Chapter 4: Crossing the River by Patting the Senior Expert’s Head

The boat departed at twelve-thirty noon, heading from Shangzhou to the provincial capital—a journey of three hundred kilometers, stopping at several counties and a dozen docks of various sizes, nearly a full day’s travel. Most passengers were short-haul, constantly embarking and disembarking, so there was a perpetual ebb and flow of people.

By midnight, with the boat moored, nearly everyone had drifted into slumber, leaning against the throbbing machinery. Nobody bothered to pay attention to the movements of others. Wei Dong was much the same, yet the sudden fatigue from travel left both the old security guard and the young student aching in their backs, unaccustomed to the discomfort. He sat half-awake, half-asleep, and the moment someone touched his basket, his eyes snapped open.

In 1983, the nationwide crackdown happened because, it was said, bandits and highway robbers had grown so rampant in some places as to defy all order. Yet the boat route from Shangzhou to the provincial capital was not so lawless. On a great river, even if one committed misdeeds, there was nowhere to run. Petty theft, of course, was unavoidable.

A shifty-eyed fellow was digging through the chaff in his basket, extracting two eggs. A nineteen-year-old would have bristled with anger, but a sixty-year-old guard knew not to make a fuss over trifles—he had spent forty years proving the cost of standing out. He merely smiled, making a gesture to cover and protect the eggs, a teasing expression. This was, in fact, the purpose of bringing dozens of eggs: small offerings for the various little devils, concealing the valuable cured meat beneath.

He possessed a certain broad, mocking demeanor. The petty thief, who had thought to grab a few more, awkwardly got up, indicating he had only taken two. Wei Dong laughed dismissively—not really caring, only intending to shoo him away—but his laughter inadvertently roused those around, drawing the attention of other sneaky figures.

He knew these petty crooks carried weapons; immediately, he quietly drew a deep breath, ready to strike first if trouble arose. Most people were timid, caring only for their own interests—even when witnessing such scenes, they merely tightened their grip on their belongings and remained silent.

Yet the cabin, holding hundreds, now had wide-open eyes everywhere, watching the rodents among them. The atmosphere grew tense and silent. One particularly brazen rascal, caught in the act, froze under so many gazes.

Wei Dong paid him no mind, focusing only on the thief before him. Yet that deep breath—oh, his stomach hurt!

…pffft…

He had eaten a leftover cold sweet potato for dinner—the white-fleshed kind, which those who have tasted know is less filling than the red, but prone to cause bloating. Without warning, his body tensed, and out came a long, subtle, continuous fart—not loud, but persistent.

As the saying goes, loud farts aren’t smelly, smelly farts aren’t loud. Immediately, those nearby sprang up in alarm: “Hey, did you eat broad beans or sweet potatoes? It stinks!”

“Comrades, if you’ve eaten peas or broad beans, please don’t release poison gas in public places!”

“How can anyone stand this? Start the boat, let the wind blow…”

The entire cabin sprang to life, loud and boisterous.

“Oh my heavens! My twenty yuan is gone, I need the government to help me!”

“My ration tickets, my thirty yuan from my mother, all gone! Waaah…”

“There must be thieves among us…”

“Don’t run! Don’t start the boat, no one leaves until the money is returned!”

With numbers on their side, courage grew. Hiding among the crowd, people shouted and pointed: “That short one over there, he took it—I saw him!”

“And that long-haired one, they’re together!”

“Sailor! Sailor, we want to report a crime!”

“There’s public security on the dock—security! Someone’s been robbed!”

For country folk, losing money was like losing their lives. One alone might not dare raise a fuss, but with so many voices, someone grabbed a pole and pressed forward angrily. When honest folk gather and make noise, they can be formidable. Four or five petty thieves had no choice but to cough up the stolen goods and flee in disgrace. They were even searched.

Thus, the second half of the night, which should have been dull, was instead filled with a lively, cheerful atmosphere. Everyone boasted about their bravery, yet none noticed the role the farting youth had played, pushing Wei Dong into a less favorable spot. Clearly, if he unleashed another barrage, their happiness would suffer.

By the following afternoon, the boat finally arrived at the provincial capital’s dock. As Wei Dong walked down the gangplank, he saw the flamboyant woman in the red shirt and wide collar, standing nonchalantly at the prow in high heels. Against the backdrop of the gray city, she seemed striking and alluring.

