Chapter 6: Isn't This Just Bullying an Honest Man?

“Your tea stall is really convenient for the public. Give me a bowl!”
“I’m from Tangshan. Whoever came up with this idea, it’s brilliant!”
“This cooperative won’t be shut down tomorrow, will it? Oh dear, there are so many people at Qianmen. Having a tea stall here is pretty good.”
“This must be jasmine tea, right? I can tell just by tasting it. Let me give you a tip: boil a big pot in advance, then pour it into the teapot and use the stove to keep it warm. That way, you can start selling as soon as you open every day…”

With these leading voices, the crowd no longer hesitated.
These days, even spitting on the ground draws a crowd, let alone something this novel. Whether thirsty or not, everyone wanted a bowl, especially since it was only two cents. No one complained about the taste, though many still looked down on the cooperative.

No one nominated a leader, but Huang Zhanying naturally became the backbone—holding tea in one hand, collecting money with the other, all while greeting customers. She was so busy she barely touched the ground.

“Sister Yingzi! Sister Yingzi!”
A young man suddenly rushed over. “One pot is already sold out. Should I brew another?”
“Sold out?”
Huang Zhanying went to check and sure enough, one pot was empty. She hadn’t expected so many buyers. “Brew another, quick! Don’t let us run out!”

After giving instructions, she turned and instantly her anger flared.
“Chen Qi! What are you doing?”
“What’s wrong?”
“Everyone’s busy, and you’re just squatting there?”
“I’m busy too!”
Squatting like an old dog, Chen Qi pointed to his head. “I’m calculating something. Don’t disturb me.”
“You!!”

Huang Zhanying really wanted to kick him but restrained herself out of revolutionary camaraderie, turning back to attend to customers.

Chen Qi continued squatting, eyes unblinking as he watched the passing crowd—counting the frequency of people passing the Arrow Tower, noting their clothing, whether they walked or rode bikes, even spotting small cars, looking for foreigners…

The property rights of this tea stall were vague.
Initially, they pooled 40 yuan, everyone contributed a bit, including the street office. In principle, it was jointly owned by the street office and all members, but no detailed rules existed then, so it was tacitly assumed to belong to the street office.

Currently, according to Mrs. Wang, the street office took on all profits and losses, paying each person 36 yuan a month regardless of profit or loss, with all earnings handed over to the street office.

But such cooperatives usually made money. Centralized profit and loss responsibility could cause unfair distribution and dissatisfaction, so national policy would change next year, making them responsible for their own profits and losses.

Chen Qi roughly calculated:
36 yuan salary per person, 13 people, totaling 468 yuan monthly. Including operating costs, let’s say 600 yuan max.

At two cents per bowl, selling 30,000 bowls would make 600 yuan—that’s 1,000 bowls daily.

Come on!
This is Qianmen!
Selling 1,000 bowls a day? Who could look down on that? It could easily multiply.

This humble tea stall had great prospects.

Chen Qi planned to leave, leaving Huang Zhanying alone, which felt a bit unfair. So he pondered how to improve the business so he could leave without guilt.

Crowds came in waves, endlessly fascinated by the novelty.

By noon, Mrs. Wang had gone home, seeing they were more adept. Huang Zhanying finally had a moment to rest, sitting on the ground with two coarse grain buns. “Phew! I’m exhausted!”

“Thanks for your hard work! Is this lunch?”
“What else?”
“Too simple!”

Chen Qi took a bite of the dry, coarse bun. “We don’t expect fish or meat, but no pickles either?”
“Pickles? I’ll ask…”

Huang Zhanying asked a young woman, who handed over a small piece of pickled vegetable, shooting Chen Qi a sideways glance and muttering loudly enough for him to hear, “Everyone’s busy, yet a few slackers act like young masters. Hmph!”

Chen Qi couldn’t help but laugh at the term “a few slackers.”

Back in school, he was the teacher’s “few slackers.” One friend was “some students,” another “even worse,” and one friend was “I won’t say who, you know.” They called themselves the school’s F4.

Chen Qi quietly tore the bun apart, stuffed the pickled vegetable inside, and made himself a giant coarse grain pickle burger.

Huang Zhanying watched him. “I’ve noticed a problem. You’re becoming more and more indulgent in material comforts, always complaining about this or that. What’s the matter? You planning to drive cars and live in villas, wanting capitalism to return?”

“I don’t have that ability. That’s the wisdom of later generations.”

He shook his head quickly. “How many bowls did you sell this morning?”
“No time to count, but sales were good. I’m full of energy now… By the way, you’ll have to work later. Everyone’s already got opinions about you. Don’t be uncooperative.” Huang Zhanying warned.

“Mm, mm, I’ll work!”

Chen Qi chuckled, munching on his giant coarse grain pickle burger, drinking a big bowl of tea—pure bliss.

