The next day, Fang Damiao got up early and went to look for him.
As dawn broke, Gaodi Street was already bustling with activity. People were carrying goods, shouting, and bicycle bells were ringing. Fang Damiao weaved through the crowd, his eyes fixed on the clothes racks that were fully loaded with clothes.
He stopped in front of a stall where the owner, a woman in a floral shirt, was folding t-shirts for a customer.
Fang Damiao leaned closer and asked shyly, "Big sister, could you tell me how much these short-sleeved shirts cost wholesale?"
"What kind of style do you want, handsome?" The older woman looked up at him, her hands still busy. "These basic styles outside, 5 pieces or more, are 7.5 yuan each; mixed colors, 10 pieces or more, are 7.2 yuan each."
Fang Damiao reached out and touched the fabric. It felt alright, a bit softer than the undershirts back home. "Can I get a discount if I buy more?"
The older woman looked at him; his tanned skin and rough hands didn't seem like someone who came to pick up clothes. "Are you here to pick up the goods, or are you just looking around first?"
"I have this idea, let me take a look first."
"Oh, if you decide to do it, come and get it. I'll give you a discount. It's easy to do. You can make three to five yuan per piece. Even if you sell 10 pieces in one night, you'll still make thirty to fifty yuan."
Fang Damiao did the math and realized that he could earn a month's wages from the construction site in just a few days.
He felt troubled again when he checked the 60-odd yuan he had left in his pocket. There were stall fees, money to buy goods, and he wasn't even sure if he could get a stall.
However, Fang Damiao decided to stay here. He would find a temporary job to save up some capital and then figure out how to do business in the night market. Maybe he could have his own stall in that sea of lights and no longer have to rely on manual labor to make a living.
But when it came to finding work, Fang Damiao was in trouble again. He didn't want to do jobs like tying steel bars, moving bricks, or mixing cement at construction sites, especially now that it was so hot.
With less and less money in his pocket, Fang Damiao was determined to start a business if given the chance.
Fang Damiao doesn't know anything else, and even if he doesn't go to the construction site, he can only find temporary jobs that require physical labor.
For the next six months, Fang Damiao wandered around the streets of Guangzhou like a headless fly, sometimes moving goods, sometimes doing odd jobs. He couldn't stay in any job for long, either because he thought it was too tiring or because the pay was too low. He always felt that the next job would be better.
He often went to the West Lake Road night market. Sometimes he would squat by the stalls and watch the vendors sell their goods, wondering whether to sell clothes or small general merchandise. He had a lot of free time and many places to spend money.
And so, they earned a little, spent a little, and by the end of the year, they had no money left in their pockets.
Red lanterns were hung in the streets. Fang Damiao patted his pockets and realized that he had not only failed to save any money, but he also couldn't even afford the fare home.
He was frantic, but finally found a job near the train station helping people move their luggage. The boss said he wouldn't take a break during the Chinese New Year and the salary would be doubled.
Fang Damiao gritted his teeth and agreed, "I won't go back for the New Year. I'll wait until I've made some money."
He wrote a letter home saying he was out looking after business and wouldn't be back for the New Year.
Fang Meixiang saw that Fang Meihao had returned home. The family was making New Year's cakes, and cured meat was hanging under the eaves. The sound of firecrackers drifted from afar, and the air seemed to be telling her that the New Year was coming soon, and her husband, Fang Damiao, would be back.
Fang Meixiang would intentionally or unintentionally look towards the intersection where Da Miao had returned last year, to see if Fang Da Miao had come back.
"Ring ring!" The postman has arrived with the mail.
Fang Dongqiang ran out first, asking, "Did my dad send money?"
Fang Meihao took the letter, checked the address, and brought it inside. "Mother, it's probably from my brother."
"Quickly open it and take a look." Fang Meixiang's mother wiped her hands on her apron.
Fang Mei read the letter once. "Brother said he won't be coming back for the New Year."
"He's not even coming back for the New Year?" Fang Meixiang's mother glanced at Fang Meixiang. "Did he say where he was going or what he was going to do?"
He said he was looking at business opportunities.
Fang Meixiang seemed to understand what was meant, and her eyes immediately dimmed.
