Chapter 7: The Path of Life (1)
The world is vast, but a hat is the grandest of all.
Chen Qi threw hat after hat, and the others’ health rapidly drained, leaving them on the brink of collapse. Had this happened a few years earlier, just these few words alone would have been enough to brand them and parade them through the streets...
Grabbing the collar of one of the youths like a reaper claiming a soul, he demanded, “Which unit are you from? You insulted the working people today. If you don’t speak up, you won’t be leaving!”
“Let go of me!”
“Let go of me!”
The leader of the group seemed to recall something; his face turned pale as he struggled to break free.
“I still like your rebellious spirit. Want to recover a bit?” Chen Qi smiled.
“Big brother, elder brother, ancestor, I was wrong, I was wrong! I shouldn’t have provoked you. I was loose-tongued, alright? I’ll slap myself. Please let me go...”
These men were not truly malicious—merely frivolous and lacking in manners. Seeing things spiraling out of control, they panicked and wanted nothing more than to flee.
“What are you all gathering around for?”
“Make way!”
At that moment, a police officer in a white uniform parted the crowd and stepped forward. Judging by the scene, his heart sank—another fight?
It was no wonder they thought this way. With 400,000 unemployed youth in the entire city, how many incidents occurred daily? The authorities had repeatedly stressed extreme caution in handling such matters.
“Officer, it’s like this...”
Chen Qi released his grip and stepped forward to explain. The officer listened expressionlessly and said, “No matter what disputes you have, speak calmly. No pushing or shoving. This is Qianmen; many foreign guests are around. Mind the impression.”
“We definitely don’t want to trouble you. But he insulted us. We want the street office and their unit to communicate. We won’t settle this privately, nor will we resort to fighting.”
“...”
The officer studied him for a moment, then glanced at the twelve youths behind him—this was not just a dozen individuals, but an enormous collective! The officer turned to the youth and asked, “Which unit are you from?”
“Speak up! Which unit are you from?”
The youth muttered indistinctly.
“Where exactly?”
“Plastic Factory No. 2!”
“Alright, understood. Thank you, officer.”
Chen Qi stepped back voluntarily.
Then spat disdainfully, “Plastic factory? What are you pretending for? You’re no steel mill. Not like the millions of readers out there, or that vixen Qin Huairu...”
After those men fled as if escaping for their lives, and the police left, Chen Qi was immediately hailed as a hero. His comrades went through a whirlwind of emotions in a short time—anger, confusion, amazement, and joy—all the ups and downs of life, utterly exhilarating!
“Chen Qi, you’re incredible!”
“Wow, how do you talk so well? I didn’t even know what to say.”
“Completely impressed. You’re a hidden master!”
Even the girl who had previously handed him pickled vegetable lumps changed her tone excitedly: “You don’t have to work anymore. We’ll handle things. You can just squat there all day if you want.”
“Why would I squat all day? Do I have hemorrhoids?”
Chen Qi waved it off and walked over to the money box. “Keep selling. It’s been half a day now. Let me see how much we’ve made.”
No one complained about him not working this time; one by one, they resumed selling their big bowls of tea with clear, innocent faces, as if the incident was over and as if no one would discriminate against them again.
“A bunch of rookies!”
He shook his head and, holding the money box, began counting. It was tedious—mostly one- and two-cent coins. A wave of sorrow washed over him: here he was, a boss, counting small change.
After a long while, he finished: half-day earnings came to 20 yuan, 60 cents, and 8 fen!
They sold over a thousand bowls of tea.
Not bad for the early days of reform—back then, even selling a pile of dung could make you a millionaire; selling sunflower seeds could earn you a fortune.
He only told Huang Zhanying, to prevent the others from getting carried away and letting the secret slip. Then, on his first day at work, he took a half-day leave: “I suddenly feel unwell. I apologize to everyone for taking half a day off!”
“Go rest well!”
“No worries, we’ve got this!”
“You’re the thinker here. Leave it to us!”
Their attitudes performed a 360-degree turn, showing no objection.
“Alright, I’m off then!”
Chen Qi left, but after a short distance, he looked back and smiled: “Such innocent rookies!”
