Chapter 2011 - Matchmaking Conference (II)

Qin Ruiyu prowled the room with his camera, hunting for the perfect angles. The naturalized workers had grown accustomed to his photographic enthusiasm, but the shelter students still flinched at each sharp click of the shutter.

At the back of the hall, Du Yibin sat beside Song Yingsheng, observing the proceedings while occasionally offering tea and refreshments. Song Yingsheng accepted in silence, his furrowed brow and pinched expression betraying his discomfort.

Minutes later, Wang Jun concluded his opening remarks. The men and women settled into facing rows, separated by tables barely twenty centimeters wide. Despite the snacks and tea laid out before them, no one dared touch anything.

"You're free to converse now," Wang Jun announced with practiced patience. "When you hear the drum, you must change seats. If someone catches your interest but you need more time to decide, note their number. We'll handle the matching afterward." He raised his voice. "Let the matchmaking begin!"

The small drum sounded.

Silence descended—awkward and heavy. No one spoke. Wang Jun deployed every tool in his arsenal: gentle persuasion, hearty encouragement, self-deprecating jokes. He stopped just short of channeling a variety show host.

Gradually, under his relentless coaxing, conversation began to trickle through the room.

The contrast between the sexes was striking. Where the men sat tense and tongue-tied, the students radiated a blunt confidence. Their bearing lacked the demure grace of genteel ladies, possessing instead the forthright boldness of market women accustomed to hard bargaining.

This gathering differed markedly from the naturalized citizen matchmaking events held in Lingao. At those functions, participants exchanged information cards before speaking—neat forms listing age, work unit, occupation, income, and other vital statistics. A quick glance provided the essential facts about one's potential partner.

But Wang Jun had abandoned that system for this event. The shelter students were largely illiterate, and even if they could read, the bureaucratic terminology would prove meaningless. What could terms like "Administrative Grade 3" or "Technician Grade 1" possibly convey to women unfamiliar with the Council's hierarchy? As for monthly wages in Silver Yuan Circulation Vouchers, the students had no frame of reference for such figures—better to let the men explain their circumstances directly.

Besides, the women themselves had little to document. Most were what Wang Jun privately called "Three-No personnel": no family, no occupation, no assets. Their basic information—age and name—could be communicated easily enough in conversation.

Following their coached script, couples opened with the essentials: exchange names and ages, then describe family circumstances. After that, the conversation could flow naturally toward more specific details.

The students displayed no interest in occupational titles, administrative ranks, or educational credentials. What mattered to them was straightforward: a man's income and his family obligations.

Work units remained an abstraction to them. Whether "worker," "cadre," "police officer," or any other designation, it all meant the same thing in their eyes—serving the Australians, which meant drawing wages and having rice to eat.

This lack of bureaucratic awareness proved surprisingly liberating for the nervous male participants. Based on their experiences at previous matchmaking events in Lingao and elsewhere, they had learned that young women with even a passing familiarity with the Council's system—insider knowledge wasn't necessary—would lose interest the moment they heard about humble positions or work units. But these students didn't care about such distinctions. Freed from that particular anxiety, the men began to speak more openly.

"...I work in a factory—yes, one of the big workshops. My monthly wage is five and a half yuan. That can buy about five hundred catties of brown rice. Plenty to support a family. I've got no dependents, still a bachelor. Marry me and you'll live comfortably."

"...I don't own a house yet, but once we marry, the Council will allocate us an apartment. There's a twenty-year mortgage—that means I borrow the money and pay it back over twenty years, a bit deducted from my wages each month. But after that, the property's mine."

"I work as service staff for one of the agencies. An agency is like the Ming yamen, but—no, no, I'm not an official. Not a runner either. Just... odd jobs, really. Neither official nor clerk..."

"...I don't mind that you have a child. I don't have any myself. We'll keep your child—he'll be my son. I'll treat you both well..."

"...My parents are still alive, in decent health. Father does odd jobs, Mother takes in piecework at home. I have one younger sister—she's already married. My income is four yuan, four jiao, and twenty-five fen monthly. I have a house with fifteen years left on the mortgage..."

"...I'm from Shandong. Yes, came south on the Chief's ship. I had a house and land back home, lost everything when the soldiers came through. My father, mother, wife—all gone. Just me and two kids left... If you can't bear children, that's fine. I don't mind. Just be a mother to these two. When they grow up, they'll be filial, care for you in your old age..."

...

The atmosphere warmed gradually. Wang Jun finally returned to his seat, quietly instructing the drummer to extend the interval by five minutes.

