Chapter 82: On the Verge of Becoming a Ten-Thousand-Yuan Household

As the hour approached, Wang Qiang was full of energy. He grabbed the long-unused woven sack, packed the remaining forty-one portable cassette players and tapes inside, and hurriedly headed out. He had to quickly earn ten thousand yuan, and selling the players was the key. He didn’t even bother with lunch, just greeted the landlady, hopped on his motorcycle, and rode toward the University of Foreign Languages. He was supposed to go yesterday afternoon, but was delayed by matters at the game room. Now he worried: would those students who had considered buying the players reconsider after a night’s thought? After all, over a hundred yuan was no small sum in those days. Yesterday, students were caught up in the excitement when others bought one, but after the impulse faded, would they change their minds?

He hoped not.

Wang Qiang, eager to make money, wished for things to turn out well. Only by selling the players could he devote all his attention to the game room, which was not just about steadily increasing daily income, but also tied to whether Lao Yao would take the game consoles and cartridges—a deal worth several thousand yuan, one Wang Qiang cared deeply about.

Racing all the way, he arrived at the university gate.

“Dismissed!”

“Hey, lunch time!”

Cheers echoed from inside the campus. He’d arrived at the perfect time—just as lunch began. Afraid of missing the window to sell, Wang Qiang simply rode his motorcycle straight toward the cafeteria.

Eleven-thirty.

Half-day military training was over.

Among the campus’ gardenia blooms, Lin Mengqi finally had time to listen to music, a single earphone in her left ear. She didn’t really know the singer Jeff Chang, since he wasn’t popular in the mainland yet, but after listening to a few songs, she developed a deep fondness for his uniquely sorrowful voice.

“Jay Chou” and a few boys caught up from behind. “Mengqi, wait up!”

Lin Mengqi frowned slightly, then smiled, “Zhang Yang, what is it?”

“Jay Chou” had nothing in particular to say, but seeing the player in her hand, he seized the opportunity and pointed toward the cafeteria. “The guy selling players didn’t show up last night. Wang Xin and the others wanted to buy, but maybe he’s just here to unload shoddy goods and won’t dare return?”

Lin Mengqi had a good impression of the boy who gave her the player and replied, “Didn’t you buy one too? Is it broken?”

The rather handsome Zhang Xiaoshuai chimed in, “Maybe it’ll break after a couple days.”

Lin Mengqi glanced at him, “I don’t think it’s that bad.”

Wang Xin grinned, “Who knows, some people would do anything for money. He sure doesn’t look wealthy—hard to say.”

Previously, Lin Mengqi rarely conversed with them, but now, since Zhang Yang brought up the player, she was more talkative, and they eagerly continued the topic.

Suddenly, a motorcycle roared up.

They recognized the rider—it was the same guy selling players yesterday.

Lin Mengqi, surveying the group, smiled, “He can afford a motorcycle—does he look poor to you?”

Uh.

A pricey motorcycle?

What started as banter suddenly seemed awkward.

Zhang Yang, Wang Xin, and Zhang Xiaoshuai felt a bit embarrassed.

Then Lin Mengqi added, “Wang Xin, didn’t Zhang Yang say you wanted to buy a player? Now he’s here—go on.”

Wang Xin looked distressed. He was broke and couldn’t afford a player. He glanced at Zhang Yang, silently asking what to do.

Zhang Yang coughed and signaled to Wang Xin, “Didn’t bring money? I’ll lend you some.” In front of the goddess, he had to keep up the act.

“I…” Wang Xin wanted to say he couldn’t pay it back.

“Here, take it. Hurry up and buy one,” Zhang Yang urged.

Knowing Zhang Yang’s family was wealthy, Wang Xin had ingratiated himself early on. Seeing the “rich kid” so generous, he understood; after all, a family that could run a karaoke bar wouldn’t worry about a mere cassette player. He took the money and quickened his pace toward Wang Qiang, who had just parked at the cafeteria entrance.

At the cafeteria entrance.

