Chapter 11: Who Says Salesclerks Aren’t Friendly These Days?

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Duan Chengliang looked once more at the clothes he was wearing and thought about the surroundings and way of life he had grown accustomed to over the past week.

Now that he also had the blacksmith’s-shop space, he felt it was time to make some changes.

His predecessor’s uncle had died unexpectedly in an accident and had left behind very little money. His wages had been fairly high, but his aunt, a walking medicine jar, spent far too much every month.

Thus, the uncle’s wages had barely been enough to cover food and household expenses, filling only the gaping hole left by his aunt’s medical bills.

In fact, even after the uncle’s death, unpaid debts remained. The several hundred yuan in compensation paid by the steel mill left the predecessor with little more than a hundred yuan after the debts had been cleared.

For the past two years, the predecessor had scraped ten yuan from his monthly expenses and deposited it in the bank. Judging from the deposit slips, the family’s entire savings now amounted to a little over three hundred yuan.

What was more, he had placed it all in one-year fixed-term deposits with automatic renewal. That was why, when Qin Huairu came to borrow money from him, he genuinely had very little cash on hand.

Normally, he kept only enough for daily expenses and meals. He lived extremely frugally. Over the past two years, neither he nor the household had bought anything new. Apart from the protective clothing issued by the factory, he had been unwilling even to buy himself a proper set of clothes or a pair of shoes.

This was another habit formed from having been neglected by his family since childhood: whenever he had a little money, he would do everything possible to save it for emergencies, much like a little squirrel preparing for winter.

But Duan Chengliang knew that, over the next few years, whether one had more or less money would be secondary. The truly important issue would be the shortage of supplies.

According to his memories, pork in Beijing was currently purchased with proof of urban residence, with each person limited to one yuan’s worth per day.

But around this time next year, supplies would be rationed by coupons. Before long, the amount available would shrink further, and obtaining even a scrap of meat through legal channels would become exceedingly difficult.

Eggs, meanwhile, had already been rationed since January of that year. Each household was entitled to one pound per month with a Beijing Resident Non-staple Food Purchasing Certificate. Only large households of more than ten people received an additional pound each month.

Within another year or two, eggs would be impossible to buy even if one had the money. Supplies to ordinary residents might even be suspended altogether. The “bank of hen bottoms” would shut its doors completely.

In short, 1958 marked the beginning. For the next several years, the main theme of life would be scouring one’s insides and racking one’s brains for ways to find something to put in one’s stomach.

Although he now had the blacksmith’s-shop space, it was only sensible to make preparations proactively. At the very least, he could no longer leave his money sitting in the bank as his predecessor had. He needed to withdraw it quickly, buy whatever supplies were available, and store them in the space.

For example, if he bought one yuan’s worth of pork every day, he could put away thirty yuan’s worth in a month. By this time next year, he could have accumulated several hundred yuan’s worth.

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Besides, he worked as a loader at a coal yard, doing heavy manual labor. He was a single man with no dependents, so if he bought one yuan’s worth of pork every day, people might at most say he had a craving for meat. They would hardly have anything else to say.

He also needed to test whether the little courtyard inside the space could support livestock. If it could, he should at least raise a few hens first, ensuring a steady supply of eggs.

There was no point thinking too far ahead for now. At the very least, he had to make time tomorrow to ask for leave and withdraw the money as soon as possible.

Honestly, what kind of era was this? He had actually been thinking of leaving money in the bank to earn interest.

In later generations, whenever one had money, one would buy a house. In the present, one should first convert money into goods. The only prerequisite was having somewhere to store them.

As it happened, he now had exactly such a place.

After entering Dongzhimen, he continued westward. When he passed Beixin Bridge, Duan Chengliang felt the few yuan in his pocket and decided to turn into the non-staple food market on the northern side of the western entrance to Shique Bridge Hutong.

The locals in this entire area affectionately called it the “vegetable market.” In ordinary households, everything needed for daily life—food, drink, and household necessities—could be bought there. It was a large, comprehensive non-staple food market.

