Chapter 65

Seeing Li Xuewu emerge from the alleyway, the half-grown boy crouching by the wall ran back away—he wasn’t doing this for the first time.

Besides grain and oil, which were uniformly priced under state procurement, all local specialties had their own regional prices, which is why grain coupons were nationwide while other vouchers rarely were.

Specifically, each province printed vouchers according to its own annual output.

Although the vouchers carried no price differences, scarcity itself was the manifestation of this disparity.

Li Xuewu’s team now dealt in voucher flipping; other vouchers couldn’t be used back home—could they really go to Northeast China to buy grain coupons?

Isn’t that just like hauling coal from Datong, Shanxi, to Pingdingshan to sell?

Plus, voucher flipping was fun for a while, but not a sustainable path—Li Xuewu wanted to find a stable future for his brothers and himself.

Li Xuewu was touring the Chun Cheng market to understand the local specialty pricing system; the 71st Factory had business ties with the steel mill, so he’d be coming here often.

There were too many steel enterprises in the Northeast, and opportunities to come here were plentiful, so having an agent was best.

Agent businesses were limited to a few types—Li Xuewu couldn’t produce resources in this era, but he could act as a resource transporter.

In Shanghai, hairy crab cost seven jiao per jin—how much would it sell for in Beijing?

What if it were supplied year-round from his space?

It wasn’t about money—it was that you couldn’t buy it even if you had money.

Right now, there were plenty like the Lou family, clutching gold bars but unable to spend them.

These people suffered—how could they have ever endured such lack of food and clothing?

Li Xuewu wanted to serve these people, helping them solve part of their food and warmth problems—not just for those golden bars, but out of true compassion.

Li Xuewu quietly recorded prices from local specialty stalls in his notebook, and given time constraints, he merely gathered a rough sense of seasonal market trends.

As Li Xuewu conducted his market survey, two large men pushed through the crowd toward him, and two more appeared behind him.

Li Xuewu suddenly shoved through the crowd, sprinted to the wall behind a stall, pressed his back against it, and remained calm—only pulling out his Da Wusì, holding it hidden in his sleeve, and flipping the safety off.

The big men froze at his movement; one chuckled bitterly and walked forward with both hands covering his head.

Before Li Xuewu, the big man kept his hands up and muttered, “I’m Da Qiangzi. Don’t be nervous, brother—if anything happens to you on our turf, we’d be finished on the road—we’re even more nervous than you.”

Li Xuewu smiled but said nothing, kept his Da Wusì drawn, and just stared at Da Qiangzi.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about—I’m just browsing the market. What do you want?”

Da Qiangzi’s expression stiffened, cursed inwardly—was there ever anyone walking the market with a black pistol?

Da Qiangzi forced a smile, stretched his lips into a grin, and whispered, “Cut the act, brother. Even Da Chun told the boss—you’re the one he pointed out, so we came.”

Li Xuewu glanced where Da Qiangzi indicated—the man who’d called him “Da Chun” earlier was staring this way.

Damn it, not a single truthful word.

He was called “Silly Chun,” yet told me his name was “Da Chun”—of course, when traveling, all people of the jianghu use aliases.

Seeing Li Xuewu notice Silly Chun, Da Qiangzi added, “The boss is waiting for you at Silly Chun’s place—he wants to talk.”

Li Xuewu nodded. “Lead the way.”

Da Qiangzi nodded and walked toward the alley where Li Xuewu had met Silly Chun.

Seeing the two move, the others dispersed and followed.

They converged at the alley’s mouth, jostling and shoving.

The half-grown boy crouched again at the alley’s entrance; Da Qiangzi left two big men loitering at the door and led Li Xuewu and another man inside, with Silly Chun following.

At the door of the low hut, the accompanying big man draped an arm over Silly Chun’s shoulder and stayed at the entrance.

Silly Chun’s face froze—he thought, damn it, they’re cutting me loose, not letting me in anymore.

