Chapter 2: Unwilling to Empty the Chamber Pot

Every speck of dust in the era, when it lands upon the individual, becomes a sharp scythe.

As the meeting ended, the crowd no longer surged impatiently as they had upon entering; instead, they moved like a sluggish stream, slow and stagnant from lack of pressure. In their prime, they had been sent to the countryside, survived harsh years, and now, upon returning to the city, found themselves without work. On every face was written confusion and worry, uncertain of what the future would hold.

Huang Zhanying, too, had grown silent, wobbling unsteadily on his bicycle. After a while, he asked, “What kind of job do you think we’ll get assigned to?”

“No idea.”

“You’re not worried at all?”

“Didn’t they say the neighborhood committee would come for home visits? We’ll just wait at home. We’ll know when the time comes.”

“…”

Huang Zhanying stared at him without blinking, then suddenly said, “I’ve noticed you’ve been acting strange lately. You used to be so weighed down by your thoughts, everything written plainly on your face. How come now you seem so carefree?”

“Nineteen already—I ought to be a bit more mature, right? Isn’t it good to be more easygoing?” Chen Qi brushed him off casually, then said, “I’m heading to the bookstore. You coming?”

“No, I’ll go see if I can learn more from someone else.”

“Then I’ll be off!”

Waving a hand, he gave a strong push of the pedal, his old bicycle sparking like thunder and lightning as he sped back to Dashilan.

Dashilan, from its east gate to its west, was less than three hundred meters, yet it gathered all the finest things in the capital—Donglaishun, Tongrentang, Neiliansheng’s cloth shoes, Ruifuxiang’s silks, Zhang Yiyuan’s teas, Liubiju’s pickles, Daguanlou’s cinema, Tianhuizhai’s snuff, and on and on. However, during the flood of political movements, these old brands had all been renamed, and only now were their names slowly being restored.

In addition, there remained an old theater called Guangdelou, where, years later, a man named Guo Degang would perform.

Xinhua Bookstore was also in Dashilan, just a hundred meters from Menkuang Hutong—step out the door and you were at work. The main Xinhua Bookstore was a bureau-level state enterprise; the city and district branches were like subsidiaries or local offices.

Chen Qi parked his bike and entered. The place was crowded, people clustered around the social sciences shelves, picking through the books.

A few years ago, the bookstore was only allowed to sell nine categories of books, six of which were works by revolutionary leaders. After the National Science Congress in 1978, social science books began to appear in greater numbers. But what was so fascinating about these? Yet people devoured them hungrily.

A young girl was engrossed in a Geography Atlas. An elderly man, with the look of an intellectual, was reading the English edition of “China Travel.” Magazines and journals serializing novels were especially popular—people pounced on them as Gorky pounced on bread.

Chen Qi crept quietly behind a woman and suddenly shouted, “Mom!”

“Oh my! You little rascal, you nearly scared me to death!” The woman turned around. In her forties, still slender and graceful, it was his mother, Yu Xiuli.

“Finished with the meeting?”

“It’s over.”

“Come here…” She pulled Chen Qi aside into a corner and asked, “So what did they say?”

“What I gathered was, they’re focusing on collective cooperatives to provide placements for us unemployed youth.”

“Collective cooperatives? That won’t do…” Yu Xiuli frowned. “We got a notice, too, saying our children can inherit our jobs. Your father’s a salesman, always out and about, but I’m in the store, much more stable. How about I retire early and free up a position for you?”

“You’re only in your forties! Why retire so soon? Planning to dance in the square with the old ladies?”

“Dance what?”

“Never mind. You don’t need to worry about me—I can manage on my own.”

“Manage? Nonsense! Collective units are looked down on, the pay is poor, and you’ll have a hard time finding a spouse.”

“But I’m handsome, so no worries about that!” he said, full of confidence. Yu Xiuli, unable to refute her son’s good looks, had to agree.

“All right, we’ll talk about this later tonight…” Chen Qi didn’t want to argue further and changed the subject. “Mom, that Geography Atlas looks great. Can you buy me a copy? I want to read it at home.”

“All you do is read leisure books!” she complained, but went inside anyway. Soon she came out with a Geography Atlas and reminded him, “Don’t run off when you get home. Wait for your father this evening—we’ll discuss things properly.”

…

Their courtyard held seven families within its walls.

The Chen family’s home was inside, about twenty square meters. His parents slept in the inner room, and a bed was set up for him in the outer room.

There was no brick bed; in winter they burned coal briquettes. The electricity would go out from time to time. For baths, they either went to the public bathhouse or washed at home—which was a hassle, requiring three pots of water, one for each person. One would sit in the big tub inside, while the other two waited their turn outside.

The toilet was communal, so every household kept a chamber pot for nighttime use, dumping it out at the public latrine in the morning—Wang Fei had done this herself, which just goes to show she’d gotten up at night, too.

Xinhua Bookstore was a good work unit, but it couldn’t compare to the big factories. Factory workers were the envy of all: cradle to grave, everything provided for. The Chen family, three in total, both parents working, brought in about a hundred yuan a month, living without financial pressure. Some colleagues, by contrast, had elderly parents to support and three or four children—now that was real hardship.

Prices at the time: rice was nineteen cents a catty, pork seventy-five cents, cabbage three cents… The real difficulty was shortages—everything was in short supply and required ration coupons. Without a coupon, no amount of money could buy anything.

Too much has been said about ration coupons, so there’s no need to repeat it.

By now it was noon.

Sunlight finally broke through the yellow-gray clouds and spilled into the room, carrying a hint of spring. Chen Qi sat at the table, idly flipping through the Geography Atlas, which introduced the great rivers and mountains, the varied terrain of the motherland.

What was said at the meeting left others confused, but he understood clearly.

The plan was to send this group into collective enterprises—repairing furniture, making clothes, popping popcorn, running a communal canteen—anything to keep busy.

It was the right idea. In 1949, Beijing had 73,000 service outlets; now, barely over 10,000 remained, while the population had grown. Everyday needs couldn’t be met. Fortunately, this group could fill the gap—nobody would go hungry.

Collective enterprises were born to solve employment, though their ownership had always been vague and riddled with historical issues. But in Beijing, they were still better than being self-employed, which was slow to develop and would only really take off next year.

Others looked down on collective enterprises, but he was open to whatever—anywhere was a temporary stop.

As for long-term plans, it was the dawn of reform and opening up—there were only a few ways forward:

Be a pseudo-intellectual writing “scar literature,” find a steady job in a work unit, head south to become a profiteer and get rich early, or get into film and television and chase after actresses… and then get shot.

Of course, he would do what he was best at.

“Really, this is a time when everything’s upside down… but those are distant matters. First, I need to get out of this broken alley. I have no wish to empty the chamber pot anymore.”

With his mind made up, Chen Qi felt a weight lift from his shoulders. He turned another page and came upon a landscape—majestic, beautiful, and steep.

“Mount Lu?”

He grinned and nodded. “A cave fit for an immortal, endless wonders on the perilous peaks… Mount Lu is a marvelous place!”

(Comrades, we meet again! It’s been months, I’ve missed you all. This is a new book from a new author—please support it! Two chapters a day during the new book period…)