Chapter 84: A Day Etched in Wang Qiang's Life History

Today is the 27th, a Saturday.

At dawn, a gentle, persistent rain had begun to fall outside, so fine and soft it resembled drifting willow catkins in spring. Gazing at the misty curtain of rain beyond the window, Wang Qiang smiled wryly; the weather was not cooperating, and it seemed unlikely he could set up his stall at the North Square today. He’d spent the previous night in excited anticipation, only to have his enthusiasm dashed by this cold shower. There was nothing he could do.

After washing up, he went downstairs to have breakfast with Old Zhu and his family. During the meal, Old Zhu suddenly spoke up, holding his bowl of porridge, “Wang, this afternoon your eldest sister and I will go to Wuhu to pay our respects to our ancestors. You and Xiao Feng can take care of your own meals for the next couple of days.”

Wang Qiang sipped his porridge and replied, “Alright.”

Beside him, the landlady was giving instructions to Zhu Xiaofeng, “Listen to Uncle Wang while your father and I are away, okay?”

“Uncle Wang is so good at games, of course I’ll listen to him!” Zhu Xiaofeng replied with an answer both amusing and exasperating.

Sure enough, Old Zhu and his wife exchanged speechless glances.

Old Zhu thought for a moment and handed over the keys to his motorcycle. “Wang, you can use the bike for now. Just remember to refuel.”

“Thanks, Brother Zhu.” Wang Qiang took the keys.

The landlady pointed sternly at Zhu Xiaofeng, “Absolutely don’t let this rascal ride it. Last time his father let him, he actually rode the motorcycle all the way to Taicang!”

Was that true?

This kid was certainly bold—he didn’t even worry about running out of gas midway.

Wang Qiang glanced at Zhu Xiaofeng with amused appreciation, but the boy looked thoroughly unconcerned.

After breakfast, the two of them headed toward Qinghai Road. Though the rain prevented them from setting up a stall, business at the game room still needed tending.

Upon arrival, Wang Qiang parked the motorcycle under the eaves and locked it. Removing his raincoat, he led Zhu Xiaofeng upstairs.

Just as they reached the door, they saw two young men standing there.

“Why aren’t they here yet?”

“Yeah, I wanted to keep playing Metal Max... Oh, here they come!” Bin’s face was alight with excitement as he called out to Wang Qiang, “Boss, why are you so late? Hurry and open up, we’ve been waiting a while.”

Wang Qiang wiped sweat from his brow; clearly these two had become obsessed with RPG games. The RPGs on the Famicom were somewhat like the online games of later years—players grew stronger as the game progressed, and so did their enemies. Those lacking self-control could easily neglect food and sleep, and these two seemed exactly that type.

“The rain delayed me, don’t worry.” Wang Qiang took out his keys and unlocked the door.

As he pushed open the door, after a night’s accumulation, a strange smell greeted him. He put Zhu Xiaofeng in charge of fees and bookkeeping, handed the two young men game cartridges for “Eight Treasures Pearl” and “Metal Max,” then hurried to open the window.

A new day had begun.

The moment the doors opened, business arrived. Even if he couldn’t sell Walkmans, Wang Qiang was quite satisfied—he’d treat today as a holiday for himself.

At first, he had leisure to guide the three in playing RPGs.

But around nine o’clock, more people began to arrive, many of whom he recognized from the previous afternoon.

“Boss, turn on a machine,” said a small student, holding a two-yuan note, looking about eight or nine years old.

Taking the money, Wang Qiang joked, “Your parents won’t come looking for you, will they?”

“No, they’re at work,” the child replied with evident pride.

Wang Qiang logged the payment and time, then helped the child set up a TV and console next to Zhu Xiaofeng.

No sooner had he done so than another voice, raspy and adolescent, called from behind, “Boss.”

Turning around, Wang Qiang saw a boy of fifteen or sixteen, another customer from yesterday afternoon. He hurried over and asked, “Want to play?”

“Mm,” the boy replied.

By mid-morning, the place had grown busy. In no time, nearly half of the twenty consoles were occupied.

Although handling payments and change was easy enough, keeping track of accounts and play time was the real challenge. Wang Qiang had to constantly check the clock, see who was nearing their time limit, and ask if they wanted to extend their play.

Time ticked by, and around noon, for the first time, the game room was fully occupied; even Zhu Xiaofeng had been squeezed out and now sat chatting idly with Wang Qiang at the counter.

By then, hunger had set in. Wang Qiang had Zhu Xiaofeng watch the room while he went downstairs to buy lunch. With the rain, he hadn’t asked Old Zhu and his wife to deliver food.

Downstairs, Wang Qiang hadn’t even managed to open his umbrella before he noticed, with surprise, that the sky had cleared, and there was no trace left of the rain on the ground.

No more rain?

Instantly delighted, Wang Qiang found a nearby noodle shop and bought two bowls. “Here’s the money; I’ll return the bowls later. I’m upstairs in the game room.”

