Within a few days, both of them got caught while trying to group-buy something together.
This string of jet beads, according to Zhang Dexu, was given to his grandfather by Yang Jingyu when he crossed the Hun River.
Liu Zhengliang said, "If that's the case, then it's even less valuable. You can't really put a price on this thing."
Zhang Dexu started boasting again: "Right, so I can't sell it. This thing has to be passed down through generations. Let me tell you, if I were willing to go all out, if I sold this and went south to start any business, the money would make more money, and I'd turn my life around immediately."
People from Fushun have a particular way of boasting—they can always switch to a different track to compete with you. If you say you earn seventy or eighty thousand a month, they're not intimidated; they'll say they spend sixty or seventy thousand a month, just because they love splurging, and if they don't, they feel restless and itchy. If you say you lost over ten thousand in a day of gambling without moving from your seat, they'll switch tracks and say they love fishing, sitting in one spot for two days and nights without budging. If you say you also love fishing and once caught a dozen-pound bighead carp at Chagan Lake, they'll say they've eaten a twenty-pound lobster that was incredibly delicious, courtesy of a friend at some forgotten-name restaurant in Shanghai, with transparent glass all around and a fantastic atmosphere. If you say you've had the Manchu-Han Imperial Feast at Li Family Cuisine in Dongdan, they'll say they visited the Jing Shi Fang in Beijing and saw the knives used for eunuchs. It's always like taking a turn at a T-junction, running parallel for a short stretch in the conversation, then suddenly drifting away. They love jumping frequencies and changing channels like this, but they never lose in a war of words.
Chapter 9
Another family had moved into the Neurosurgery ward, and Liu Zhengliang would often go banter with Zhang Dexu whenever he had the chance. Zhang Dexu's family lived on Gongnong Street in Fushun. The street had since been demolished and replaced with a residential complex, entirely Baroque-style architecture, with exterior walls clad in imitation stone tiles, slender windows, and domed roofs. The complex was named Barcelona. A few years ago, it wasn't like this—the only domed structures in the area were the vegetable greenhouses, while the rest were red-brick houses with black tiled roofs and horizontal beams. Some houses even had firebricks mixed in, stolen by the homeowners from a nearby refractory materials factory. These single-story houses were lined up in rows. To keep warm in winter, some had thresholds over a foot high, and their small courtyards were dug half a meter into the ground, saving bricks on the foundation while providing insulation. These houses were originally converted from state-owned farm sheds, and most families could still build a small storage shed outside the yard. To the left of the gate, stacks of corn harvested in autumn were piled up; to the right, heaps of coal briquettes, as every household burned coal to get through the winter. Located near the highway from Shenyang, a quick glance while driving past made it clear this was a poor neighborhood. One year, a high-ranking official came for an inspection and was deeply troubled by the sight of such a large, disorderly area along the road. He brought it up several times in meetings, saying, "You must provide workers with a better living environment." The mayor, being shrewd, had four buildings constructed along the highway, blocking the view of the vast area behind—out of sight, out of mind. China is so vast, and a leader's two terms only last ten years. With so many places across the country, they can't possibly visit them all. As long as the next high-ranking official doesn't see such sights upon entering your jurisdiction, that's enough.Later, that mayor ended up in prison for election bribery. It's said that when he was being transported to Shenyang, he passed through this area. Coincidentally, the highway was undergoing renovations, so they took a detour through small roads crossing the construction zone. When he saw the single-story houses behind, he remarked, "Ah, why didn't I properly redevelop this place back then?"
The disciplinary inspection officer accompanying him had a sharp tongue and retorted, "See? If you don't reshape the real world, the real world will reshape you instead."
Zhang Dexu just had bad luck. His family originally lived fifty meters from the road, and the single-story house was quite comfortable. Suddenly, four six-story buildings went up to the south, and that was the end of that. Starting at 9 AM, the sun would be blocked, reappear at 10:30, disappear again at 11, shine for half an hour at 3 PM, and then it would be dark until evening. Zhang Dexu was uneducated and didn't know how to file a complaint about his right to sunlight, nor did he know how much compensation he might get. But now, with his daughter Zhang Jiao in such a condition, it was difficult to bring her home for recuperation. Just getting her hospital bed through the doorway would require dismantling the doorframe. Besides, there was no sunlight at home, and the gloomy, cold environment wasn't suitable for recovery. Fortunately, Liu Zhengliang arranged a hospital room for them—bright and sunny, with sunlight that could even disinfect. Although the rent was a thousand yuan a month, he didn't have to pay for water or electricity. He could put some rice and water in a steel lunchbox, steam it for two hours, and have cooked rice by noon. The only downside was the inconvenience of stir-frying dishes. Eating steamed food every day meant no oily satisfaction, but at least he saved on gas cylinder costs and didn't need to buy coal for winter heating. Where else could you find such a good deal?
Zhang Dexu didn't have a steady job either. During the years when the refractory plant was dragging on without officially going bankrupt, he would squat by the roadside doing odd jobs. Now, with his daughter in this situation, even if he pinched every penny, basic expenses like food, utilities, and medical bills would still amount to over three thousand yuan a month, without buying anything else.