...
Just past one in the afternoon.
Chen Qi returned home; his parents were at work as usual.
He first glanced over his script, which was mostly done—just a little left to wrap up. The whole piece was about fifty thousand words. Having lost half a day to selling tea, he didn’t want to dawdle further and immediately got into the zone.
The pen scratched across the paper as a simple love story took shape. Though plain, remember this was a time when talking about love was shameful; such a story could startle many.
When he finally looked up, satisfied, he exhaled and roughly reviewed the manuscript before slipping it into a brown paper bag, writing on it:
“To the Beijing Film Studio’s ‘Film Creation’ Magazine!”
Due to constant interruptions, this script had taken ten days to complete. Chen Qi felt a bit excited—he was finally going to stay at the studio’s guesthouse, which was quite decent.
Don’t underestimate them for being in the same city; even then, freeloading was a tradition.
“Is Chen, Chen Qi home?”
“Is Chen Qi home?”
In the restless spring wind, Aunt Wang’s breathless voice suddenly came.
The elderly woman hurried in, almost bursting from high blood pressure. Apparently, she had heard the news. Upon entering, she saw her grandson flipping over a brown paper bag and gasped, “What are you holding? What is that?”
“This?”
“A big-character poster!”
“My little ancestor!”
Aunt Wang nearly fainted, hurriedly saying, “You actually wrote one? Don’t be foolish!”
“What’s wrong with writing a big-character poster? You should be quite familiar with it.”
“I’m familiar, that’s why I’m scared! At my age, I can’t handle your nonsense. Once I heard, I rushed to find you...”
Aunt Wang spoke earnestly, more tenderly than even to her own grandson: “I’ve heard the whole story. Really, what’s the big deal? They just said a few harsh words, and you won’t let it go, even writing a big-character poster. Do you think that’s something you can write casually?”
“That’s not what I want to hear. That wasn’t just harsh words—it was an insult aimed directly at us 400,000 unemployed youth!”
“Think about it—are we not obedient enough? No fights, no scandals, we even agreed to sell big bowls of tea. We respect you as elders. So why do they have the right to insult us?”
“We were the ones insulted. We are the victims. If you don’t side with us, whom do you side with?”
“I feel wronged!”
Chen Qi rubbed his eyes, his nose stinging—just like his mother.
“I know your lives aren’t easy...”
“You don’t know!”
Chen Qi interrupted, “Even if we listen to you and let this go, can you guarantee it won’t happen again? You know very well how much discrimination we face selling tea. If this happens again, how long are we supposed to keep enduring it? Keep swallowing it, over and over, until it finally explodes?”
Explode?
A shiver ran through Aunt Wang, as if she saw that overwhelming sea of red again.
“So what do you want to do, boy? How do you want to handle this?”
“First, those few boys must be punished! Second, they must apologize publicly!”
“Public apology?”
“In front of the people at the tea stall, give us a proper, sincere apology!”
“You’re slapping their unit in the face. They surely won’t agree.”
“I don’t care. If they refuse, I’ll post big-character posters!”
“No, no, wait. Let me talk to their unit first. Wait for my reply, okay?”
“Alright, since you’re the one speaking up.”
Chen Qi reluctantly agreed as Aunt Wang, burdened with high blood pressure, left.
In truth, he didn’t want to write big-character posters—those things only bring trouble. But he wasn’t sure if that lousy plastic factory could be intimidated, so he prepared for both outcomes.
Chen Qi was no rookie like Huang Zhanying’s gang. This matter was far from over. As long as they kept selling big bowls of tea, discrimination would persist. Changing people’s mindset at the root was too difficult.
Better to take a simpler approach: make the tea stall famous!
If it became famous, and even had officials come to inspect it, that would provide a layer of protection.
“In this special era, words are like blades—they can kill or they can praise!”
“And I want to become famous too. Fame should be seized early!”
Chen Qi sat down, took out another sheet of paper, thought for a moment, and began writing a title: “Why does life’s path keep narrowing?”
After finishing, he looked up briefly and continued writing.
His inspiration truly flowed like a spring, as unstoppable as a torrent...