“Alright,” grinned the bearded owner.

After lunch, Wang Qiang said to Zhu Xiaofeng, “Watch the game room this afternoon. I have some things to do.”

“No problem. With me here, you can relax,” Zhu Xiaofeng replied.

One o’clock.

Today seemed destined to become a milestone in Wang Qiang’s life.

When he returned to the inn, Old Zhu and his wife were already gone, replaced by Boss Sun, who’d been called in to watch the shop. After a brief chat, Wang Qiang went to his room to fetch a snakeskin bag and a piece of stiff cardboard.

Strapping these to the back of the motorcycle, he sped over to North Square in a few minutes.

The old man selling tea eggs had his stall set up under the shade of a tree. As soon as Wang Qiang parked, the old man called out.

“Well, Wang, you’re pretty well-off.”

“What?”

“You can afford to ride a motorcycle? Didn’t see that coming—you’re quite rich.”

Wang Qiang laughed, “This isn’t mine, I borrowed it for a few days. I’ll return it later.”

Chatting idly, Wang Qiang quickly arranged his stall, turned on the Walkman, and cranked the speaker volume to its maximum.

“Sometimes I feel like a small bird, wanting to fly but never able to soar high…”

Yes, it was Zhao Chuan’s “I Am a Small Bird.”

Full of anticipation, Wang Qiang waited for customers. He had no mood for idle conversation with the old man, only offering perfunctory responses.

Heaven rewards the diligent.

The first customer arrived—a youth about eighteen, wearing a Western-style cowboy hat. “How much?”

Wang Qiang stopped talking to the old man and, beaming, pitched his product, “With tape and batteries, it’s one hundred and fifteen. Do you want the extras?”

The cowboy hat paused, then smiled, “You’re quite the salesman. Sure, I’ll take one.”

One sold. Fifteen remained.

Five minutes later, a tall, slender girl of about twenty-one or twenty-two approached. “I’ll take a Walkman.”

“Alright, one hundred and ten. Would you like tape and batteries?”

“How much for the tapes?”

“Three yuan per box.”

“I’ll take three boxes. Can you throw in two batteries and make it one hundred and twenty total?”

“No problem.”

Another sale. Fourteen left.

As the number of Walkmans on the stall dwindled, Wang Qiang’s spirits soared. He stood up and began chanting his sales pitch again, “Some friends might not have seen, so let me give you a little ad. I’ll demonstrate right here—see for yourself if this Walkman is good. No TV, no newspaper, all promotions are up to me… Come on, friends in front keep watching, friends in back move closer, friends in the middle turn to me, everyone gather round for a demonstration…”

He could hardly wait to sell out completely.

The combination of his catchy rhymes and the booming music drew a crowd in no time.

“How much?”

“One hundred and ten!”

“Alright… I’ll take one.”

Ten left.

Seven.

Three.

The number dwindled rapidly. After selling one to a chubby young man, Wang Qiang realized only one remained!

Glancing at his watch, it was just after four in the afternoon.

It wasn’t over yet.

He still had a chance.

Wang Qiang’s faith wasn’t in himself, but in the massive crowds at North Square. What was one Walkman left? Nothing at all.

The old man watched him in amazement, sensing that Wang Qiang was somehow different today—more energetic, more determined, although exactly how was hard to say.

Only one Walkman remained.

Was it necessary to keep calling out until his voice was hoarse?

The old man couldn’t understand, but kept glancing at Wang Qiang, who was still chanting his sales pitch.

“Bus tickets for the bus, boat tickets for the boat, our Walkmans have laser-engraved anti-counterfeit labels and registration, trademarked, sold nationwide…”

“This Walkman is the best—bring it home and it’s a treasure. Use it ten years, it won’t break; twenty years, it’ll keep playing music; a lifetime’s use and still going strong…”

“Seeing it a thousand times isn’t as good as trying it yourself—try it, and you’ll be satisfied. When the sun shines on the earth… After saying it a thousand times, there are just four words: easy to use, durable!”

Wang Qiang’s voice was now completely hoarse, dry and barely audible.

At last, the final customer approached.

A girl in a floral dress stepped forward, her tone sympathetic, “Boss, you don’t need to shout anymore; hearing your voice nearly broke my heart. So, you have just one Walkman left? I’ll take it.”

Ha!

The last one was sold!

As the girl walked away with her purchase, Wang Qiang excitedly picked up the piece of cardboard and tossed it skyward.

Sold out.

Truly sold out!

The money in his bag surely exceeded ten thousand yuan! Even if only just, a ten-thousand-yuan household was still a ten-thousand-yuan household!

After countless grueling train journeys, nights spent toiling at North Square until nine or ten o’clock, all of it now seemed worthwhile.

From nothing to ten thousand yuan, Wang Qiang had achieved it in less than a month!

In that moment, he felt his life had reached its first peak—a peak where he could once again “swim three thousand miles,” a peak that would let him spread his wings and soar even higher.