Ai San came to see him and said, "Brother, I see you're at the hospital every day, so you're well-informed and would be the first to know if anything happens. Also, since you're in a tight spot financially, I can offer you a job. If someone passes away, could you help me take care of things and secure the business for me? That way, I won't have to keep running over here. I'm expanding my operations now, focusing more on Shenyang. I'll be traveling frequently to Shengjing Hospital and the affiliated hospital of China Medical University in Shenyang, and I'll also coordinate with Wenguantun Crematorium to promote our Funeral One-Stop Service there. After all, Shenyang is the provincial capital—more affluent people. Unlike Fushun, where even a major funeral only costs eighteen thousand, and people are stingy about it. In Shenyang, a single job starts at twenty thousand, with thirty thousand being the average. But Fushun is our home base, so we can't abandon our existing business. My daughter Ai Chen will manage this area from now on, and you'll coordinate with her."
Zhang Dexu thought this was a great idea and asked, "What's your daughter up to now? Hasn't she always been helping you with this?"
Ai San said proudly, "My daughter is sharper than me. She wants to start Funeral Association catering. She says we need to integrate the upstream and downstream to form an industrial chain. How much can you really earn just from encoffining and hosting ceremonies? That's all manual labor money. But if we handle all the catering for Funeral One-Stop Services, imagine how much we could make in a year!"Zhang Dexu's wife Dou Liping also came out of the hospital room. Hearing just half a sentence, she immediately found this matter interesting. Poor people—when they reach a certain level of poverty, their eyes light up at any opportunity to make money. Dou Liping's eyes would gleam at the sight of a plastic bottle or cardboard box in the hospital room. She even begged Che Mingming to give her the medical waste from IV drips—how much money could that fetch by weight? Che Mingming was horrified and said, "Sis, I really don't dare give this to you. You can take all the plastic bottles from the Coke and Sprite we drink in the hospital."
When Dou Liping heard that Ai San had work available, the fighting spirit unique to the proletariat surged within her. She asked, "Brother, how much per month?"
Ai San said, "One thousand a month, five hundred per job."
While Zhang Dexu was still calculating, Dou Liping immediately agreed. After seeing Ai San off, she scolded Zhang Dexu: "What's there to calculate? Do you know how many people the hospital sends off each day? Why hesitate about this business?"
The first peak of Fushun's migration wave came with Soviet aid to China. Among the 156 projects, eight were in Fushun, along with 118 supporting factories and mines. Over a few years, over a million people came to Fushun. That wave of people arrived in their twenties and thirties—now they're in their seventies and eighties. The passing of people happens with startling speed; in an old workers' residential area, funeral tents appear every week.
Zhang Dexu still hadn't figured it out: "Is this feasible? What if we spend every day there with few jobs? What about the child's nutrition and medicine?"
Dou Liping said: "This business is good—fast turnover, faster than bottled water, cigarettes, or alcohol. What's the profit margin on bottled water? Five percent. Cigarettes? One percent. Alcohol? Three percent. And this? Pure profit. Have you ever seen anyone haggle over funeral arrangements? What, want a wholesale price? How many urns are you buying?"
Chapter 10
During the 1998 state-owned enterprise reforms, besides core steel enterprises and oil refineries, Fushun's entire industrial chain of supporting factories faced production cuts, workforce reductions, or even bankruptcy restructuring. What did bankruptcy restructuring mean? In the workers' eyes, it wasn't about the factory being reborn—it was about why they were being left out. Why were they being forced to accept buyouts and leave? The factory was neither state-owned nor collectively owned anymore—had it become privately owned?
Actually, it was understandable. Your factory was full of state workers who didn't work hard but enjoyed high benefits—how much did that labor cost? Fushun winters are bitterly cold—how much did it cost to heat the factory buildings yearly? The components produced here had to be transported to industrial clusters in the south—how much were the shipping costs? Your products updated slowly, personnel mobility was poor, technological upgrades lagged—how much was the time cost?
So, if you didn't undergo bankruptcy restructuring, it would defy all reason.
At this time, there was a senior engineer in the machinery factory—Lao Duan, a woman in her fifties—who was bypassed by the general manager during the ownership reform. Naturally unhappy, she clashed with him in meetings big and small, eventually cursing him to his face. The general manager, clever man, had people take Lao Duan's son out drinking and partying, setting him up to be arrested by police. Lao Duan's son lost his job at the Coal Research Institute due to being fired, and Lao Duan lost all face. She sat facing a wall at home for a whole week.The elderly woman had written dozens of pages of petition materials, filing complaints from the municipal government to the municipal party committee and then to the Provincial State-owned Assets Supervision and Administration Commission, escalating level by level. Initially, everyone took it seriously—shareholding reform was a sensitive topic at the time, after all, hadn’t the CEO of Jianlibao been targeted over ownership reform issues? But once they looked into it, they realized the case was impossible to handle. How do you value a factory on the brink of bankruptcy? How do you assess its asset value? If you claim it’s worth 30 million, the investors might argue it’s only worth 5 million. With no cash flow or technology to speak of, all that’s left are industrial workers, machine tools, and factory buildings. As long as the valuation isn’t based on scrap metal prices, it falls within the reasonable range for negotiations. As for how much improper benefit transfer occurred within that range, that requires evidence. But even if there were issues, to file a case, you’d have to go back to your local Fushun authorities and have the audit department review it.
Lao Duan took the materials back to the Fushun Municipal Government, where officials explained that state-owned enterprises were in a tough spot—perennially losing money, supporting thousands of employees, and now undergoing restructuring at the price of non-performing assets. If he felt there was injustice, he could appeal to the provincial level. They couldn’t just file a case arbitrarily; doing so would disrupt the restructuring process. What would happen to the thousands of current and retired workers? How would their social security funds be covered? Who would pay the heating fees at the end of the year? Should they repeat last year’s scenario, where hundreds of elderly people blocked the railway demanding heating allowances?
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