Wang Qiang had just killed the engine and hadn’t yet unloaded the sack of players when a raspy voice called out, “Give me a player.”

So soon? Business already?

Wang Qiang looked up to see a boy with a face full of acne. Smiling, Wang Qiang said, “Alright, one hundred and ten. Do you want a tape and batteries?”

Wang Xin, holding one hundred fifteen yuan, hesitated, “How much with tape and batteries?”

He’d sold for one hundred fifteen yesterday, so he couldn’t change the price now. Wang Qiang replied cheerfully, “One hundred fifteen.”

Wang Xin breathed a sigh of relief and handed over the money. “Here you go.”

Wang Qiang took the cash, untied the sack, pulled out a blue box with a player, and asked which tape the boy wanted. When he heard he wanted a Qi Qin tape, Wang Qiang searched and actually found one.

Hey, first sale done.

Wang Qiang, still unaware how things would go, was in good spirits. Suddenly, he spotted the girl called “Mengqi” from yesterday walking over and smiling at him. He instinctively nodded back.

Watching the crowd of boys flock around Lin Mengqi as they entered the cafeteria, Wang Qiang waited quietly for more customers. Unlike at the North Plaza, hawking here would likely backfire or even get him chased off by campus security, so he patiently waited for those who’d shown interest yesterday.

At first, nobody came.

Then, something strange happened. Shortly after the acne-faced boy entered the cafeteria with his new player, a large group of students—both boys and girls—rushed out.

“Hey, why didn’t you come last night?”

“Yeah, we waited so long!”

“You’re not reliable. If I hadn’t heard a classmate say you were back selling players, I’d have missed out again. Did you bring enough today?”

A dozen students clamored around him.

Too many!

He was instantly excited.

Wang Qiang answered loudly, “Brought enough. One at a time!”

But shouting didn’t help.

Everyone surged forward, anxious that yesterday’s shortage might repeat. To his left, a bespectacled girl urged him to hurry; to his right, a boy with thick brows pressed in.

On the ride over, Wang Qiang had worried the students might have second thoughts, but now his ears buzzed with requests for players and tapes. He was so busy handing out products and collecting money he didn’t even have time to count.

Goodness.

This is exhausting.

It had never been so intense at the North Plaza.

Though it sounded like only a dozen people, their collective rush was intimidating. Wang Qiang guessed that after yesterday’s buyers showed off their new players, others were more determined. Over a hundred yuan wasn’t easy for students to come by, and at department stores, players cost several hundred. Even these cut-down models were still highly coveted among students.

In just over ten minutes, Wang Qiang was astounded: not a single person haggled, and he sold more than a dozen players.

After the students left, laughing and chatting with their new devices, he finally had time to tally the sales.

Sixteen units.

Twenty-five left.

He’d sold over twenty tapes, though he hadn’t counted exactly.

Including yesterday, Wang Qiang had sold twenty-eight players at the university. For a few hundred students in training, twenty-eight was a small fraction, but he was satisfied; not every student could afford over a hundred yuan. The reason he sold so many was thanks to the wealthier families at the University of Foreign Languages—other schools wouldn’t have bought as many.

Still, only twenty-five left, right?

Wang Qiang was so excited he could hardly contain himself. He knew that once the last twenty-five players sold, his cash would surpass ten thousand yuan.

He was about to become a ten-thousand-yuan household!

Though being a ten-thousand-yuan household in the nineties wasn’t as impressive as in the eighties, it was still remarkable: the average urban wage was only four thousand yuan, and he had managed, in a month, to earn what took two and a half years for a salaried worker.

And starting from nothing.

How incredible was that? Even Wang Qiang felt it was a bit unreal.

He’d seen ten thousand yuan before, but never ten thousand yuan in 1994. No wonder people later said the nineties were a golden era. Yes, this was a time of miracles!

A ten-thousand-yuan household!

It was within reach!

Wang Qiang knew his wealth now would make many envious, but he was far from satisfied. In fact, he was nowhere near content.

He wanted to build up the game room.

He would not stop at present success—he could do better, he could aim higher.