Chapter 1: Chen Qi

You only come to realize with age that sometimes, even a good bowel movement is something to boast about.

It was 1979—a springtime.

Chen Qi pulled up his trousers, stepped out from the public restroom in Menkuang Alley, and drew a satisfied circle in the air. He had just relieved himself splendidly, his digestion smooth, his spirits high, his nineteen-year-old heart pumping blood and pulse with vigor, the untouched sponge within him stirring under the pressure of his abdomen—a feeling he hadn’t had in ages!

Nine o'clock in the morning.

The workday had already begun, so the alley was particularly quiet. This was a narrow lane, a hundred meters long and three meters wide, inconspicuously tucked away in Dashilan. Thirty years ago, it had been a famed street for snacks: braised beef from Fushun Zhai, stuffed pancakes from Ruibin Lou, old tofu from the Kang family, sticky rice from Nian Gao Qian, tripe from Bao Du Feng, buns from Baozi Yang, and more. Along with Dashilan, it had made this one of the most bustling places in the capital.

After walking a few steps, Chen Qi arrived at the entrance of Courtyard No. 12. A sign nailed to the door read: “Xinhua Bookstore Staff Dormitory.”

It used to be the residence of Zhang Henshui, who had lived here for three years, written “The Aristocratic Family of Gold Dust,” and later moved to Nanjing. The compound had changed hands several times before becoming a dormitory.

As a dormitory, it was naturally haphazard.

Dozens of families shared water, with makeshift coal sheds and storerooms everywhere, clanging pots and pans, the constant clatter of daily life. What people call the beauty of “earthly smoke and fire” is only a judgment made from a position of privilege; if you’re living in it, you’d never find it beautiful.

Chen Qi couldn’t get used to this shabby place. His parents had already gone to work. He entered the house, washed his hands and splashed his face. Reflected in the “East Is Red” mirror was the image of a young man.

His hair was not parted in the current style, but cut very short, each strand sticking up like a bristle. His eyes were bright, his lips thin, giving his handsome face a hint of rebellion. He stood about 1.78 meters tall—a great height for this era.

How tall is that, exactly?

Aaron Kwok is about 1.65 meters, Andy Lau 1.69, Jacky Cheung 1.73, and Leon Lai a towering 1.79. If you think the other three look tall, it’s because they always wore custom lifts in their shoes…

“Chen Qi?”

“Chen Qi?”

A sudden call from outside the door. In ran a girl, her hair cut short to her ears, face round like an apple, her skin rough, tall and sturdy, dressed in old gray cotton clothes and pants, wearing cloth shoes with black uppers and red soles—her feet must have been at least a size 41.

“Why are you dawdling? Come on, it’s time for the meeting!”

“I don’t want to go.”

He lazily wanted to lie down a little longer.

“If you keep this up, I’ll have to criticize you. How did you become so passive and decadent after coming back to the city? Comrade Chen Qi, pull yourself together! Don’t give up just because of temporary setbacks. The organization will arrange work for us!”

“Comrade Huang Zhanying, please don’t let our revolutionary camaraderie weigh on you. Let me sink into depravity...”

“Enough nonsense, get up, let’s go!”

Huang Zhanying’s voice was loud, her strength even greater. She hauled him up in one go.

Chen Qi had no choice but to sluggishly put on his jacket and step into a pair of black-soled, red-bottomed cloth shoes.

Each mounted their heavy-framed bicycles, slipped out of the alley, and were immediately greeted by Dashilan, slowly recovering its vitality. Winding through several turns, they reached Zhushikou Avenue and headed east. The Beijing of 1979 seemed to drift by like a sequence of old photographs.

The sky was gray and gloomy. With little traffic, the streets felt especially wide; bicycles rode grandly down the center. On both sides, the buildings were low and dilapidated, crisscrossed with a dense web of poles and wires. The crowd was a somber tide—blue, gray, army green—brightened only by the occasional white uniform of a police officer.

On both sides of the road, people were planting trees at intervals.

A couple of years earlier, the UN Environment Programme had declared that Beijing was on the edge of desertification.

It was the truth. The spring sandstorms were fierce. That year, another dust storm swept in, and Xinhua News Agency issued a special report, “Wind and Sand Closing In on Beijing.” Coinciding with the Fifth National Senior Officials’ Conference, March 12 was declared Arbor Day.

It was the first year; the whole city was planting poplar trees. So every spring afterward, there were not only sandstorms, but also clouds of poplar and willow fluff…

They cycled about five kilometers to the east side of the Temple of Heaven, where a building stood:

Chongwen District Workers’ Club!

“So many people?”

“Probably every unemployed youth in the district is here!”

“It's called ‘awaiting employment’!”

“Right, right, ‘awaiting employment’... Seems like every era invents new terms.”

Chen Qi muttered to himself, noticing the sea of people ahead, packed tightly together, young men and women, each looking more dejected and dowdier than the last, glancing about as they waited for the club doors to open.

Huang Zhanying was an extrovert, unafraid of social interaction. She grabbed a skinny young man with glasses and asked, “Comrade, we just arrived. Do you have any news?”

