Chapter 3: The First Pot of Gold
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“No matter if it’s a big melon or a small one, they’re all three mao per jin. Sister, feel free to pick whichever you like.” Wang Peng held the woven bag, waiting for her to choose.
Lost in the repeated calls of "Sister," Liu Xiaoqing was overwhelmed. She had never been treated like this when buying melons or vegetables before.
At the farmers’ market, watermelons also cost three mao, but customers were not allowed to pick them. If you dared to touch the melons, the vendor would scold you or even get physical.
Because the farmers’ market was state-run, the vendors were salaried employees. Their sales performance didn’t affect their wages, so how could they possibly be polite?
“It’s pretty hot today. I’ll pick a few.” Liu Xiaoqing tapped this one, then that one, as if enjoying the thrill of tapping melons.
Wang Peng smiled warmly, thinking, “As long as your hands don’t mind the pain, I don’t mind the melons being handled.”
“This one’s good.” Feeling satisfied, Liu Xiaoqing lifted a basketball-sized watermelon with some effort.
“I’ll help.” Wang Peng put down the bag and packed the large melon she chose into it.
Such service was truly comfortable. Delighted, Liu Xiaoqing picked five more.
“Perfect luck, Sister, you know how to bring good fortune.” Wang Peng quickly weighed the melons and did the mental math. “Thirty-four jin and nine liang, ten yuan, four jiao, and seven fen. You just need to pay ten yuan and four jiao.”
Liu Xiaoqing wasn’t good at mental arithmetic. She took out a pen and calculated on her palm, surprised that he really discounted seven fen.
Seven fen could buy two liang of rice. She pulled out her wallet, which had crisp ten and five yuan notes, but she only handed over the worn small change.
Feeling a bit anxious, she recalled that yesterday afternoon when she bought eggplants at the farmers’ market and paid with a tattered two-yuan note, the vendor scolded her.
That damned vendor wouldn’t sell unless she paid with new bills. She was so upset she had no choice but to pay with new money.
The money was very worn; one two-yuan bill had a torn corner but was still intact and usable.
Wang Peng pocketed the money, covered the melons on the cart with watermelon vines, and said, “Over thirty jin of melons is heavy. I’ll deliver them to your home.”
“Okay.” Liu Xiaoqing felt a little embarrassed and hurriedly opened the door to invite him in.
No haggling over seven fen, no disdain for worn or tattered money, home delivery, and superb service attitude…
This was an unimaginable experience at the farmers’ market. Today, she truly felt the meaning of “the customer is king.”
Wang Peng followed her home and placed the six melons beside the sofa. “Sister, may you be eighteen years old every year.”
After all, making money means flattering a little; it’s no embarrassment.
“You speak so nicely.” Liu Xiaoqing smiled again. “Do you grow vegetables at home? Next time, bring me some greens.”
“Sure, that’s no problem.” Wang Peng agreed immediately, though he had no intention of selling vegetables.
Leaving Liu Xiaoqing’s home, he went to the next house.
An elderly woman with bound feet and a face full of wrinkles opened the door, watching him warily.
“Grandma, you’re in great health. Would you like some watermelon? I can give you watermelon vines; the goats in your yard will love them.”
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Giving away some worthless watermelon vines made the old lady beam with joy, turning it into another sale.
Then came the third, fourth, fifth orders…
With home delivery, a customer-is-king attitude, and rounding down any change under one jiao…
This combo was irresistible. Men, women, young and old couldn’t resist his sales pitch, and his success rate soared above ninety percent.
In his previous life, he had honed his smooth talk for decades—speaking appropriately to everyone, spinning words so persuasively that people felt at ease.
He had only covered half the residential compound in less than two hours, selling out a full cart of watermelons. The watermelon vines were freely given to buyers who had pigs or sheep.
If this had been at a rural market, it would have taken at least a day to sell out.
What’s more, his prices were twice those at the rural market.
