(122) Like Them All

After morning exercises, Fang Chang'an returned to the classroom carrying a box of steamed buns. He set it on the podium, and the students who had placed orders came up one by one to collect their buns according to their assigned numbers. Meanwhile, he went around placing the greeting cards he had prepared on each student's desk.

"Wow, class monitor, how many did you buy?"
"Is there one for me?"

The students collecting their buns immediately looked over. Fang Chang'an continued placing the cards, smiling, "See for yourselves, I spent ages writing these."

Wang Yuwei retrieved her lunchbox, which had her number on it, and grabbed a bag of soy milk. When she returned to her seat, Fang Chang'an had just placed a greeting card on her desk and her deskmate's. She saw her card featured a picture of Jin Suo, her oval face looking elegant, charming, and very pretty.

She set down her lunchbox and flipped the card over to read the message: *Wishing classmate Wang Yuwei more beauty with each passing day, and may all your wishes come true!*

It was signed with the five characters: "Classmate Fang Chang'an."

The message was simple and plain, but the inclusion of his name showed it wasn't just scribbled randomly. Wang Yuwei glanced at Fang Chang'an, who was still busy distributing cards, then picked up her deskmate's. It featured a photo of the Fifth Prince and Xiao Yanzi. The message on the back read: *Wishing classmate Tian Yu better grades, no tardiness, no leaving early, and handing in homework on time.*

It was signed: "Your dear class monitor, Fang Chang'an."

Wang Yuwei found it amusing and couldn't help but chuckle. She bit into the corner of her soy milk bag and took a sip. The girl sitting in front turned around and asked, "Wang Yuwei, what does your card say? Let me see!"

"Let me see yours first."

That morning, most students ate their breakfast alongside their steamed buns and greeting cards. Some, seeing the different messages, jokingly questioned Fang Chang'an as to why theirs weren't as good as others'.

Since there was no time off for the New Year, this was the extent of the joy they could find. Fortunately, the second day of 2004 was a Friday, followed by a two-day weekend.

At noon, Fang Chang'an went to Wang Chuanbiao's house again and ordered a steaming bowl of rice noodles. The couple now knew he was a classmate of their son and also the class monitor, so they treated him very warmly. For the same price of one yuan, they gave him a larger portion of noodles and more toppings than anyone else.

It was precisely because Fang Chang'an's half-portion (fifty cents) was nearly as much as others' full portions that he had increased his order to a full yuan—though, of course, having more money was the most important reason; otherwise, he would have remembered the kindness without recklessly spending more.

After finishing the noodles, Fang Chang'an walked slowly back toward school against the cold wind.

When he arrived at school the previous Sunday, Cong Rong had prepared winter clothes for him well in advance: a padded jacket and trousers, with thick sweaters and thermal underwear layered underneath. He was bundled up tightly, wearing thick wool socks inside new snow boots bought with money Fang Lujun had sent back. They cost twenty-one yuan, with thick, sturdy soles and plenty of wool lining; he would often break a sweat just moving around.

They were by no means fashionable, but they were warm enough. Shen Mo and Wang Ke both teased him for looking like a bear.

On the way, Fang Chang'an stopped at a bank, used the card Shen Cheng-yan had given him to withdraw six hundred yuan, and tucked the cash into the inner pocket of his padded jacket. He carefully scanned his surroundings before feeling relieved enough to continue to school.

After three afternoon classes, Fang Chang'an was still wearing his thick padded jacket, along with two layers of gloves: one thin pair with exposed fingertips for writing, and another pair of oversized, clumsy, quilted winter mittens.

At noon, Wang Ke had tried them on; both her hands fit into one of the mittens with room to spare. Shen Mo, finding it amusing, stuck her own hands in too. The two little girls managed to squeeze all four of their small hands inside.

So, during class, they each claimed one mitten. They would pull their hands out to write, then tuck them back into Fang Chang'an's thick gloves when they weren't, looking both naive and adorable.

Wang Ke also rode her bike home, wearing two layers of gloves; the outer pair were pink quilted mittens tied together with a string, hanging around her neck.

As Fang Chang'an and Fang Dianqiu waited for Fang Ying, as they did every week, Wang Ke rode past with a classmate from her village. Wearing pink earmuffs and a white scarf, with only her beautiful almond-shaped eyes and straight nose exposed, she raised a pink mitten to wave at him.

"Fang Chang'an, bye-bye!"

Watching her mount her bike, Fang Chang'an worriedly urged, "Ride slowly, don't fall!"

"I know—"

The girl’s sweet, melodic voice drifted through the cold wind.

Fang Dianqiu, also bundled up tightly, stood beside him. She pulled her gaze away from Wang Ke’s retreating figure and blinked at Fang Chang'an, teasing, "Are you worried about her falling because you're worried about her?"

"If you fell, your uncle would worry too."

Fang Chang'an was not afraid of such minor teasing and retorted with a shrug.

Fang Dianqiu wrinkled her nose in dissatisfaction, leaned closer, and whispered, "Seriously, tell me, do you like Wang Ke more, or Shen Mo?"

Fang Chang'an shot her a sideways glance. "Can't I like both?"

In Fang Dianqiu's mind, "liking both" was the same as "liking neither." She pouted, "I'm asking you seriously. I promise I won't tell anyone, okay?"

"I told you, I like both."

"Ugh, hateful!"

Fang Dianqiu rolled her eyes and ignored him.

Fang Ying finally arrived, and the three of them rode their bikes home to Ma-jiagou, braving the cold wind. Because of the freezing temperatures and strong gusts, they were later than usual, and the sky had already darkened before they reached the village entrance.

"I wonder if Wang Ke made it home..."

