Chapter 34: The Wind Blows Mournfully Across the Cold Yi River

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…The finest benefactor in life is the version of yourself that keeps striving upward.

…The most perfect state is not one in which you never make mistakes, but one in which you never stop growing…

…Excerpted from Hu Biao’s collected diaries, “胡说”…

The voice belonged to a bald man by the roadside, speaking in a thick Tianjin accent. Hu Biao knew the fellow. After more than a year of scraping by in Majuqiao, he had gotten to know at least a few words about most people.

The bald man was named Qian Wei, though everyone usually called him Second Brother.

He came from a relatively remote part of Tianjin and looked to be thirty-five or thirty-six.

His profession was selling fruit from a stall mounted on a converted human-powered tricycle by the roadside. Hu Biao occasionally came by for a meal, so the two of them could be considered acquaintances.

Why wasn’t his tricycle electric?

Apparently, he had previously owned two electric tricycles, both of which had been confiscated by the authorities. He had needed to pay 3,500 yuan to get them back—despite having bought them secondhand, and not for anything close to that amount.

After going through this more than once, Qian Wei had simply gotten himself a used pedal tricycle. That way, even if it was confiscated, he would not feel the pain.

Recognizing an acquaintance, Hu Biao answered casually, “Oh, it’s you, Second Brother! I’ve eaten. Just had oil-splashed noodles and roujiamo. The owner made a terrible job of them and still charged a fortune. If I’d known, I might as well have come here for one of your jianbing.”

After exchanging a few polite words, Hu Biao was about to continue on his way.

Then he noticed the glass display case mounted on the tricycle. At some point, someone had taped an A4 sheet of paper to it. It read:

“Vendor has business elsewhere. Vehicle for sale.”

Unable to resist, Hu Biao asked, “Second Brother, what happened? Your business seemed to be doing fine. Why are you selling the vehicle and quitting?”

“Don’t ask! Something happened at home, so I have to go back and make a living there. It would be a real struggle to pedal this thing all the way back, so I might as well sell it for a few coins.”

Qian Wei answered honestly. Then, as though he had suddenly thought of something, his eyes lit up and he continued, “Listen, buddy, why don’t you take over my stall? Work whenever you feel like it, and lie around at home whenever you don’t. As long as you avoid getting caught by those people too often, you’ll make a lot more in a month than you would doing odd jobs.”

“But, Second Brother, I don’t know how to make jianbing,” Hu Biao protested.

Yet inwardly, he could not help thinking of what the northeastern owner had said earlier—“If you’re so capable, do it yourself”—and he found himself growing tempted.

The reason was that he possessed a strange confidence:

If he made a few modifications to this vehicle and used it to sell oil-splashed noodles and roujiamo, the food could not possibly turn out too badly. At the very least, it would be better than what that broad-beaned northeastern fellow was selling.

After a pause, he asked the crucial question: “Second Brother, how much do you want for the stall?”

After all, if Hu Biao planned to sell oil-splashed noodles and roujiamo, the most important issue was still startup capital.

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After paying for breakfast, he clearly remembered that he had 1,186 yuan and 32 cents in his mobile payment account.

If he recalled correctly, there were also 136 yuan in cash in his wallet. Added together, that gave him a little over 1,300 yuan in startup capital.

Although this was the most money he had had in his pockets all year, he had no idea whether it would be enough to start a business.

After buying Qian Wei’s stall, he would still need to rent a place where he could store the vehicle, as well as buy basic ingredients, a stove, cookware, and other necessities. He might not have enough.

Use online credit or deferred payment? As if he could still use those things.

Of course, if he sold the antique Longines watch he had brought back from the Shanghai battlefield, the watch’s condition alone would provide more than enough startup capital.

He could even rent a storefront and open a small shop.

But instinctively, Hu Biao did not want to do that. It was a precious memory he intended to treasure for the rest of his life—a memory he would carry into the grave, or perhaps into a little wooden box.

Fortunately, after thinking it over, Qian Wei offered him a very reasonable price.

“It’s mainly the vehicle. The little tables and stools, gas canister, takeaway boxes, and the rest aren’t worth much—I’ll throw them in. Give me 300 yuan.

“As for making jianbing, it’s easy enough. Follow me for half a day and you’ll know how.”