Da Qiangzi opened the door and gestured for Li Xuewu to enter; before stepping in, Li Xuewu looked at Silly Chun and said firmly, “You’re dishonest.”

Without waiting for the stunned boy’s reaction, he stepped inside.

On the kang sat a muscular man in his forties—strong-looking, but with an air of some education.

Seeing Li Xuewu enter, the man rose from the kang, clasped his left hand over his right, bowed, and said, “Guest, you’ve traveled far—you’ve had a hard journey.”

Li Xuewu mirrored the gesture, returning, “You’re too kind.”

They exchanged formal courtesies upon meeting—clearly, they were both people of the jianghu.

The big man smiled at Li Xuewu. “Really sorry—my brothers are all uneducated roughnecks. We’ve been rude.”

beqege.

Li Xuewu sat on the kang as the big man invited him; Da Qiangzi leaned against the doorframe.

“Sir, you’re too generous. I happened upon you and wondered if there might be a chance to cooperate, so I asked Da Chun about local market conditions.”

The big man politely replied, “Ah~ Brother, you flatter us. We’re just porters at the station, rickshaw pullers at the market, rafters on the river, or kids like Silly Chun—when times are bad, we starve into daze, so we huddle together for warmth. Don’t call me ‘boss’—just call me Old Zhang.”

Li Xuewu smiled and offered him a cigarette. “Then I’ll call you Brother Zhang. I’ve got some connections—I make a few trips to the Northeast each year, sometimes nationwide, so I help colleagues and friends bring back local specialties. If you’re willing, we can cooperate—I’ll save time collecting scattered goods myself.”

Old Zhang took the cigarette with a chuckle and placed it on the table, not believing Li Xuewu’s words—how many friends could use trains to transport goods?

He poured Li Xuewu a cup of tea and said, “Just now, Silly Chun rushed over, babbling you could arrange train cars—I nearly jumped out of my skin, hahaha. What a mix-up—it’s just that kid got it wrong.”

Li Xuewu didn’t drink the tea—out on the road, Old Zhang wouldn’t dare smoke his own cigarette, and he wouldn’t dare drink Old Zhang’s tea.

“He’s called Silly Chun, huh? Ha—he didn’t get it wrong. I said I can arrange train cars, but it’s not magic—you don’t need to ask details. In our cooperation, I won’t make you handle transportation.”

This test gave Old Zhang the information he wanted, but now he was stuck—he couldn’t figure out this man’s identity or status, and his confidence wavered.

Seeing Old Zhang hesitate, Li Xuewu dropped the subject and began asking about Chun Cheng’s local specialties and prices.

Old Zhang answered each question with a mix of amusement and resignation; by the end, he believed about eighty percent.

Li Xuewu set down his pencil and notebook, smiling. “No problem—anyone would be cautious. I’m not planning to take goods away this time—just doing research. We can take it slow, talk more, build trust—you’ll feel at ease.”

Old Zhang chuckled, gave no firm answer, only nodded and offered more tea.

Li Xuewu pushed a list of local specialties he’d written onto the table. As Old Zhang took the paper, puzzled, he said, “This is your list of local specialties and my address. If you’re interested in cooperating, write to this address—name it Yang Dahaier. You’re his relative from the Northeast—his cousin.”

Li Xuewu tapped the table. “If you have something to trade, write in the letter what you recently ate, how much, and reduce the quantity to normal multiples. The multiple is written as the date you ate it: 1 year = 1x, 1 month = 1000x, 1 day = 100x, 1 hour = 10x.”

“If you need other local specialties, just write what your child wants to eat. Reduce the quantity to normal multiples, and write the time you thought of it—same as above. Reverse it too—I’ll write the same way when I want something.”

Old Zhang stared blankly, heart pounding—could he have run into...? This place had been buzzing about this—how could it still be coded communication?

Thinking of Li Xuewu’s Da Wusì, he grew even less certain of the man’s identity.