Chapter 1334 - The Red Flower Society

As for how to handle these private markets that had sprung up due to Lingao's industrialization, not many transmigrators had given it thought yet. But letting things develop unchecked like this would definitely cause problems—regulations would have to come eventually.

Chinese farmers really aren't lacking in commercial sense, Yang Yun thought with a bitter smile. The scene before him felt rather like when he used to work as an HR at a foreign enterprise in a certain Jiangnan town and walk out onto the street. With this thought, he led his entourage through the bustling little market. His destination was the commuter branch station under construction, where a large residential district was being built.

That train platforms brought commercial opportunities apparently held true even in this Ming dynasty time-space. Of course, since the land around the station had been preemptively occupied by the Council, the commercial opportunities here were also firmly in transmigrator hands. The Cooperative had set up a presence here early on, and the Agricultural Committee's Red Flower Society had also gotten a foot in, opening a North Ice Ocean ice shop. Council enterprises consistently offered high quality goods—though the prices naturally couldn't match inferior goods, and service variety was limited. So it wasn't strange that the private market nearby was thriving.

From the direction of the commuter platform under construction, small vendors emerged in twos and threes carrying large thermos bottles, wearing white vests. From various spots around them, more converged before dispersing again. The white vests they all wore bore a large red flower painted on the back, with four-digit numbers written below in black. On the left chest was a smaller version of the same red flower and number, below which was a pocket with a cover flap. The right pocket was a large pocket extending up to the right chest.

These vendors were ice-pop sellers of the Red Flower Society, making their living peddling various popsicles around the town. Most had limited labor capacity—some were children not yet old enough for school, others elderly or women. Though many weren't naturalized citizens, for hygiene reasons they all had to undergo purification before getting this job, so whether men or women, they all had "pirate hair."

It was now approaching noon, and vendors were gradually gathering here at the ice shop to resupply. The product they sold was just one kind: popsicles, priced at 2 fen and 3 fen, the latter having a bit more mung beans or red beans than the former. The former was just an ordinary ice pop, divided into five or six flavors depending on added seasoning, though the best seller was still ordinary salted-water popsicles. The thermos bottles they carried were specially made non-tipping bottles—the so-called non-tipping bottle simply had a round iron weight cast into the base of the rattan-wrapped thermos bottle, like a tumbler toy. The outside had a reinforced rattan-wrapped shell.

"Give me a popsicle. Mung bean." Yang Yun casually stopped a youth with number 0043 and asked for a salted-water popsicle. The youth skillfully took the 5-fen note Yang Yun handed over, pulled out two 1-fen notes from his left vest pocket to give as change—but seemed to have no intention of opening his thermos to retrieve ice. Instead, he reached over to whisper something to a youth numbered 0081. Youth 81 happily opened his thermos and, using the long bamboo tongs inside, carefully retrieved a popsicle and handed it over.

"I've already made enough share money for today. My brother just started doing this and isn't very practiced yet—otherwise he couldn't even make share money." The youth explained when he saw Yang Yun's puzzled expression.

Thermos bottles were too expensive for small vendors to afford. The bottles these youths used were mostly rented. Many who joined the Red Flower Society were children of local poor families; they needed a guarantor to vouch for them to get this job. The thermos bottle rental was one mao per day—requiring the sale of 50 popsicles to cover it.

Yang Yun took a bite of the popsicle and tested the taste. Then he said: "Hmm, the insulation is good. What's your name? Where do your parents work?"

"I'm Chen Si; this is my younger brother Chen Jialuo. Our parents both work as farm laborers at Farm No. 17 under the Majiao Commune Agricultural Committee," number 0043 answered readily. "Our sales territory is this road."

"You're naturalized citizen children—why aren't you in school?" Yang Yun asked curiously. These two brothers' parents were both farm laborers; they should be naturalized citizens. But naturalized citizen children's enrollment was compulsory—even if they weren't study material, they'd be sent to apprentice teams, not left on the streets as vendors.

"Our parents don't have housing, so we can't get formal household registration. We can only count as collective registration. We can't get into school either."

Yang Yun nodded and asked about their current housing situation.

Chen Si said somewhat embarrassedly: "We just came from Guangdong a few months ago and just got registered and started working at the commune. We heard from people there: the quotas are tight now, and getting an apartment requires queuing. Our family won't get a number until the year after next."

"Where do you live now then?"

"Nowhere to live..." Chen Si spread his hands. "Our parents both live in the farm's collective dormitory. My brother and I just stay at the Red Flower Society's dormitory—one bed split between three shifts of people. At least there's a place to sleep."

"So your whole family is separated?"

"Still better than begging and sleeping in eaves and ruined temples. At least it's a proper building and proper beds," Chen Si laughed. "Besides, the commune cadres said once our number comes up, we'll have housing. Just gotta tough it out." The youth spoke with an envious tone: "I've seen the farm houses—they're really bright and clean, and not thatched roofs either. It'd be nice to live in one of those sooner."