"What business is there to look at during the Chinese New Year? Why are you looking at business when you're doing a perfectly good job?" Fang Meixiang's mother nagged.
Fang Meixiang cast a helpless glance at her mother.
"Meixiang, Damiao wants to earn more money, he wants to earn more money for you and Dongqiang outside. He'll come back when he's earned enough." Fang Meixiang's mother patted Fang Meixiang's hand.
Fang Meixiang's lips curled into a slight smile, and her chest heaved a few times, looking extremely aggrieved.
“Meixiang, you’re a mother now, you can’t act like a child.” Fang Meixiang’s mother gestured to Fang Dongqiang.
Fang Meixiang's lips softened, forcing back the tears that had welled up in her eyes.
"Auntie, isn't my dad coming back?" Fang Dongqiang leaned closer and asked, looking up at him.
"Your father said he wants to find business outside."
"Business? Like Auntie's? Lots of good food and fun things to do too?" Fang Dongqiang's eyes lit up, and he took the letter from Fang Meihao's hand. "Let me see it."
"Can you understand it?" Fang Meili asked.
"These characters are different from those in the book. I don't recognize them," Fang Dongqiang said softly, frowning as he examined the letter.
Fang Meixiang's mother glanced at Fang Dongqiang and chuckled, "He really knows how to make excuses for himself."
"Dongqiang, practice your handwriting diligently from now on, and write your characters just like those in the book. I can teach you to write next year."
"Auntie, I'll be 6 years old next year." Fang Dongqiang puffed out his chest, looking proud.
"Yes, he is 6 years old."
"When is next year?"
"In a few days, it will be Lunar New Year's Eve. After the New Year's Eve dinner, I will wake up next year and be 6 years old."
Fang San Di's foot has basically recovered.
That year, people were hired to harvest rice and dig sweet potatoes, and after paying their wages, there was no money left over.
Fortunately, the couple continued making these decorative lanterns. Although the money wasn't much, it covered Fang Sandi's medical expenses and living costs, and they managed to get through the year.
Around the Lunar New Year, the factory closed for the holiday, and there was no work to do.
“We should have taken more materials to make during the Lunar New Year, and then sent them back next year. We’ll be idle again during the first month of the lunar year,” Yu Jihong said with some regret.
“You’ve worked hard this year too, take a break during the New Year!” Fang Sandi took Yu Jihong’s hand and touched the calluses on her hands. “Your hands have become like this. Next year when I can get out of bed, you won’t have to work so hard.”
"I'll go to Wenzhou next year to see if there are any lighter manufacturing jobs available."
"You're still thinking about this?" Fang Sandi was taken aback.
“I’ve been thinking about this for a while. Maybe I should go and take a look during the Lunar New Year when I have some free time.”
"They also get a holiday during the first month of the lunar calendar."
"Oh, right, that's true." Yu Jihong patted her head.
Fang Sandi looked at Yu Jihong's incredible drive to make money, then lowered his head, wondering if he should go to Wenzhou next year. If he really brought it over, he would have to constantly deal with the villagers, and he seemed a little reluctant to do so.
Let's talk about it next year, let's get through the New Year first.
Train stations are especially crowded and lively during the Spring Festival, and the festive atmosphere has long been blended into the damp wind by the crowds of people coming and going.
Fang Damiao gripped the worn-out carrying pole, bent down, and hoisted the passenger's large suitcase onto his shoulder. The rough hemp rope made his collarbone ache.
The square was full of people carrying New Year's goods and luggage, returning home. The cries of children and the greetings of relatives drifted over with the sound of train whistles. These sounds pierced his heart like needles. He wished he could be one of them at that moment, carrying luggage back to his hometown.
It was late at night, and a cold wind seeped in through the gaps in the platform. He shrank his neck and kept asking himself why the second half of the year had been so difficult. He had just muddled through it all.
I've endured hardship and exhaustion, so why can't I even go home and hug my son?
Thinking of Fang Dongqiang sitting on his bicycle, showing his front teeth and ringing the bell, thinking of him showing off his toys to other children in front of the shop, I also thought of his silly wife, Fang Meixiang. Does Fang Meixiang miss me? Does my son miss me?
Fang Damiao looked up and wiped his eyes. Next year, he was determined to make something of himself.
Continue read on readnovelmtl.com