Because it was so awful, he ate it very gently, more delicately than licking a girl’s tongue.

Halfway through, a commotion broke out nearby. Huang Zhanying sprang up and rushed over. The crowd was still large, but a few flashy young men stood at the front, laughing and jeering.

“Hey! Where did these riffraff come from?”
“What riffraff? Show some respect, they’re individual entrepreneurs!”
“I heard individual entrepreneurs are all ex-prisoners?”
“Oh wow!”

The term “riffraff” originated from a 1950s document titled “Instructions on Discouraging Peasants from Blindly Flooding into Cities,” which simplified into this highly derogatory concept.

Huang Zhanying bravely stepped forward, facing the leader. “What do you want? If you’re not going to drink tea, then get lost!”

The leader, clearly someone from a good job, sneered, “Wow, this woman’s fierce! No wonder she’s an individual entrepreneur!”

“You don’t know anything. We’re not individual entrepreneurs; we’re a cooperative!”

“Oh, it’s called a cooperative!”

They burst into mocking laughter.

Their sarcastic jeers stirred laughter from the crowd, none stepping forward to stop it. Everyone accepted this job hierarchy: state-run jobs were iron rice bowls, collective jobs were despised, individual entrepreneurs? Sorry, they were worse than dogs.

Not everyone can be kind, especially with such deep-rooted social prejudice…

The young workers couldn’t stand it and spoke up: “You’re so rude!”
“How can you talk like that?”
“We’re doing legitimate work!”
“Legitimate work? You’re just unemployed youth! We all know that. They just found you some work to keep you busy. So you really sell tea?”
“Hey? Will they shut you down tomorrow? Pack up and get lost!”
“What was that song again?”

The leader, growing more confident, started singing:
“Abalagu~
Abalagu~
Oh oh oh…”

This was a song from the 1950s Indian film “The Wanderer,” titled “Raz’s Song.” It was screened domestically then and re-released last year to great acclaim. The catchy melody spread through every street and alley.

Xu Jingqing adapted it into “The Indian Girl,” and Bai Zhantang sang it in “My Own Swordsman.”

Parents’ generation had basically all heard it.

Translated, it means: “Wandering everywhere… wandering everywhere…”

Hearing this, a young girl on their side burst into tears, several boys turned pale but didn’t know how to respond. Huang Zhanying’s eyes blazed with fury, ready to overturn tables and fight.

Her clenched fists trembled. The brief sense of accomplishment vanished under this scorn.

But her anger was mixed with self-doubt—why did she have to sell big bowls of tea???

Being a girl, emotions surged up in a complex tide, and she blinked back tears.

“Comrade, which unit are you from?”

At that moment, a voice suddenly asked from the corner of the tea stall. A young man lazily stood up, stepped forward a few paces, and asked again, “Which unit are you from?”

“What do you mean?”

The leader stiffened his neck and retorted. Seeing him approach, he sneered, “What, looking for trouble?”

“Trouble? No, I want to find your leader and ask, in front of them, is it true that you staff discriminate against working people? That you don’t care about unity and mock your brothers and sisters with class arrogance?”

“You dare!”

The leader’s face changed.

“Dare? I don’t dare. Look,” Chen Qi pointed behind him, “we’re from the Dashilan Production Service Cooperative—13 people in total. You call us riffraff, call us ex-prisoners. Do you know how many unemployed youth there are citywide?

Four hundred thousand!

Four hundred thousand people, and you insulted them all!

You are this!”

Chen Qi gave a thumbs-up and fired off a rapid barrage:

“The newspapers all say that resettling unemployed youth is national policy, the top priority this year.

From the leaders to street officials, everyone worked hard to find us a way out. And now, in the end, we’re still abused by trash like you, mocked and sneered at?

What’s wrong with selling tea? We earn our pay through labor. We’re proud!

You discriminate against tea sellers, against working people—were your ancestors landlords? Or damn capitalists?

How many years has it been since old China fell? Are the Three Mountains back?

Are you trying to restore capitalism?!”

“You, you, stop spouting nonsense!”

The other party’s face turned green as he scrambled backward.

Chen Qi stepped forward and grabbed him, raising his voice:

“The thirteen of us haven’t stolen or robbed. We’re wholeheartedly loyal to the motherland. Wherever the organization needs us, we go. But you spit on us here!

Did we listen to the organization wrong? Did we serve the people wrong?

Are we just supposed to be obedient and quietly accept this? Should we cry and beg the organization for a good job? Where’s the justice in that?

Tell me! Which unit are you from? I’m going to post big-character posters outside your office. I want everyone to see…”

Chen Qi waved his arms, veins bulging on his neck. In that moment, the spirits of Zhang Mazi and Master Tang seemed to possess him, and he shouted hoarsely:

“Aren’t you just bullying honest people?!”

(Thanks to jamesxu-SBZ for the alliance. That’s all…)