Chapter 1: Starting from Unemployment with Zero Frames

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In the summer of 1990, at ten in the morning, the entrance to the factory director's office at the Xiangdong City Machinery Plant was crowded with workers clad in gray-blue uniforms.

The fierce sunlight filtered through the dense leaves of the plane trees, shining upon faces glistening with sweat.

Cicadas screeched overhead, crying, “So hot... so hot,” adding to everyone’s irritation and anxiety.

That morning, the factory announced it would convert some permanent workers into contract workers—a move as explosive as pouring water into hot oil.

Those whose names appeared on the list had all come to demand an explanation from the director.

Among them were youths just over twenty and middle-aged men with honest faces.

Some were angry, others frightened; all were highly agitated.

Liu Jianshe, the factory’s balding director, stood on the steps and raised his voice: “Comrades, comrades, don’t get excited. Listen to me. This is a policy the state issued back in 1986. Our factory is actually behind the times. There’s nothing I can do. In the future, all state-owned enterprises will only have contract workers, no permanent staff. Even I will become a contract worker.”

“Nonsense! You’re the director, you make the decisions. Are you going to fire yourself?” someone jeered.

“In the past, this was a job for life. The factory took care of our food, healthcare, retirement, our children’s education—even funerals. Now, with the contract system, when we’re old and can’t continue, the factory won’t renew our contracts. Who will stand up for us then?”

Liu Jianshe replied, “You should all consider the greater good and put personal interests aside for now. Besides, after you become contract workers, the factory will buy you social insurance. Medical care, unemployment, and retirement will all be covered.”

But his words only made the crowd angrier. They surged forward, shouting: “If even a big state-owned factory can break its promises, what good is your insurance?”

“Our factory gets millions in orders every year. Is it our paltry one or two hundred yuan a month that’s breaking the bank? Clearly, this is a personal vendetta!”

Just then, someone pedaled up on a bicycle, hurrying over.

At his arrival, the crowd fell instantly silent, parting to let him through.

His name was Cheng Shi, barely eighteen, the youngest among those being forced into contracts.

Two years ago, Old Cheng had pulled every string and spent a fortune to get his son’s age changed so he could inherit his position as an ordinary worker in the machining workshop.

Cheng Shi was handsome, with lofty ambitions and a proud, fiery temper—stubborn to the core and impossible to control.

Tardiness and early departures were routine for him; he was quick to throw punches at the slightest provocation, much to the leaders’ dismay.

So it was no surprise he’d been singled out for compulsory conversion.

Everyone knew the real reason for the contract system—it made it easier to get rid of people.

Permanent staff couldn’t be fired unless they made a major mistake.

So those on the list were either the meek and friendless, unable to curry favor or offer bribes, or troublemakers like Cheng Shi.

Cheng Shi’s mother was uneducated and unemployed; the family had relied entirely on Old Cheng, and now everything depended on Cheng Shi.

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Now the iron rice bowl was gone. Cheng Shi was bound to make a scene.

Ordinarily, his colleagues found him insufferable, but today they secretly hoped he would beat up Liu Jianshe and force him to remove his name from the list—then everyone else would be safe.

Seeing Cheng Shi stride purposefully toward him, Liu Jianshe felt a pang of guilt and hurried to shift the blame: “Ah, Xiao Cheng, let’s talk this over calmly. The workshop director compiled the conversion list based on a comprehensive score.”

The so-called comprehensive score measured both the quality and quantity of work, as well as ratings from coworkers and supervisors.

In other words, not only was Cheng Shi’s performance lacking, but he also had poor relations with others.

Liu Jianshe wasn’t afraid of Cheng Shi making a scene; he was afraid Cheng Shi might do something drastic and violent in silence.

Cheng Shi said calmly, “Director Liu, I don’t want to become a contract worker.”

There was a trace of schadenfreude in the crowd: See, here he goes.

Cheng Shi continued, “Why don’t you just lay me off directly?”

The crowd fell silent, as if they’d misheard.

Even Liu Jianshe was puzzled. “Young man, don’t say things you’ll regret. This is serious. Maybe you should talk it over with your family.”

