Chapter Six: The High-Priced Red Fox Fur

When he arrived in the county, the roads were noticeably wider and the snow much less, likely cleared by someone the day before. A few people had begun to emerge, and seeing Zhang Huacheng covered in frost, they grew curious and came over to take a look.

“Hey, young man, what are you selling?” asked a middle-aged man carrying a lunchbox, recognizing him as a mountain dweller selling goods.

“Fish and crabs, caught from the sea last night and early this morning. Uncle, want some?” Zhang Huacheng was tired and set down his sack, pointing to the frozen fish and crabs in the bamboo basket behind him.

“Oh, good stuff! Are the crabs fat?” the man inquired.

“You bet. November sea crabs are full of roe and crab butter. If they’re not fat, you don’t pay!” Zhang Huacheng said confidently.

Seeing the man’s interest, he knew the sale was made.

“What’s the price?”

“Two mao each for the crabs in this basket, fifteen cents for the ones below. Pick whichever you like. The bigger fish go for fifteen cents each, smaller ones ten cents.”

In the 1960s, prices were low: prime meat cost seven mao per jin, the poorest meat five mao; eggs were three cents apiece; a large bowl of shredded pork noodles less than two mao; and even restaurant-grade sea fish sold for just four mao per jin.

“That’s expensive,” the man mumbled.

“What are you selling?” other passersby gathered to see.

“I’ll take those crabs, those, and those, and those fish, and the smaller ones too!” The man quickly paid, fearing others would snatch them first.

Zhang Huacheng promptly bound the goods with dry grass, receiving one yuan in hand.

“What’s the price? I want some too!”

“What are you selling?” more people drawn by the fresh catch began to crowd around.

After two days of heavy snow, seafood was rare and precious, so seeing fresh goods brought people in groups.

The first buyer lingered, proudly showing off his crabs and fish to neighbors, acting like a live advertisement.

“Kid, my place is just down that alley. Next time you pass by, shout out loud,” said the man, stamping his feet in the cold as he headed home with his catch.

“A good start!” Zhang Huacheng smiled, looking at his nearly empty basket and the hefty sum of 4.35 yuan in his hand.

Time was pressing, so he hurried toward the morning market.

As expected, the heavy snow had kept most vendors away. His prices were reasonable, and within half an hour, nearly all his crabs and fish were sold.

Seeing others packing up, he quickly did the same, wary of being caught by the Red Guards. If so, not only would his goods be confiscated without payment, but his family would have to pay a hefty ransom.

Beneath his clothes, he still carried a red fox pelt, worth far more than all the fish and crabs combined.

He gathered the remaining seafood into the basket.

“Sister, want fish and fat crabs? Just caught from the sea!” he called out.

“Auntie, fresh seafood here!” he shouted to others.

“Boss, seafood fresh from the sea! I’ve got some octopus and sea snails too.”

On the way to the purchasing station, Zhang Huacheng easily sold most of his goods. His good looks won favor among the city ladies—almost every few inquiries resulted in a sale.

The purchasing station was already open, and as soon as Zhang Huacheng entered, the warmth was welcoming.

“From the mountains? Got mountain goods?” asked a man in a Zhongshan suit who was stoking the stove, his eyes lighting up as Zhang Huacheng approached.

The roads had been blocked by snow for two days, so the station had received nothing, though even in winter they had tasks to fulfill.

If it were another season, the enthusiasm wouldn’t be this high.

“Do you buy red fox pelts?” Zhang Huacheng opened his coat to reveal the golden-red fur inside.

“Oh, a rare item! Do you have the whole pelt?” The buyer’s eyes gleamed; this was a coveted treasure.

He took out the pelt, its fur vibrant and silky, and examined it meticulously.

“A fine adult red fox, flawless pelt, expertly skinned, must have been just done recently. Hmm, top quality.”

The buyer was honest, and after a moment’s thought, offered a price.

“Thirteen yuan fifty cents, little brother. A few days ago, I’d have paid thirteen at most, but now I’ll give you an extra half yuan.”

“Agreed.”

The price was close to Zhang’s estimate, and the buyer seemed straightforward.

“We also buy medicinal herbs here,” he added. “Prices have risen recently. If you have any, especially Changbai Mountain ginseng, bring them by.”

Changbai Mountain ginseng—such a treasure, but Zhang didn’t have any.

He shook his head. “The heavy snow has blocked the mountains; ginseng is hard to find. I’ll spread the word for you after I get back.”

Then he gestured toward the fish basket. “Do you buy sea fish and crabs? These were just caught this morning.”

“We don’t buy those here, but I might buy some for personal use.”

The buyer smiled, pleased that Zhang would promote his business.

Those working at the purchasing station were no ordinary folk; their monthly salary was over twenty yuan, so money wasn’t an issue.

When Zhang Huacheng left the station, he had fifteen yuan more in his pocket—now carrying a total of 27.64 yuan, an astonishing fortune at the time.

He then headed to the department store, bustling with people.

On entering, the stationery counter was on the left: pencils for two cents, erasers, rulers for four cents, pencil cases for twenty cents, fountain pen ink for fifteen.

There were counters for daily sundries, hardware and electric goods, foodstuffs...

Zhang Huacheng bought many items: half a pound of hard candy, salt, vinegar, soy sauce, a scoop net, saw, hammer, nails, and red thread.

All these cost just 6.42 yuan.

He couldn’t buy everything he wanted because most goods, aside from stationery and cookware, required ration coupons—grain coupons for agricultural products, cloth coupons for substitutes, industrial coupons for manufactured goods.

“Guess I’ll have to hit the black market,” he thought. He knew where it was, though prices there were much higher despite not needing coupons.

The black market was tucked away in a remote alley, surrounded by woods, where one could find coarse grains, fine grains, meat, ration tickets, eggs...

Everything imaginable was there.

Without wasting time, Zhang bought ten jin of millet, ten jin of flour, twenty jin of cornmeal, and two jin of nearly all-fat pork.

“Sir, can I look at the books by your feet?” an old man called out.

Passing a stall, Zhang spotted a few books pressed under the old man’s foot.

The Cultural Revolution hadn’t ended; printing these books was forbidden, making them rare and hard to find.

The old man sized him up before moving his foot.

“Dream of the Red Chamber!”

Zhang’s face lit up. Though worn, he recognized it as the 1953 edition published by the Writers’ Publishing House. The white cover bore only the characters for “Dream of the Red Chamber” in traditional script. Based on the Yadong reprint, it was the earliest edition printed after 1949. He decided to buy it immediately—Wang Lin loved that novel.

“How many volumes?”

“All three: upper, middle, and lower. No missing pages. Interested?”

The old man was somewhat indifferent.

“How much?”

“Three volumes for three yuan, no single sales.”

They were old, yet quite expensive. Zhang thought for a moment, then offered two yuan.

“Two yuan. Let me have them.”

At once, the old man swiftly wrapped the books in newspaper.