Duan Chengliang had not come to buy anything. He had not brought any ration coupons, so even if he wanted to buy something, he could not. Besides, he had no bottles or bowls with him. If he wanted vinegar, oil, or fermented bean paste, the vendors had nowhere to put it.

He had simply come to look around. He had been in the city for more than a week and had heard about this place, but he had never visited it.

With the Lunar New Year approaching, the non-staple food market appeared unusually well stocked. It was a dazzling, bustling scene, utterly unlike the image of material scarcity one might have expected. Still, by next year, it would probably become much quieter.

Entering through the two main doors on the western side of the market, one found a row of glass counters along each wall.

The counters on the left sold cooked meat products such as vermicelli sausages, garlic sausages, pork offal, and sausages, along with bean curd and other soybean products, including spiced dried tofu, vegetarian chicken, fried tofu puffs, assorted mixed dishes, and plain tofu.

The counters on the right sold all kinds of seasonings: oil, salt, soy sauce, vinegar, sugar, and more.

The soy sauce and vinegar were kept in large vats, while the oil was stored in metal drums. The sales clerks used ladles and funnels to pour them into bottles brought by the customers.

Those buying sesame paste, yellow soybean paste, or sweet bean paste could be seen waiting in line with bowls in their hands. The clerks used spoons to fill the bowls, managing not only to keep the paste from touching the rims but also to measure the portions with remarkable accuracy.

Farther inside were stalls selling fresh meat, vegetables, fruit, dried goods and seasonings, aquatic products, and more.

All in all, the place resembled the large integrated farmers’ markets of later generations. To be honest, Duan Chengliang finally found a trace of something familiar from the future in this non-staple food market—a little of the warmth and bustle of ordinary human life.

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What disappointed him was that the aquatic-products section did not sell live fish at all, only frozen fish. Most of it was marine fish. Freshwater fish such as carp, silver carp, and crucian carp were rare.

What puzzled Duan Chengliang most was that whenever someone came to buy fish, the clerk would try to sell them the ribbonfish piled up beside the counter.

Yet not a single customer wanted any.

In Duan Chengliang’s eyes, however, the ribbonfish looked excellent. Each one was nearly four fingers wide, which should have qualified it as premium ribbonfish.

He searched through his predecessor’s memories and finally understood. In this era, Beijing residents genuinely disliked ribbonfish. Most had never heard of it or tasted it. It had only begun appearing in Beijing within the past year or two, making it a strange and unfamiliar novelty. In the eyes of Beijingers, it was not considered respectable food.

Most Beijing residents had little affection for the fish’s bizarre appearance, and for the time being, acceptance remained extremely low.

When he found an opportunity, during a brief lull for the clerk, Duan Chengliang asked, “Comrade, how much is the ribbonfish?”

He had expected an ordinary answer, but the clerk suddenly became extremely animated.

“You want to buy ribbonfish?”

Instead of taking out any fish, the clerk handed Duan Chengliang a newspaper from beneath the counter.

The gesture left Duan Chengliang somewhat bewildered.

Then he heard the clerk point to the newspaper and say, “Take a look. The People’s Daily published an article about it a few days ago. It explains all the advantages of ribbonfish and even includes four or five recipes teaching ordinary citizens how to cook it at home. Really, ribbonfish is delicious. I followed one of the recipes in the paper, and it turned out wonderfully. Don’t let its frightening appearance fool you—it has few bones, and the meat is firm. Braise it with vinegar and garlic, and the aroma is unbelievable. If you have some extra flour at home, coat it in batter first—ah, it’s absolutely delicious!”

Duan Chengliang stared wide-eyed at the clerk, who was enthusiastically singing the fish’s praises without pause. He could not help thinking, Who says sales clerks in this era aren’t warm and friendly?

This was indeed the first time anyone in this era had tried to sell him something face-to-face. In his impression, people in this period were always lining up and scrambling for whatever goods they could get. He had never imagined a sales clerk would give such an impassioned introduction and recommendation.

More importantly, the clerk did not need to tell him how ribbonfish was best prepared. Before crossing over, whenever he drank at a small restaurant, a plate of fried ribbonfish segments was practically indispensable. It was a classic drinking snack, tried and tested by alcohol.

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