As Fang Chang'an parked his bike at home, this thought strangely popped into his mind, and he hurriedly shook it off.

Cong Rong was preparing dinner, moving withered leaves and firewood piled in the courtyard into the kitchen. Fang Chang'an helped out. Once the area in front of the stove was sufficiently stocked, he stopped, and Cong Rong covered the woodpile with old plastic film to keep it dry from the rain and snow.

These were things they had carried home in baskets during late autumn. If they got wet, there would be no way to dry them in the middle of winter. Using coal stoves was slow and expensive, so they relied on a combination of a coal stove for water and a wood stove for cooking.

The sweet potatoes, radishes, and cabbages from the field were all stored in the cellar. Fang Chang'an, claiming it was dirty and using Fang Changming's smaller stature as an excuse, opened the cellar and told him to jump in and haul up the vegetables.

"You're only a little taller than me, and you're saying it's inconvenient for you to move around in there..." Fang Changming climbed out of the cellar, patting the dirt off his clothes and complaining.

"A little taller is still taller. If you're not convinced, grow faster and get taller than me." Fang Chang'an brushed him off while putting the vegetables into baskets.

"If I get taller than you, will you be the one to go down then?"

"By then, we'll let Yanran go down. She'll be older and should help her big brothers share the load."

In the future, Fang Changming would indeed grow taller than Fang Chang'an, but by then, there would surely be no need to crawl into cellars.

Fang Chang'an carried the basket to the west room and placed the sweet potatoes near the stove. He could hear Fang Changming in the main room comparing heights with Fang Yanran, saying, "Yanran, hurry up and grow."

"Why?"

"Big brother said when you're as tall as me, you'll be the one to go into the cellar and dig for sweet potatoes."

"No way!"

"You better grow taller quickly."

"If I grow taller than you, you'll be the shortest, so you'll still have to go down."

"Pfft, how is that possible!"

The two little ones could bicker about such trivial matters for ages. Fang Chang'an suppressed a smile and went to the kitchen to help with the fire. When his mother finished her work, he pulled out five hundred yuan and handed it to her.

Cong Rong didn't take it immediately, asking, "Where did this come from?"

"You forgot, I have a stake in the bun business."

Cong Rong took the money and counted it. Fang Chang'an explained, "I got five thousand total, mostly for November and December. From now on, I should be able to get two or three thousand every month."

As the daily volume of buns increased, material costs were further reduced. Currently, they were selling over twenty thousand buns a day, sometimes reaching twenty-five thousand. On average, the daily revenue was around twenty-three hundred yuan. Even calculating based on twenty working days a month, the monthly revenue was over forty thousand.

After deducting materials, rent, utilities, and wages, the monthly profit was around thirty thousand. Even if they didn't distribute all of it, Fang Chang'an still got seven or eight thousand a month.

However, he didn't plan on telling his parents everything, because if he did, his mother would know exactly how much money he was spending outside.

Lack of financial freedom was undoubtedly uncomfortable.

Confucius said: "In all things, success depends upon previous preparation, and without such preparation, there is sure to be failure."

One must start building their own secret stash from a young age.

Even so, the two or three thousand yuan a month still shocked Cong Rong. She was stunned for a moment before saying, "So much?"

Fang Chang'an nodded firmly. "And that's even with us not being too greedy. If we were greedier, we could make even more."

Thirty thousand yuan a month was undoubtedly a terrifying figure at that time. However, the bun shop had essentially monopolized breakfast for all the middle schools in the town. As Fang Chang'an said, if they were greedier, they could earn more.

In this business, Fang Chang'an's idea was just a spark; Shen Cheng-yan’s ability to clear the way with all the schools was the real key to making money.

But as the school cafeterias slowly reacted, introducing new products or weeding out the weak, competition would intensify. Whether the figure of over twenty thousand a day could be maintained was a question mark; it was too early to celebrate.

Cong Rong silently digested the number before asking, "What about the rest of the money?"

"Shen Cheng-yan is investing it in stocks; it seems to be quite profitable. Since the money was sitting there useless, I let him buy some for us too. I kept one hundred for myself."

Cong Rong nodded and put the money away. After a while, she sighed softly and said, "Your father works himself to the bone every day, and he makes less than eight hundred a month."

Fang Lujun had also found work at a valve factory, paid hourly at two yuan and fifty cents. He worked ten hours a day, from 7:00 AM to 6:00 PM, with an hour's break at noon, totaling twenty-five yuan a day. If he worked overtime, it was also two-fifty an hour, but dinner was provided. He took the first of every month off.

Fang Lujun would call once a week. He rarely complained about being tired; he mostly boasted about how many hours he had worked that month.

In November, which had thirty days, Fang Lujun worked three hundred and twenty-two hours. He took the first off, working twenty-nine days at an average of 11.1 hours a day.

In December, which had thirty-one days, Fang Lujun called last week to say that as of the 25th, he had worked two hundred and ninety-one hours—twenty-four days at 12.1 hours a day.

He had just joined the factory and had no technical skills, so he was undoubtedly doing all the dirty, tiring, and heavy labor.

Fang Chang'an didn't know how tired his father actually was, or to what extent, but over the phone, his father’s voice carried a kind of underlying confidence he had never had before—not even when he won at cards—speaking in a loud, booming tone.

Proud. Ostentatious.

And not at all annoying.

Fang Chang'an forced a smile and said, "Mom, don't worry. Next time Dad calls, ask him how much he knows about the factory now."

"If he doesn't know much, tell him to find ways to learn more."

Cong Rong looked puzzled, and Fang Chang'an smiled, "As long as Dad knows enough, our family can open our own factory."