Chapter 12: Wang Song Is Blackmailed
Wang Village.
Wang Song bought five hundred jin of watermelons wholesale from a melon farmer, and the cart full of melons was parked in the courtyard.
After dinner, he noticed one watermelon was missing.
Li Guifen was convinced that Wang Xia had stolen it and scolded her harshly, using every kind of insult and vulgarity.
“I didn’t steal the watermelon, it was my second brother. The watermelon rinds in my room were planted by him to frame me,” Wang Xia denied.
“You little brat, how dare you talk back to me?” Li Guifen raised her hand and slapped her three times.
Smack! Smack! Smack!
Wang Xia dared not argue further. Covering her face, she ran back to her bedroom and wept bitterly on the bed.
In her heart, she cursed Wang Peng, “You’re just looking for trouble. Why sell watermelons? If you hadn’t run away from home, there wouldn’t have been any melon-selling, and I wouldn’t have been beaten.”
She was so wronged that she couldn’t sleep all night.
The next morning, she saw her father and second brother pulling a cart full of watermelons and leaving.
...
Wang Peng pulled his cart through the cemetery, suddenly sneezing several times and muttering softly, “Which villain cursed me?”
He continued on his way, following the fence of the railway workers’ housing compound until he reached the main road, heading straight for the textile factory housing area.
Meanwhile, Wang Song and his son arrived at the county town. Just after crossing the Longhai Railway bridge, six road bullies blocked their path.
“Old man, you know the rules, right? Fifty yuan per cart of melons. Pay up or no passing,” the leader, North Overlord, said as he touched the butcher’s knife at his waist.
“Comrade, what kind of money is this?” Wang Song was terrified. “I’m a local.”
These men looked tough, with cleavers at their waists and sticks in their hands.
Wang Cheng didn’t dare even to fart, his heart pounding wildly as he hid behind Wang Song without daring to look up.
“Local or outsider, it’s all the same,” North Overlord sneered. “I’m collecting sanitation fees. Want to enter the city to sell melons? Pay fifty. Don’t want to sell? Pay ten. Take your melons and scram.”
Even to pass the road, money was demanded. Wang Song was dumbfounded. “Brother, can’t you make an exception...”
A mustachioed thug grabbed his collar. “You don’t understand human language? Pay up quickly.”
“Brother, don’t hit me. Let’s talk it out,” Wang Song hurriedly backed down. “Let’s talk.”
“Talk my ass,” the mustachioed man slapped him hard on the head. “Don’t you know who North Overlord is? Say another word of nonsense and I’ll slap you more.”
The slap was powerful, leaving Wang Song stunned and frightened.
He knew North Overlord was the tyrant of Ping’an County, quick to curse, quick to strike, feared by all.
“Dad, just give it to him,” Wang Cheng tugged at his father’s arm, afraid he’d get beaten too.
Wang Song dared not offend or resist. “I’ll pay. Brother, don’t hit me.”
---
“Hmph, what took you so long? Didn’t cry until you saw the coffin?” The mustachioed thug released his collar.
As he handed over the money, Wang Song’s heart bled.
Fifty yuan now could buy a hundred to two hundred jin of rice at the current grain price.
This cart of watermelons weighed five hundred jin. Originally, the cost was one mao per jin; now it was two mao per jin.
If he paid ten yuan and didn’t enter the city, selling the melons at rural markets would only fetch one mao and five per jin—less profit but no loss.
Yet he couldn’t bear to give up the chance to sell at thirty mao per jin, so he painfully paid the fifty yuan road fee.
“Next time, be sensible. Don’t wait until you get beaten before paying,” North Overlord patted his shoulder and turned to stop the second melon cart.
Wang Cheng’s hand trembled, his mind blank, suddenly filled with regret.
“Dad,” he said quietly, “let’s just go. Consider it a loss to avoid disaster.”
“I shouldn’t have listened to you. Why the hell sell melons?” Wang Song glared at Wang Cheng.
For the first time, he thought his second son was useless. His own father had been beaten, and he didn’t dare even fart.
Six months ago, over a dispute about homestead land, Wang Song argued with old Li, the neighbor, who kicked him.
Wang Peng grabbed a cleaver and chased old Li for two blocks. If not for the village chief and villagers stopping him, old Li would have been stabbed.
Compared to that, his feelings were complicated.
“Dad, I didn’t expect it to turn out like this,” Wang Cheng said weakly. “Should we go back?”
Wang Song shook his head. The road fee was paid; turning back now would be even worse.
“Dad, I’m sorry. I was scared earlier and embarrassed you. Next time, if anyone bullies you, I’ll fight them tooth and nail,” Wang Cheng vowed through gritted teeth.
Hearing that, Wang Song felt much better. “It’s all right, I don’t blame you.”
Without another word, father and son arrived at the textile factory housing compound.
Wang Song saw Wang Peng’s cart parked east of the main gate, so he stopped his on the west side.
Wang Peng glanced up at them and shook his head slightly—were they here to steal business?
Seeing Wang Song’s sullen face, he guessed they had probably been extorted.
“Even if they were extorted fifty yuan, as long as they sell the whole cart, they shouldn’t lose money,” he thought.
“Who told you to sell here?” The gatekeeper Huang Biao came out of the guardroom, pointing at Wang Song. “Clear out. No stalls allowed here.”
Wang Song was dumbfounded and immediately pointed at Wang Peng. “Then why is he here?”
“The factory director permitted him to sell here. Go ask the director if you want to complain,” Huang Biao strode up. “Move quickly, or I’ll call the factory police to kick you out.”
The factory police were enterprise police, commanded by the public security bureau, responsible for protecting the state-owned enterprise’s normal production, and they were armed.
“Brother, I’ll stay here just for one day. I won’t come tomorrow,” Wang Song was full of frustration.
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