Chapter Thirteen: Computers of the Eighties

Liang Long’s tone made it clear he wasn’t joking.

In truth, he was deliberately making things difficult for Du Ming because he wanted to go to the printing factory and get those flyers printed.

“If I really can’t get it tomorrow, well—my father’s the factory director, so I’m certainly not short of your four hundred yuan. It’s just that time’s too tight,” Du Ming said, his voice tinged with pleading.

Liang Long feigned a sigh and said helplessly, “How about this—help me with something, and I’ll give you a few more days.”

Hearing there was hope, Du Ming immediately asked, “What is it? As long as it’s not money, I can manage anything.”

“Isn’t that obvious? Do you even have money right now? This is it: help me print out a batch of something at the factory. Not a lot—just a few hundred sheets, same size as our notebooks.”

Du Ming paused, looking a bit troubled.

“If you’re not willing, there’s nothing I can do. You’ll have to bring me the money tomorrow,” Liang Long added.

“I didn’t say I wasn’t willing, it’s just… if someone finds out and tells my dad, I’m done for.” Du Ming frowned, clearly conflicted.

“Do you know how to operate the machines in the factory?” Liang Long probed.

“Of course I do! My dad made me learn for ages. Even now, I have to go in every day, or he’ll give me a beating.”

Hearing that, Liang Long had an idea.

“That makes it easy, then! Get the factory keys, and tonight we’ll sneak in, fire up the machines, and print a few hundred sheets. Piece of cake, right?”

Liang Long always had plenty of schemes.

Thinking it over, Du Ming realized it could work. He knew how to use the machines. With the large paper sheets, following Liang Long’s plan, each sheet would yield dozens—so ten sheets would do it. The factory would never notice. Besides, there were no security cameras at that time. If they sneaked in, no one would know.

“You’ll have to come with me, though. I can’t handle it alone,” Du Ming finally agreed.

“Why not tonight? I have another friend who can help us out,” Liang Long said. The friend in question was, of course, Chen Huajiang.

“Do you have a prepared template? Or are we supposed to draw it on the spot?”

“We’ll draw it there—I’ve got the skill for that.”

Liang Long then dragged him to the snack shop to find Chen Huajiang, who’d just finished cleaning up with Daguang and was about to head home.

Pulling Chen Huajiang aside, Liang Long whispered, “Tonight we’re sneaking into the printing factory to run off a batch. See that guy? He’s the director’s son and owes me four hundred yuan. I promised to give him a few more days, and he agreed to help.”

Chen Huajiang nodded. He was good at things like this—first get the flyers done, then talk about everything else.

“No problem. I have something to tell you as well, but I’ll wait until we’ve finished with the flyers,” Chen Huajiang said, keeping his secret for now. Liang Long didn’t press him.

When they reached the printing factory, Du Ming went home to fetch the keys. His father was already asleep, and the keys hung right in the living room. Du Ming got them without a hitch and hurried to the factory.

Of course, the three of them couldn’t use the main entrance or the old man at the gate would see them. So, they climbed over the wall instead—it was low, and one step was enough.

Inside, Du Ming led them to a large workshop filled with equipment neither Chen Huajiang nor Liang Long recognized.

“Don’t touch anything else. Come with me—this is where the printing happens,” Du Ming said, stopping in front of a large machine.

Machines from the eighties were indeed rather clunky.

“You draw the template,” Du Ming urged. Liang Long quickly found a piece of paper and, by flashlight, began sketching.

Chen Huajiang examined the machine’s panel and realized it was a computer.

“Stop drawing. Use this machine,” Chen Huajiang said, quickly powering it up. Computers of that era were massive and unwieldy, but he soon found the drawing program and efficiently created a simple template.

Liang Long and Du Ming stared in disbelief.

“With your skills, why keep running a snack shop? You could easily get a job with a salary of a hundred yuan a month,” Du Ming said in surprise.

At the time, very few people could use a computer with such ease, and those with such expertise earned high wages—over a hundred yuan a month.

“A hundred a month isn’t enough for me. Let’s hurry up and print,” Chen Huajiang replied. Once the template was ready, he started the print job—the machine was connected directly to the computer.

With just a bit of tinkering, Chen Huajiang had it all figured out. Soon, a dozen large sheets came out, each covered with small flyers. They’d have to cut them up themselves later.

“Let’s go,” Chen Huajiang said, rolling up the printed sheets and tucking them under his arm. The three slipped back over the wall and left.

The flyer problem was solved, and Liang Long was delighted.

After Du Ming left, Chen Huajiang said, “Liang Long, bring a few more people to the snack shop tomorrow night. Tonight, a bald guy brought a gang over, ate, and didn’t pay. I gave him a beating, and he said he’d come back tomorrow to settle up. I’m worried he’ll bring more men.”

Liang Long’s expression grew serious.

“That bald guy’s trouble, but there’s someone who can handle him—Black Tiger. He runs the dance hall, and I’ve met him a few times. Maybe we should go see him?”

Liang Long knew both Baldie and Black Tiger, but if it really came to a fight, his own crew wouldn’t be enough.

“But why would Black Tiger help us? We don’t really know him,” Chen Huajiang said, skeptical.

“True, he usually mediates disputes for money—over a thousand yuan. We don’t have that kind of cash!”

“No need. Just take me there. Is his dance hall big?” Chen Huajiang suddenly had an idea. If the dance hall was big, Black Tiger’s patrons could be future customers for their shop. Back then, people who went to dance halls generally had money. If they could draw those people to their place, it would be a profitable clientele. If necessary, they could offer Black Tiger a ten percent stake. That way, no one would cause trouble, and it’d be good publicity—a win-win.

“Let’s go. The dance hall doesn’t close until after midnight. He’s probably still there,” Liang Long said, leading Chen Huajiang to Black Tiger’s dance hall.

Dance halls back then were simple but spacious. When they arrived, there was still a good crowd. Liang Long inquired about Black Tiger’s whereabouts, and before long, Black Tiger appeared.

“Liang Long! What brings you here tonight? Didn’t bring a lady friend?”