Many eyes lingered greedily. The old security guard had seen her type many times; he turned away with a frown, brushing past, but she naturally took hold of his basket, walking ahead across the two-foot-wide plank. As they crossed the seven or eight meters of water, he heard her murmur thanks.

Wei Dong was bewildered—was it because he had let out that long, smelly fart? He paid her no further mind, heading up the chaotic riverbank toward the dock.

Shangzhou had similar water-and-land docks; there was no concept of a city suburb. Disembark, climb the slope, and one was in the city center. The noisy, bustling scene could overwhelm any country dweller instantly.

Wei Dong staggered, feeling faint. Forty years later, Shangzhou would be a hundred times more bustling—especially when the nearby elementary school let out, and the guards suffered headaches from the clamor. Yet now, he felt oddly nostalgic for his little uncle…

How had that shameless fellow found the wholesale seed shop forty years ago? Wei Dong suddenly realized he’d forgotten this detail—he had no idea where to sell his cured meat.

Hawking goods along the street was certainly dangerous, liable to be seized in moments. Even though he knew the so-called crime of “speculation and profiteering” was at its historical end—especially recalling the old police saying it was no longer a matter—policy changes known in the city might take a year or two to reach the county or countryside, sometimes much longer.

This was a frequent headache in the tax bureau. Last time, he’d been caught selling goods from the provincial capital to the countryside, and the “ten-thousand-yuan household” had been arrested for selling mountain-cured meat in the county.

Now, by turning the tables and bringing goods to the provincial capital, the risk seemed much lower. Still, he dared not test the law.

He walked a mile along the main road, lined with various shops selling quilts, sheets, mats, and floral clothes. Yet most were locked! Without a watch or phone to check the time, he wondered if they were closed for lunch.

It was late June, and the blazing sun left Wei Dong parched and dizzy, barely kept upright by anxiety, instinctively heading toward the livelier areas.

Suddenly, two police officers in white uniforms approached! Even after forty years, Wei Dong still had a conditioned response to that uniform, wanting to stand at attention and salute the government. He’d been thoroughly marked as a backward element.

Even without selling goods, any country dweller without a job unit wandering the city was labeled as a vagrant, subject to immediate deportation—and his cured meat and eggs would surely be confiscated.

Wei Dong regretted not bringing a helper or scouting out buyers in advance; at least his uncle knew there was a market near the seed shop. So, feigning calm, the would-be profiteer brushed past the officers, feeling he could barely take another step.

Exhausted and hungry, his basket felt heavier than ever. He decided to set it down on a roadside step, remove his headscarf, and wipe his sweat, trying to figure out where to go, lest he wander like a headless fly.

Just as he rested, someone passed by and glimpsed the eggshells poking out of the chaff: “Eggs or duck eggs? How much?”

Wei Dong’s heart leapt. He’d seen this often in the guardhouse: “Country eggs, raised in the mountains, five cents each.” He mustered his courage to name the price.

The woman didn’t hesitate, picking up one and holding it to the sun: “Alright, count out twenty for me.” She pulled out a yuan to pay, but then the question arose—how would she carry them?

Would she juggle them home like a clown? In those days, there were no ubiquitous plastic bags; even a folded newspaper would do, but she obviously had no basket, just coming off work.

Fortunately, the country boy was resourceful: “Do you live far? I can deliver them for you.” He made it an impromptu delivery.

More importantly, carrying the basket allowed for conversation: “I’m here from the countryside selling goods. Do you know where it’s easier to sell cured meat and other farm products?”

His demeanor and speech did not resemble a typical farmer.

The woman eyed him more closely: “What cured meat? How much per pound?” She tiptoed to peer into his basket.

Wei Dong’s aim was not merely to sell to a single resident, but to find a steady outlet: “Mountain-cured meat, smoked with green oak and pine, pure and pollution-free local specialty—completely different from the factory meat in the market. How much do you think it’s worth?”

She dug through the chaff and saw the meat: “Oh, it looks good—real mountain-cured meat!”

She made a decisive offer: “I’ll buy it. Once I call out at the factory, everyone will buy what you have right away!”

Wei Dong had underestimated how, while policies restricted farmers from entering the city, they also suppressed the city dwellers’ robust demand. Everything he carried was scarce. The wisdom of his predecessor was truly priceless.