Xu Zechen: Running Through Beijing

The problem was how to get in touch with these types of people and build long-term relationships — unloading some high-price porn in the process. It would take a little time, of course, before things took off — earning money took patience. Dunhuang knew all about that.

Dunhuang spent the day thinking about how to make more money. He did some business, too, opening his bag outside a supermarket. The advantage there was that everyone who came out had change in their pocket, and didn’t mind spending it. Most of them were housewives, looking for an escape from their tedious housework. They liked romances, preferably tear-jerkers, so when Dunhuang saw them coming he took out the DVDs with pictures of men and women embracing on the sleeves. Then he’d start his spiel. “This story will sweep you off your feet.” “You’ll use up two jumbo rolls of paper towels mopping up the tears.” “This one’s so sad it could drive you to off yourself.” “Watching this one could move a couple to patch up a divorce, let alone a mere lover’s quarrel.” If that didn’t do the trick, Dunhuang laid it on even thicker: “The newspapers say this film is perfect for both working women and housewives. It’s the chicken soup of love, the Bible of the heart. Whether it’s problems in your love life or disharmony in your home, this movie is just the thing. You can throw away your standard dictionary of Chinese characters, but you can’t miss this film. It goes beyond the mere definition of film.” Dunhuang dredged up every cliché he’d ever heard, relevant or not. He’d succeeded once they pulled out their wallets. The women were easy to handle as long as you were willing to talk as though love was the be-all and end-all.

The men around the supermarket entrance were, by comparison, tight-fisted. They always acted like successful businessmen, with no time for pirated films. Really, Dunhuang knew, they were just embarrassed. If there was no one else around, they’d look over the DVDs with the more provocative covers, zeroing in on disheveled heroines so unerringly that you’d think they had infrared guidance systems. Male customers required handling, they had to be led along gently. In such cases, Dunhuang spoke first, “Hello, sir. These are all new releases, take a look. I’ve got everything.”

If they approached, Dunhuang would say — as if to himself, but loud enough for the man to hear, “The American and European ones aren’t all that. It’s the Korean and Japanese that are really good. Clean, attractive.”

The man would be careful to feign ignorance, nonchalantly saying “Got any? Let’s have a look.”

“Would you like something heavy on story, or heavy on naturalism?”

“What’s that mean?” they’d ask, as though it were all the same to them.

“Well, the ones with story don’t really hold up over time,” he’d say. “Who wants to watch the same story over and over? The ones that emphasize naturalism. . those are different. They’re closer to real life, as if they know you better than you know yourself, and every time you re-watch them you’ll be rewarded with something new. You can watch a good movie a hundred times. It’s just like something they’d say in the paper: ‘These movies are in line with human nature, they’re actually beneficial to the mental and physical health of the modern man.’” He elevated the porn to a moral and ethical level, trying to ease the men’s embarrassment. Just think, if porn was on par with the “construction of a spiritual civilization,” what was there to be shy about?

“You sure can talk!” they’d say as they glanced around casually, unwilling to commit themselves. “Show me a couple.”

Dunhuang would pull a few DVDs from the interior pocket of his bag and give the men a glimpse of the covers, saying, “Guaranteed high quality, if you’ve got complaints you can bring them straight back to me.” They’d lean over to look, pull out one or two movies that caught their eye, and then say:

“I’ll give these a try. How much?”

“Fifteen.” When their expressions changed, he’d quickly add, “High-quality stuff is hard to find. Honestly, there are only a few places in the whole city where you can get it. You might be able to buy something for three kuai elsewhere, but it won’t be like what I’ve got. Just try it out. Quality is the key — we have to ask ourselves, is it truly and honestly beneficial to our mental and physical health?”

“Truly and honestly” would get them. Most of the men who stopped to take a look would buy a DVD or two. And they did so with a clear conscience, without a blush on their face, without their pulse racing. Perfect. These movies were three times as profitable as the normal ones.

When he packed up that first evening, Dunhuang calculated that he’d made 120 kuai in profit, a rousing day of business. The first time he’d drawn in fake-ID business on his own, he’d only made eighty. He was thrilled, and he bought half a kilo of the duck necks Xiaorong liked, a half-rack of beer, and an order of oil-poached fish to go. He returned jubilantly to Furongli to celebrate the beginning of his independent DVD-selling career with Xiaorong. He rode high on his good mood, drinking four bottles of beer to Xiaorong’s one, and was thirsty for more. She told him to slow down, worried what might happen if he drank too much. Dunhuang, careless in his cheerfulness, said, “What’s another four bottles?”

Xiaorong tilted her head and glared at him as she chewed a duck neck.

“Honest to god, besides a full bladder, beer’s got no effect on me.”

She thumped her duck neck onto the table. “Honest to nothing . You tricked me! You stayed at my house that night because you were pretending to be drunk!”

Dunhuang’s glass, halfway to his lips, lowered to the table. He’d forgotten that he used that little ruse. How did girls have such good memories? “I didn’t trick you,” he said, “I had just gotten out of jail that day, I was out of practice, I really was tipsy. Sure, it was a little bit tricky, but I wouldn’t have dared to stay otherwise. It was because I liked you.”

“Oh, thanks very much! Who needs it?”

But she was slightly mollified, and Dunhuang was secretly pleased with himself. Ha, people were all too vain to withstand love. He picked up another duck neck and passed it to her. “I didn’t just like you,” he continued, clinking his glass against hers. “It was love at first sight.”

She retrieved the duck neck, amenable, and dropped her head to chew on it absently. But he heard her mutter: “You can forget about love at first sight.” Dunhuang was as pleased as a duck who’d escaped the knife, and said, “A toast to us!”

Dunhuang’s DVDs sold well, and he earned more than Xiaorong nearly every day. He didn’t forget about her, though, he offered to raise her return an extra five mao. She rejected the offer, but he did it anyway. In addition, he always made sure to bring home some buns or biscuits or vegetables in the evening. He’d tell her he just happened to pick them up, but secretly he still worried about being a burden on her. He didn’t know when their arrangement might suddenly change — it was the worst, relying on an uncertain relationship for uncertain lodgings. The fifth day after he struck out on his own, Dunhuang used his earnings to buy a secondhand Nokia. He called Xiaorong and disguised his voice, asking, “Are you acquainted with a man named Dunhuang?” Xiaorong said, “Who is this? What do you want him for?”

“This is the police station, we suspect him of selling pornographic videos, and he’s currently in detention,” he answered. Xiaorong made a noise of dismay, her voice rising as she asked,“Where is he? You tell me where he is right now!” Dunhuang couldn’t help bursting into laughter. Xiaorong was silent for a moment, then caught on. “You. . is this you, Dunhuang?”