“Second Brother, I’ll buy the vehicle, but I’m not going to learn how to make jianbing. I’m planning to sell something else. When can I take it?” Hu Biao asked.

Qian Wei replied, “I didn’t prepare much today. I should have everything sold by six this evening at the latest. Come and collect it then.”

“Deal.”

Once the transaction had been settled, Hu Biao hurried away. He planned to start selling the very next day, and there was still a great deal of preparation to do before then…

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At around two in the afternoon, Hu Biao finally found a place to live.

It was in a village four or five kilometers away, originally a storage room belonging to a local family. It measured only twelve or thirteen square meters.

The window was tiny, and the lighting was even worse.

The room was oppressively cold and damp, with most of the yellowing plaster fallen from the walls.

Apart from an old bed, a battered table, and a coal stove for heating, there was no other furniture whatsoever.

To use the toilet or fetch water, he had to go out into the courtyard.

The conditions were naturally terrible, but the rent was only 300 yuan a month, with a deposit of just 200. What was more, the landlord generously agreed to let Hu Biao keep his tricycle and all his stall equipment in a corner of the courtyard.

Besides, no matter how dark, damp, and shabby this room was, could it really be worse than Position Seven?

Without the slightest hesitation, Hu Biao signed the rental contract with the old landlord and transferred 500 yuan.

He then walked to find Qian Wei, waited until the latter had sold out his ingredients, and transferred another 300 yuan. With that, the handover of his most important business equipment was complete.

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Pedaling the human-powered tricycle, Hu Biao stopped along the way to buy all the pots, bowls, ladles, chopsticks, oil, salt, sauces, vinegar, and other necessities.

For dinner, he simply bought a packet of Kang Shuaifu instant noodles—the large, extra-heavy bagged kind—and made do with that.

To save money, he had bought the cookware at a secondhand shop. Even so, after purchasing everything, he had spent more than 200 yuan, leaving him with only 231.32 yuan in total.

Once he bought ingredients early the next morning, that money would probably be completely gone.

“It’s fine! As long as I get the business running, I’ll have money,” Hu Biao reassured himself as he made his way back beneath the dim streetlights, the wind already falling to zero degrees.

But after returning to the narrow rented room, Hu Biao suddenly smacked his forehead. He had overlooked something extremely important.

The coal stove would be enough for heating, boiling meat, and baking the flatbreads—but he had forgotten to buy coal briquettes. He had not bought a sleeping mat, bedsheet, or quilt either.

It was not too late yet, and he could still go out and buy them. But what would he do about the money for ingredients?

And if he did not buy them, would he not freeze to death?

What else could he do? Swallowing his pride, he borrowed ten coal briquettes from the landlord. After boiling himself a packet of noodles, the young man did not even take off his clothes. He simply covered himself with every garment he owned and somehow made it through the night.

The poor fool was sleeping on a cold brick bed, relying entirely on his own internal furnace.

In weather like this, Hu Biao barely slept at all. It was simply too cold.

At four in the morning, Hu Biao went out once more. Taking advantage of the morning freshness and better quality of the ingredients, he bought the best flour, pork belly, rapeseed oil, and assorted ingredients he could afford.

Because he insisted on quality, he bought only enough for that day’s business, leaving himself with just his final three-tenths of a yuan.

Then came the boiling of the meat, roasting the chilies and grinding them into chili powder, kneading the dough, letting it rise, and so on.

But no. Before any of that, Hu Biao steeled himself and used a packet of Liby laundry detergent to wash himself and one complete set of clothes from head to toe.

He would never forget something his old company commander had once said:

“When you cook, the person doing the cooking must be clean.”

He hung the washed clothes beside the stove. They ought to dry over the course of the day.

The water was freezing. The torment of the entire process was something hardly fit to describe to outsiders.

Strangely enough, after forcing himself to take a cold shower, Hu Biao felt heat spreading throughout his body. He was actually no longer as cold as before.

At last, having decided to do business that evening, Hu Biao set out on his tricycle shortly after five in the afternoon.

The sky was darkening before his eyes. He still needed to rely on that day’s earnings to buy a quilt and more coal briquettes for warmth.

For a moment, the young man’s heart was filled with the tragic solemnity of a warrior heading toward a freezing river, knowing there was no return…