Chapter 5: Let’s See Who Dares to Be Arrogant

The middle-aged woman was straightforward, skillfully quoting the market price in town: “Five yuan a jin, and you need ration coupons, too. If it’s just cash, mountain-cured bacon sells for six.”
Six it would be, then.
Prices in the county were already lower than here; who would have thought this country boy would leap so many grades all at once?
Cured bacon, especially authentic mountain-cured bacon, was universally acknowledged as a delicacy.
No one complained about the price; everyone tacitly agreed that this was no longer a price for meat, but for a crafted product.
Slice a few pieces, stir-fry them with garlic scapes or cauliflower, and the aroma would fill the air—an exquisite dish fit for a state banquet.
In an era when refrigerators were rare, you could hang it outside a window or balcony and not worry about spoilage; it could be eaten all year round.
A single jin of bacon could improve and enrich the family table for a month or two.
It was truly the perfect ingredient for home life, travel, and raising children.
Every city family would make their own bacon in autumn and winter, but the flavor was worlds apart.
In moments, housewives from the dormitory building crowded around, their sharp eyes instantly confirming this wasn’t ordinary, factory-smoked meat: “At least two or three years old, thoroughly smoked. Even bran won’t stick to it—this is good stuff!”
“Smell it, the smoky aroma, right? Inhale deeper—isn’t that pine wood you’re getting?”
“Ah, what a pleasant scent. You never get this from what they sell at the market.”
“My folks sent some twice, just like this. You need hardwood charcoal, the best kind, and fresh pine and cypress branches to cover the coals and smoke the bacon. That’s the only way to get this flavor. It’s nothing like the factory-smoked meat in the market. I want five jin!”
“I want five too, but I’ll have to go to the savings bank for more cash.”
“I’ll cover you for now—just give me two jin. My child needs some extra nutrition…”
“No shoving, don’t fight! Let’s split the eggs too—just look at the color, proper farm eggs. The flavor when you fry them is different altogether.”
“Give me an egg to fry right now… Oh, you all, just smell this!”
After just two streets, at an old factory building, passing through the alley underneath brought you to the dormitory area.
There was no need for the country boy to say a word; the bacon and eggs in his basket were swiftly divided up.
Several households produced their spring scales to weigh everything, and, in a flurry of hands, the total came to sixty-eight and a half jin.
(Announcer’s voice:) In 1983! His first time selling bacon in a big city, and he made 411 yuan!
Forty-seven eggs came to two yuan and thirty-five cents.
Urbanites were honest in those days—everyone knew each other from work, no price gouging or bullying the country folk. They even told him he’d undersold the eggs.
People in Jiangzhou were even more straightforward and generous. The older woman who’d wanted twenty eggs but only got half as many quickly handed over the cash: “Next time you come, bring more eggs. Keep your money safe—there are pickpockets on the street.”
Wei Dong forced himself to keep his hands from trembling as he accepted the four hundred yuan…
He’d spent about fifty on the bacon, including his own, and less than ten on travel.
He even wondered if he could make more selling in the capital.
But just then, a policeman in a white uniform strolled in, chatting with someone, scaring Wei Dong half out of his wits!
Fortunately, the officer only sniffed the air, delighted by the aroma of eggs and chives, and joked with the crowd.
Wei Dong left with his heart pounding, feigning calm as he carried his now-empty basket away, vowing never to sell like this again.
Only someone who’d been imprisoned knew how easily such a thing could turn on the whim of a policeman.