“I do have some…” he replied warmly, lowering his voice. “I heard Chongwen District is a pilot area—they’re starting with us, going to set up big production service cooperatives.”

“Cooperatives? That means collective units!” Huang Zhanying’s eyes widened even further, lowering her voice, “That won’t do. Collective units pay less, have worse benefits, no perks, and people laugh at you.”

“Hey, you act all upright at my place, but now you’re suddenly so pragmatic?” Chen Qi said.

“If it were a formal work unit, even if they assigned me to clean toilets, I’d do it. But collective units aren’t official! Don’t laugh at me—you’re the same. Could your parents bear that shame?”

“I don’t care…”

Just then, the crowd began to stir, waves of people pushing forward, calls for order echoing—the club had opened its doors.

Huang Zhanying dragged him along, charging ahead like a warrior, not losing her place. After much struggle, they managed to get inside—a hall big enough for a thousand people, two stories, with a stage up front, suitable for events or film screenings.

A banner hung: “Chongwen District Government On-Site Briefing on Employment for Unemployed Youth!”

They found seats.

Soon, several officials took the stage and the meeting began.

At the start of 1979, there were twenty million people nationwide waiting for jobs—over ten million were educated youth, 2.3 million were urban idle labor, 1.05 million were college and technical school graduates or demobilized soldiers. In the capital, the situation was especially dire: four hundred thousand unemployed youths, with an average of one unemployed in every 2.7 households.

That ratio was terrifying! Even worse than the post-pandemic era.

Many people have a stereotypical impression of this era: if you did well in school, even a technical school diploma would guarantee you a good job, all assigned by the state… True, jobs were assigned, but only if there were enough positions to fill.

The “Up to the Mountains and Down to the Countryside” movement had begun in the 1950s, fundamentally to ease the employment pressure from the first postwar baby boom. After that tide receded, the educated youth returned to the cities, overlapping with the second baby boom, resulting in a huge number of unemployed young people. Energetic and with nothing to do, this group spent their days wandering the city, fighting and causing trouble—a highly unstable factor.

Thus, solving employment became the nation’s top priority that year.

The officials droned on, but Chen Qi quickly distilled it down to three points:

Parents could take early retirement, letting their children take their jobs.

Government offices and units were to accept a certain number of unemployed youth, hiring them as long-term temps, encouraging one person’s work to be done by two, three people’s meals to be shared by five.

The collective ownership economy would be developed, opening new avenues and relaxing employment restrictions.

“Inheriting parents’ jobs, temp work, slacking off at work, flexible employment… So this is where it all started!”

“The service sector was basically scrapped nationwide, of course there aren’t enough jobs. They need to rebuild the service sector!”

“By the late ‘90s, the third baby boom hit, then university enrollment expanded… Life in the future is so much simpler—livestreaming, food delivery, ride-hailing, all in one step.”

Chen Qi chuckled, but thinking of the future, he grew a little melancholic and sighed.

“Sigh, short dramas really lost me money.”

“A once-successful man worth tens of millions, reduced to emptying chamber pots in this shabby alley—who can I complain to?”

That’s right, he was an outsider to this era.

Truth be told, he hadn’t wanted to come here at all. The future was so much better—Wi-Fi, Bilibili, Douyin, food delivery, high-speed rail, even hiring prostitutes could be done nationwide with a phone app; even Xiaomi was making cars, and Lei Jun would open the car door for you himself…

In his previous life, Chen Qi had lived into his forties. He was a veteran netizen since the BBS days, worked odd jobs in his youth, then started his own business, became a minor celebrity on Weibo, ran a short-video empire with over ten million fans, invested in film and television, hosted livestream sales, slept with internet celebrities and cosplay girls—not the best, but certainly not the worst, and most important, he was beholden to no one.

He’d had his ups and downs, barely made it through the pandemic, and the general situation was bleak. Even when Jia Ling lost weight, the whole country knew about it.

He made money in questionable ways, but others did even worse, and had capital backing them. In short, the big companies were monopolizing everything, and it was getting harder for small businesses to survive. His A-shares collapsed, he went all-in on short dramas and failed, drank himself into a stupor, and woke up here.

Both his parents worked for Xinhua Bookstore. He’d had a little sister, but she passed away. The original Chen Qi had gone to the countryside after middle school; Huang Zhanying was his comrade-in-arms from those days, and her parents also worked for the bookstore, living in the same compound, with a younger brother below her.

After returning to the city, the original Chen Qi took many exams, but never succeeded, and became a proud member of the “awaiting employment” youth.

“We must give priority to those who are older and have been waiting the longest!”

“After today’s meeting, neighborhood officials will visit every household, establish production service cooperatives, and ensure every unemployed youth has a job…”

“Trust in the organization, and change your mindset. Times are changing—we’ve even established diplomatic relations with America! Besides, there’s no high or low among positions, no noble or base among jobs. You can contribute to the motherland and the Four Modernizations no matter where you are!”

The officials’ words rang out with conviction, while the crowd below sat bewildered and lost.

“Hah…”

Chen Qi yawned.