Cheng Shi’s family was already struggling to put food on the table. Without this job, wouldn’t they all starve?

Cheng Shi replied, “There’s no need. I understand the factory’s difficulties. You don’t have to compensate me much—just give me that twenty-year-old German CNC lathe that’s about to be scrapped.”

Liu Jianshe hedged, “Even after twenty years, that machine is still worth over ten thousand yuan. You’ve only worked here two years. That doesn’t balance out.”

Letting Cheng Shi go would save him some trouble, but he couldn’t agree outright—otherwise, others would follow suit, demanding a king’s ransom.

Once the others realized what was happening, they began to murmur.

“Cheng Shi, this is a lifetime job. Don’t be so impulsive!”

“Don’t be foolish, Cheng Shi. Spending ten thousand on that hunk of scrap isn’t worth it. You only make a little over a hundred a month. Ten thousand is about ten years’ salary!”

They weren’t being altruistic; they worried he’d set a precedent, and the factory would use scrap metal to buy out everyone’s seniority.

Cheng Shi played along, “That’s true. At the year-end inventory last year, the lathe’s depreciated value was only five thousand.”

Liu Jianshe had deliberately undervalued the machine for a future sale to his own people. Now exposed, he grew irritated. “Depreciation is one thing; selling it privately is another. Out of respect for your father, if you can come up with five thousand yuan in three days, you can buy the lathe at its depreciated value. Otherwise, just take your buyout and leave.”

Cheng Shi agreed, “Fine. But I want a written agreement. From now on, that lathe is my personal property—no one can touch it or interfere with how I use it.”

Liu Jianshe dodged, “Get the money first, then we’ll talk.”

Cheng Shi pressed, “A verbal promise isn’t enough. Director, please have your secretary draft the contract—we’ll sign it right now.”

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Everyone was secretly astonished: how had Cheng Shi changed overnight?

Ordinarily, he’d have been halfway home after a brawl by now—never would he have the patience to negotiate with the director, let alone sign an agreement.

Liu Jianshe was caught between a rock and a hard place. “I’m the director. Isn’t my word good enough? No need for a contract.”

Damn it, this little punk was definitely doing this on purpose.

That machine—I’d planned to give it to my brother-in-law. No way I’m letting you have it!

Cheng Shi said coolly, “Director Liu, you’re not planning to go back on your word, are you? I have all these colleagues as witnesses. If you can’t keep even a public promise, what will happen to us once we’re contract workers?”

The crowd, riled by his words, glared coldly at Liu Jianshe.

Liu Jianshe’s knees nearly buckled. This was getting dangerous—he’d be lucky not to get beaten to death right here. He had to pacify Cheng Shi for now. After all, both the machine and Cheng Shi’s wages were in his hands—what could possibly go wrong?

He called for his secretary, who drafted the agreement as Cheng Shi dictated. They signed and stamped it in front of everyone.

Cheng Shi also took the machine’s inspection certificates and related documents, then turned and rode away on his bicycle with a flourish.

Wait, that little punk just left quietly without making a fuss?

Everyone felt used, stood in stunned silence for a moment, then started clamoring again.

Hearing the commotion behind him, Cheng Shi sighed softly: What’s the point? In another three or four years, everyone here will be laid off. Better to get out while you’re young and find a better path.

Xiangdong City was always a transportation hub, a heavy industry town plagued by severe pollution.

Even on clear days, the sky remained a perpetual gray.

The rain had streaked the lime-washed red brick walls with alternating black and yellow stains, above which a slogan in red paint read: “Arrive at work happy, return home safe.”

The plane trees cast thick shade over the battered cement roads.

On the streets, it wasn’t unusual to see fashionable women in brightly colored, shoulder-padded tops, their hair teased into wiry styles with mousse, strutting by in high heels.

Someone carried a giant tape recorder, blaring this year’s hit song as they walked: “I am a little, little bird...”

These everyday sights, taken for granted by all, stirred Cheng Shi deeply, filling him with warmth.

After all, only half an hour earlier, he’d died without warning—and now had been reborn into his younger self, just after a fight and a nap in the workshop.