He was very happy. As he pulled the cart away from the compound, the money from selling melons jingled in his pocket, causing him to wobble on each step.
These pants were hand-me-downs from his father; the waistband’s elastic had lost its stretch, and the coins in his pocket kept pulling the pants down, forcing him to hitch them up every few steps.
“Are you forcing me to buy new pants?”
His stomach grumbled in protest.
One hand gripped the cart’s shaft, the other tugged at his pants. He decided to eat first.
The streets were residential, with no restaurants or shops in sight. He turned into a nearby poplar grove and, excitedly, took out his coins.
They were mostly small change: one yuan, two yuan, one mao, two mao, and even some one- and two-fen coins.
An old man, as cunning as the legendary strategists Wolong and Fengchu, had bought a small watermelon for eight mao, paying entirely in one- and two-fen coins, treating Wang Peng like a bank.
Wang Peng moistened his finger with saliva and began counting the earnings.
One mao, two mao, five mao, one yuan, two yuan…
The highest denomination was five yuan, totaling one hundred and twenty-three yuan, eight jiao, and five fen.
“That much?” He hurriedly counted again, unable to suppress a smile.
At three mao per jin, this cart carried at least 412 jin of melons. Old man Du Geda wasn’t lying.
With a cost of forty yuan, he netted eighty-three yuan and eight jiao five fen. His lips twitched uncontrollably like an AK-47 firing.
His stomach grumbled again. He put the money away and pulled the cart, continuing to look for a place to eat.
The old city of 1993 was nothing like he remembered—no familiar skyscrapers, everything looked so old, yet it moved him deeply.
He didn’t know how long he had walked before spotting several food stalls on the roadside, with many carts parked nearby.
A gust of wind brought the stench of pig manure, and he frowned, trying to recall—this must be the pig market of Ping’an County.
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People who raised piglets came here to sell them; those who wanted to raise pigs came here to buy.
He shook his head and pulled the cart toward the food stalls.
“Little brother, want some baked flatbread? Two for five mao.” The big brother selling flatbread smiled.
“Chicken blood soup, five mao a bowl. Little brother, want a bowl?” The older sister selling the soup spoke at the same time.
Only the young Muslim man wearing a Hui cap and selling cooked beef remained silent.
“Two flatbreads and a bowl of chicken blood soup, please.” Wang Peng pulled out a handful of small change. “Brother, sister, want these coins?”
“Yes, coins are money too.” The flatbread seller hurriedly began preparing the bread.
Wang Peng hadn’t expected prices to be so cheap. The large flatbread was only two mao five fen—at least two yuan in 2024 prices.
“Brother, braised beef is five yuan per jin. Want a jin?” The Muslim young man noticed the coins and said, “Listen to me, spending money on yourself is the sweetest.”
“Alright!” That struck a chord with Wang Peng. He gave the young man a thumbs-up. “I like that. One jin of beef, please.”
“Got it.” The young man picked up his butcher’s knife and started slicing.
Sesame-covered flatbreads, spicy chicken blood soup, and delicious braised beef filled his mouth with flavor.
“Indeed, spending money on oneself is the sweetest. In my past life, I was such a fool!”
...
Wang Village.
Wang Song clenched his teeth in anger, his face dark as he stared at the kitchen.
It was already half past twelve. Before, the useless eldest son always cooked. Now that he was gone, no one was cooking?
“Damn it, it’s already noon and you really haven’t come back? Fine, I hope you starve out there.”
The angrier Wang Song grew, the more he glared at his eldest daughter, Wang Xia.
“You go cook!”
“I don’t know how to cook. Let Mom do it,” Wang Xia said weakly.
“If you don’t know how, then learn. Have Mom teach you,” Wang Song glared fiercely.
“Dad, let second brother and fourth sister learn to cook. I really can’t learn…”
“Shut up!” Wang Song pointed a finger at her nose. “If you talk back again, I’ll slap you!”
Wang Xia quickly lowered her head, covered her face with both hands, and ran to the kitchen.