Watching the youth gradually walk away, Yang Yun raised his wrist to check the time—7:11 PM. In his mind he thought: If I get diarrhea again within two hours, I'm going to tell Nanhai to have the naturalized citizen new factory director at the popsicle plant go work the mines with the old factory director under Fu Youdi's supervision. In eighteenth-century England, shared ice cream cups had infected over a million Britons with tuberculosis, which was why only popsicles were allowed for street sales now. All thermos bottles were standardized for 50 popsicles; vendors were strictly forbidden from touching popsicles with their hands—anyone caught got three months of labor reform, and employed parents would have wages docked. All for hygiene.

Due to lax management, there had already been several mass food poisoning incidents caused by contamination during popsicle making and sales. Though diarrhea wasn't fatal in current Lingao, having several hundred people unable to work normally at once was still a significant loss. After the last popsicle-caused food poisoning outbreak, a transmigrator had even proposed at a standing committee meeting to close the popsicle factory and suspend sales of this easily contaminated food. But thanks to vigorous lobbying by the Light Industry Bureau, Commerce Bureau, and Agricultural Committee, the proposal had been blocked.

Passing through the platform, they soon reached the construction site perimeter. It was lunch hour. The Council's workers didn't have the concept of a lunch break. To squeeze out manpower, except for work requiring high physical strength or technical skill, most work was divided only into day and night shifts with a meal served at scheduled times during each—eat and then work. It was the same here; workers ate on-site. Food had been prepared by the cafeteria and was being carried up to the construction site by workers with shoulder poles. Groups of workers were queuing for their meals.

Yang Yun went directly to the construction command post. Two guards at the door saw the leader and hastily saluted.

"Old Yang, what brings you here?" Zhang Xingpei was reclining on a beach chair gnawing on a chicken leg, surprise written across his face.

"Isn't it obvious—I'm worried about the progress here."

"Let's talk business after we eat. I don't want indigestion. Have you eaten?"

"Not yet—you brat, you're even eating a private meal!" Yang Yun noticed the coal stove and pots and pans on the side.

"The cafeteria cooks can't cook for shit. Come on in, eat together." Zhang Xingpei was quite hospitable. Alone on this site supervising, with civil construction not getting much transmigrator attention, it was rare to have leadership come by to check up.

Zhang Xingpei's secretary and Dai Xiu went together to bring over food. Yang Yun likewise sat down beside him. The two guards, at his instruction, took the food and drink Zhang Xingpei's apprentice brought over only after being ordered, carefully taking turns eating.

"You brat are eating luxuriously—hibiscus chicken slices, pickled fish, twice-cooked pork... and even braised soft-shell turtle!"

"Absolutely wild-caught."

"Find me a farmed one and that'd be the rarity," Yang Yun laughed. He wasn't interested in this stuff—meat and chicken were more his thing.

Yang Yun picked up a slice of twice-cooked pork with his chopsticks and washed it down with kvass. Really good—only the Commercial House Restaurant could produce such authentic Sichuan cuisine. Though the transmigrator special-ration cafeteria at Hundred Fathoms City had excellent cooking, one tired of it after a while, and mass-produced meals couldn't be too refined. Completely different from a restaurant's output.

"The local foreman paid tribute. Eating would be a waste otherwise."

In Lingao now, to utilize more labor outside the system, this model of local foremen organizing temporary workers was very common. Naturally, local foremen would proactively cultivate good relations with their supervising leaders.

"You brat are pretty corrupt."

"Heh heh, if I didn't get to be corrupt, what would be the point of my being here?"

"Accepting food debts and accepting hands—if you eat like this, what if someone cuts corners on you?"

Zhang Xingpei gave a knowing laugh and didn't answer, just kept urging Yang Yun to eat more.

He soon finished eating. Seeing Yang Yun still going at it heartily, his urge to talk suddenly arose. When transmigrators got together, the main activity was ranting—ranting about the Executive Committee, ranting about the Standing Committee, ranting about the various bureaus and departments. In short, just haters hating.

"The fuck—our civil construction is just a tragedy, no one pays attention! Need people—none. Need equipment—none. Need materials—none!"

"The Homebody Party's Qian Shuiting was talking big before he took office, going to do some major cabinet reshuffle, sort out the government operations. Now the fucker's gone and reshuffled himself right into cabinet. We fringe people keep washing feet for those TOPs!"

"The fuck—do they even look at history? The massive state enterprises in the PRC building residential quarters—take Anyang Iron and Steel, from 1958 to 1961, three years, they only co-built 36 buildings with Anyang Construction Company, only 25 of which were actually theirs, plus 40 bungalows. Anyang Steel had over 30,000 workers, over 1,000 households—in three years they only settled 16,000 singles and 500-odd families. The rest were still in work sheds!"

(End of Chapter)