Yet, with over five hundred yuan tucked into his waistband—a sum a city couple couldn’t save in a year—his joy still outweighed his lingering fear.
It was a fortune!
He decided to return home that very night.
He spent the afternoon at the provincial hospital, learning they could admit his father, but ambulances were out of the question.
No hospital in the province really had ambulances; you had to find your own way to get the patient there.
Clearly, for a spinal injury, a riverboat was the safest way to avoid further harm.
Preferring to be thorough, Wei Dong splurged a little and tried the big passenger steamer to Shangzhou.
Only there were sleeper bunks, where his father could lie flat and be more comfortable.
Ten yuan and twenty cents for a fourth-class cabin.
Twenty or thirty passengers squeezed onto two rows of bunk beds.
Even though most were city folk, it was still stifling, crowded, and noisy.
But for Wei Dong, this was the first time since his “return” that he’d actually lain down in a bed after so much running about.
So, before boarding, he’d eaten a big bowl of noodles at a dockside stall, then hid in the toilet to tie his money with a rubber band to his inner thigh, and promptly fell asleep.
He was only awakened at dawn by a steward, who told him to check out, giving him a chance to peek at the fifth-class conditions: just a mat you could lay anywhere and sleep on the floor.
Only seven yuan and ninety cents—barely two yuan more than the small county motorboat, where there were always pickpockets.
Wei Dong hadn’t dared spend a single extra cent in the provincial capital, fearing there wouldn’t be enough for his father’s transfer.
Now, he felt more reassured.
Upon landing in Shangzhou, he still didn’t have time to visit the old master at the tax bureau, heading straight for the bus station instead.
He didn’t go to the hospital in the county, either. Taking advantage of a truck heading to the countryside, he paid another twenty cents and rode home.
There must have been rain the night before; when he got off, the air was thick with the damp freshness of summer, the morning mist washed away, and the mountain village glistened with vitality.
Wei Dong ran with steady strength, reaching his village just after nine in the morning.
He went straight to Gou Dan’s house, his childhood basketball buddy: “Come with me to the county to carry my dad for treatment!”
Sturdy and good-natured, Gou Dan grabbed his jacket without a word and was out the door, his mother calling after them as the two young men disappeared.
Wei Dong handed Gou Dan ten yuan in small bills: “Take a detour, see who has bacon for sale, say I’m buying, give two as a deposit, and pay one more per jin when you bring it back.”
Gou Dan nodded and set off.
By the time Wei Dong crossed the mountain home, he’d already collected thirty or forty jin, and another twenty or thirty along the way filled his basket.
He dismantled the kitchen door and, in the main room, started arranging wooden planks.
His elderly grandparents, still able to work the fields, hobbled over. Hearing that their most educated grandson was taking his father to the city for treatment, they hurried to boil water and cook.
Wei Dong stopped them, saying he’d eat in the county. Just then, to his surprise, Er Feng arrived with Gou Dan, both carrying baskets.
Gou Dan grinned and handed back the ten yuan: “Er Feng beat me to the bacon on Li Family Slope—almost two full baskets!”
Wei Dong didn’t pay Er Feng right away. He took out his small spring scale and weighed the bacon: “Ninety-three jin. Here’s the ten yuan in change, divide it among the families. I’m afraid the surgery might take all my money. I’ll pay you the rest when I get back.”
Er Feng refused to take the money or put down her basket: “I’ll come with you—I can help carry goods!”

Wei Dong firmly shook his head and pressed the money into her hand: “One more person means more fare for boats and buses. Thanks for helping with the bacon, but leave the rest to us.”
He spread his quilt over the door planks, arranged over a hundred jin of bacon neatly on top, covered it with dry straw to even it out, then laid two more quilts over everything and bound it tightly with hemp rope.
Farmhouse doors here were made with beams sticking out above and below as hinges. Wei Dong now nailed a handle to the other end, turning the door into a stretcher.
He’d learned at the provincial hospital that renting a stretcher required an eighty-yuan deposit, and you couldn’t use a soft stretcher for a spinal injury—they recommended a wooden door.
Now he could even “smuggle” the bacon along—perfect!
They packed only one basket of clothes. The two sturdy young men lifted the “stretcher” between them and set off at a run along the mountain road.
Er Feng stood on the dirt slope, watching for a long time, biting her lip and twisting her shiny black braid until it nearly knotted, only running home to help clean up when Wei Dong’s grandfather called her.
The two young men ran until their throats were raw, finally flagging down a passing truck on the road. For fifty cents, they climbed into the back, nestled among sacks of cargo, not feeling tired at all.
Gou Dan was giddy with excitement: “We’re taking a boat?!”
He’d only finished primary school and had rarely been to the county, let alone the provincial city.
Wei Dong nodded. “Yes, to the city—I’ll treat you to something good.”
Gou Dan whooped with joy, never caring about money, only eager to help.
Wei Dong planned to pay him once the surgery was done and he’d earned more, but for now, couldn’t make any promises.
Yet Gou Dan’s carefree laughter, bright as the midday sun in a blue sky, swept away much of Wei Dong’s anxiety and gloom.
After paying, the truck driver dropped the two country boys at the county hospital.
Gou Dan was actually reluctant to leave.
Wei Dong laughed, smacked him, and urged him inside.
Several relatives were already outside the ward with his mother.
From afar, they saw the useless scholar—gone for two days—appear in the corridor.
His sharp-tongued aunt rose up, firing off questions like a machine gun: “Dongwa, what have you been up to? How can you make money? That’s your father’s life-saving money…”
His second aunt began to wail. Only now did they realize their brother-in-law couldn’t stand up: “Oh, what a fate, Dongwa, you must make us proud…”
Her voice had enough range and drama that she could’ve made money as a livestream performer.
Wei Dong, determined to prove himself, drew the thick wad of banknotes from his waistband and smacked it against his palm: “I’ve got five hundred yuan now! We’re taking Dad to the provincial hospital for treatment. If there’s even a chance he can walk again, I’ll never give up. I’ll take him to Shanghai, to Beijing, to see the best technology if I have to!”
If he weren’t worried about running out of money, he’d have loved to hand out a “Great Unity” note to every relative there.
But that display was more than enough—in those days, there were no hundred-yuan bills, and five hundred yuan made a thick, heavy stack!
With the domineering gestures he’d picked up from short videos, everyone fell silent, words stuck in their throats.
They stared, mouths agape, as the once-useless scholar effortlessly took charge.
None of them had ever seen so much money before.