Chapter 31: A Little Hen

Duan Chengliang glanced sideways at the disheveled Xu Damao and gave a lopsided grin. "Parting with a bath ticket isn't exactly a big deal, but what are you planning to trade for it?"

As he spoke, his eyes swept over the handlebars and the back seat of Xu Damao's bicycle.

Xu Damao knew exactly what Duan was hinting at. He chuckled dismissively and said, "It's just one bath ticket. I'll give you an extra two dimes for it—isn't that enough of a bargain for you? What else could you possibly want?"

Duan Chengliang walked on with his hands tucked into his sleeves, his pace quickening. They were just about to reach the entrance of Courtyard 95.

Xu Damao hurriedly took two quick steps to catch up and grabbed Duan by the arm. "Chengliang, what’s the rush? Tell me, what do you want? We can negotiate. As long as I have it, just name it."

Duan Chengliang peered at the back seat of the bike and said, "I want whatever is moving around on your back seat."

Xu Damao’s eyes widened, and he let out a cold, sharp laugh. "Duan Chengliang, have you forgotten how much a bath ticket is worth? It’s only because I’m in a hurry right now that I’m being polite to you. Normally, you’d be over the moon just to get a dime or two for one."

Duan Chengliang retorted flatly, "Then go look for someone else for your dime or two. Why are you wasting my time?" He picked up his pace again.

Xu Damao was furious. He didn't have time to find anyone else. He had planned to go to the bathhouse early tomorrow morning to scrub himself clean, just in time for a matchmaking meeting at noon.

Gritting his teeth, he chased after him for another two steps and blocked Duan at the courtyard gate. "This is a young hen I just managed to scrounge up from the countryside. I was planning to stew it into soup and have a couple of drinks tonight. If you really want it, a bath ticket alone isn't enough; you'll have to add some cash."

Duan Chengliang stopped and turned to look at him. "How big is the hen, and how much extra are you asking for?"

"It’s a bit over a pound, maybe close to two. A bath ticket plus two yuan," Xu Damao said, smiling as he held up two fingers and waggled them in front of Duan's face.

Duan Chengliang laughed. That was pure extortion. Xu Damao was only emboldened to ask for such a high price because young hens were hard to come by these days.

Duan ignored him and moved to step over the threshold into the courtyard, but the quick-handed Xu Damao grabbed him again.

"Chengliang, when did you become so impatient? If you have an offer, just say it. Don't just walk off without a word. Tell me, how much are you willing to pay?"

Duan Chengliang brushed Xu Damao’s hand away and held up one finger. "I'll let you have the advantage: one yuan and one bath ticket. Take it or leave it, otherwise go find someone else. My bath tickets aren't exactly sitting idle—there are plenty of people lining up to trade with me."

Duan Chengliang’s main motivation was to try raising a chicken in his secret space, and since he didn't have time to scour the countryside himself, seeing the hen on Xu Damao’s bike had immediately sparked his interest.

Xu Damao hesitated for a moment, but a smile soon returned to his face. He patted Duan’s shoulder and said, "Alright, we're brothers, aren't we? One yuan it is. But you’ve got sharp eyes—how did you know I was carrying a chicken?"

Duan Chengliang replied, "I'm not deaf. Do you really think I couldn't hear the bird moving?"

Xu Damao parked his bike and unhooked the tattered cloth bag from the back seat, handing it over. "Here you go, a fresh, tender little hen. Want to bring a bottle over tonight so we can have a drink together?"

Duan Chengliang took the bag and peeked inside. It was a healthy, lively hen with good genes. He could almost see a future full of eggs.

He held the bag in one hand and fished the money and the bath ticket from his pocket, handing them to Xu Damao. "This hen is too small; I can't bear to eat it yet. I'll raise it for a couple of months first."

Xu Damao took the money and the ticket, curling his lip in disdain. "You clearly don't know anything. I specifically picked this one out—it’s at its absolute peak for eating. What a waste to give it to you. Forget it, I’m leaving. Just thinking about it makes me annoyed."

With the bath ticket in hand, Xu Damao lost all interest in being friendly. He pushed his bike into the courtyard, ignoring Duan Chengliang entirely.

Duan watched the bike with a pang of envy. It was ironic; he hadn't been impressed by airplanes in his past life, yet here he was, coveting a bicycle.

Real life had a way of giving you the most practical perspective. Living in Beijing in this era, he felt deeply how "short-legged" he truly was. Without a bike, life was incredibly inconvenient.

This year, the Third Ring Road in Beijing hadn't even been completed, and there were only nine trolleybus lines, making public transportation a major hassle. Most of the time, if you needed to run errands or just get around, you had to rely on "Line 11"—your own two feet.

That was why people in this era disliked traveling far; it was expensive, time-consuming, and exhausting.

In his memory, it was January 1958. Back then, you didn't need a bicycle ration coupon or industrial vouchers; if you had the money, you could buy one. However, starting from the second half of last year, bicycles—which used to be easy to find—suddenly went out of stock.

His predecessor had thought about buying one, mainly because of all the rumors that bicycles were about to become impossible to get. He’d decided to grit his teeth and buy this major item.

Around last October, he had joined the crowds waiting in line overnight to buy a bike. Unfortunately, after queuing for days, the store ran out of stock before it was his turn. He had been determined to keep trying, refusing to believe that buying a bicycle could be so difficult.

But things changed fast. Just as the rumors suggested, bikes became increasingly scarce. Often, before the shipment even arrived, the bikes were already claimed by those who had pre-registered. Queuing became pointless.

Some people even started scalping them for profit, but he couldn't bring himself to pay those exorbitant prices; the markups were truly painful.

Later, to curb the scalping, Beijing implemented a registration system. Bicycle shops held registration periods once a quarter, announced by posters three days in advance. Sales were limited to the stock available that quarter, and registration closed once the limit was reached. To buy a bike, you had to get an introductory letter from your workplace and present it during the registration period. Each person was limited to one registration.

If a shipment arrived, the store would notify people in the order they had registered to come and pay for their bikes.

His predecessor had pinned his final hopes on a shop in Beixinqiao, registering there last October. Yet, here it was, January 1958, and he still hadn't received a notice.

With the Lunar New Year approaching, he had no idea if he would be able to ride a new bike by then. He calculated the dates; if the shipment at Beixinqiao didn't come through soon, bicycles would surely require ration coupons next. If that happened, he could kiss his dream of owning a bike goodbye.

That was why Duan Chengliang felt such a twinge of envy looking at Xu Damao’s bicycle.