang Qiang dearly: twenty units at a thousand yuan, totaling fourteen hundred spent.

Afterward, Wang Qiang went to a nearby audio store and bought over a hundred cut-price cassette tapes.

By the time all was done, it was nearly two in the afternoon.

He had planned to hire a tricycle to take him to the train station, but suddenly remembered Boss Zhu. So he bought a briefcase and a bottle of perfume nearby.

First, he’d pick up the portable stereos at the station, then board the train home.

With the last trip’s success behind him, Wang Qiang was well prepared this time, eager to return to Shanghai.