"Took me long enough to get them talking," he muttered. "Let's give them a bit more time."

"Easy work for you as emcee," Du Yibin teased.

"What else can I do? This isn't a variety show—I can't very well organize song-and-dance numbers." Wang Jun gulped some tea and reached for a snack. "I actually wanted to arrange a few performances to liven things up, but there wasn't time, and we had no suitable artistic talent to help with rehearsals."

Five minutes later, the drum sounded. A dozen couples rose immediately and were escorted to a private side room where more refreshments awaited and they could converse at leisure. After varying intervals, some proceeded to the registration desk while others drifted back to the main hall. Wang Jun surveyed the room—five or six couples from the first round had registered. Excellent progress. He seized his tin megaphone:

"Six new couples have found each other! Keep at it, everyone. These matchmaking events don't happen every day—and even when they do, you might not get another chance..."

Though Wang Jun had never worked in sales, he understood the psychology of scarcity and urgency. He punctuated the proceedings with regular megaphone announcements, weaving in subtle reminders that opportunity was fleeting and might not knock twice.

The strategy worked. Under this gentle pressure, the pace accelerated. By the time the final drum of the first session sounded, thirty-some couples had completed their matching registration. After the structured rounds concluded, participants had one final opportunity: both parties could submit the number of their preferred partner for a last round of matching.

This final matching produced five more couples, bringing the total to forty-one successful pairings. In the old timeline, such a success rate would have been miraculous—"launching a satellite," as the saying went. But here, it felt entirely natural. Marriage meant partnership for living, not romantic destiny. People evaluated practical circumstances, not spiritual compatibility.

Nine women remained unmatched: some too young and particular, hoping for better prospects; others unable to bear children. The remaining men uniformly bore difficult circumstances—crushing family obligations or inadequate incomes.

Disappointment weighed more heavily on the unmatched men. They had heard that the matchmaking candidates were former prostitutes from Guangzhou, women seeking reformation. Surely, they'd reasoned, as long as a man wasn't disabled or grotesque and held down steady work, matching would be guaranteed. They had approached the event with confidence, anticipating success. To discover that even these women found them wanting—the blow left them visibly deflated.

"It's regrettable that some of you haven't found suitable partners today," Wang Jun announced. "Don't worry—we'll have one more opportunity at the very end. And if you're still unsuccessful, don't be discouraged. There will be future matchmaking events. I hope you'll find your companion next time."

Still, forced pairings made no sense in a matchmaking context. Wang Jun declared the first session concluded. The remaining participants filed out—the "one more opportunity" he mentioned would come after all three sessions, when the final unpaired individuals could try again.

Du Yibin could barely contain his satisfaction. This exceeded his expectations by a considerable margin. An eighty percent success rate! He shot Song Yingsheng a sidelong glance, just a touch smug.

Song Yingsheng's feelings remained in turmoil. On one level, he approved of the endeavor. Since ancient times, sage rulers ensured that the elderly, the young, the widowed, and the solitary all received care. That men should marry and women should wed was fundamental to proper governance. That the Australians would extend such concern even to reformed prostitutes, solving their matrimonial prospects—such care for their subjects could indeed be called benevolent.

Yet he also found the Australians' tendency to aggrandize trivial matters deeply vexing. In his view, such a minor affair could easily be handled by appointing one or two official matchmakers. Why must Elders appear personally? Why stage such an elaborate spectacle for what amounted to pairing a few artisans with reformed prostitutes?

He caught Elder Du's gaze, clearly angling for praise once again. The Australians had many genuinely commendable qualities, but this particular Elder's obsession with extracting compliments had grown tiresome. Song Yingsheng cleared his throat deliberately.

"This is indeed a benevolent act by the Council of Elders," he conceded, stroking his beard. "However..." He paused for effect. "It does seem rather excessive."

Lu Cheng and the other nearby staff members bristled. This sour old pedant had the audacity to criticize the Council as excessive? They glared at him with barely restrained fury.

Du Yibin, long accustomed to Song Yingsheng's contrarian commentary, merely raised an eyebrow. "How so?"

"As this student observes, today's participants are merely artisans and laborers, while the women are reformed prostitutes. Send one official matchmaker and one clerk to pair them by name—the entire affair could be concluded in half a day. Everyone would have a spouse, and all would be grateful for the Council's virtue. Instead, you've erected a special venue, orchestrated this grand production, allowed men and women to choose for themselves, expended considerable resources—and still nine pairs remain unmatched. Is this not making a mountain from a molehill?"