Rebirth: The Tumultuous Year of 1979

Azure sky, fresh air, weathered Yanjing hutongs, a passing 28-inch bicycle, pedestrians dressed in 1980s clothing...

The scene before me was as familiar as yesterday, yet so strange it made my heart pound.

Zhong Wei looked down at his hands, which were fair and youthful, without a trace of age.

"This is……"

He opened his mouth with difficulty, his throat was dry, and he swallowed.

"BOOM!!"

A sudden explosion rang in my mind, as if chaos had been violently cleaved open, and excruciating pain surged forth like a tidal wave.

"pain!!"

His head was throbbing with pain. He crouched down, clutching his head tightly with both hands. His eyes were bloodshot and bulging out, almost popping out of their sockets.

"ah!!"

A low growl, almost like that of a ferocious beast, squeezed out from his throat.

"Today is September 8th, 1979..."

After a long silence, Zhong Weicai finally uttered those words, his voice low and hoarse.

"I've been reborn..."

His body trembled slightly as he raised his head. The crimson blood faded, and an incredulous look of surprise appeared in his eyes.

"This...how is this possible..."

The shock gripped him; he had truly returned to the summer of 1979, and this body was none other than his own.

"The Zhong family..."

He suddenly realized: "The Zhong family has not yet declined despite the passing of the old master; they are still one of the major families in Yanjing, and the old master is still alive..."

"dad……"

The image of that man, the father who died in an accident when the Zhong family fell from grace, instantly flashed into my mind.

"In this life..."

Zhong Wei gritted his teeth: "I will never allow this tragedy to repeat itself. I must change everything..."

He let out a low growl, thankfully no one was around, otherwise such a loss of composure in this day and age would probably have landed him in jail as "mentally unstable." Although in this area, a single phone call could bring the district head to apologize in person, he didn't want to rely on that.

"call,"

He took a deep breath.

"Reborn, I cannot live like I did in my previous life." Zhong Wei opened his eyes, a sharp glint flashing in them like that of a hawk.

In his past life, he was the third young master of the Zhong family, one of the most prominent families in Yanjing, and had countless followers. However, after the Zhong family fell from power, almost all of his cronies scattered, and few people looked at him with any respect anymore.

"A career in government? Or going abroad?"

He muttered to himself. Based on his memories of the past few decades and the country's economic boom, he was confident that he could hold a high position. Although he might not reach the top, as long as he didn't make any mistakes, he would definitely not fare too badly.

"Can……"

He shook his head. "The officialdom is full of deceit and treachery, and is too restrictive for my nature."

"Going abroad?"

Not at all.

"Going into business..."

The thought flashed through my mind like a shooting star, suddenly illuminating my thoughts.

In business, one can operate from behind the scenes, controlling the entire situation, witnessing the changing winds, the raging storms, and the torrential downpours, while holding the reins of the commercial lifeline. As for a career in politics…

"Hoping one's father will become a dragon (a metaphor for achieving great success) seems like a good idea."

Zhong Wei's lips curled into a wicked smile, and he exuded an aloof aura.

"To help my father ascend to a high-ranking position, or to lead the entire Zhong family..."

He sneered. Besides the patriarch, the eldest uncle in the Zhong family was already a high-ranking official with a promising future. Moreover, there was his father. Zhong Wei didn't believe that, with his support, his father couldn't rise to a higher position.

With this in mind, everything became clear.

"What should I do?"

He pondered the direction of his business.

"Well!"

He murmured to himself, then suddenly realized: the era of the domestic internet is still at least twenty years away. E-commerce? Electronic payment? The sharing economy? Social media? Portals? Real estate?

Holy crap!

He swore, saying that these ways of making a fortune were at least a decade or more, and some were even thirty years ago, in 1979, the era when China had just opened up!

"I……"

Zhong Wei almost burst into tears.

If we wait until those times to develop commerce, it will be too late. Are we supposed to buy a few plots of land within the second ring road now and become billionaires when the real estate market booms? Who can afford to wait that long?

He took a deep breath, reached into his pocket, and pulled out a "huge sum" of over three hundred dollars from 1979.

"Three hundred yuan..."

Looking at the stack of banknotes, mostly ten-yuan notes, he felt like crying: the future world's richest man (or top billionaire) only had three hundred yuan in his pocket at this moment.

What can it do?

When Zhong Wei told people a decade or two later that "the world's richest man at the time only had three hundred dollars in his pocket," no one believed him. The richest man only had a few hundred dollars? Who were you trying to fool?

"Hoo!" Zhong Wei let out a long breath. This was an era brimming with opportunities and gold; some soared to great heights, while others plummeted from their peaks to the dust. The Zhong family in their previous life belonged to the latter…

"Let's go back first..." He looked up at the sky. At this time, Yanjing was not yet heavily polluted; the sky was blue, the clouds were white, and the air was fresh. Zhong Wei turned and walked towards the alley ahead. After passing through this old alley, he realized that the Zhong family lived near Zhengyangmen, where his grandfather lived, but Zhong Ye and his father had moved out long ago to another street. He needed to go back and discuss things carefully.

"Damn it, Lu Guoqiang, you've owed me twenty yuan for half a month, are you looking for death?!" "Beat him!" Suddenly, a sharp curse rang out, followed by the dull thud of a fist hitting flesh and a painful scream, echoing in the alley.

Zhong Wei frowned; the sound was coming from the alley he always passed through.

Zhong Wei took a few steps forward, his gaze sweeping across the alley: a young man in his mid-twenties was being beaten by three men, two thin and one fat—it wasn't easy to gain weight these days. The young man, covering his head, cried out, "Fatty Zhang, I only owe you twenty, I'll definitely pay you back next month!" "Beat him!" The fat man didn't believe him and kept punching him until blood trickled from the young man's mouth.

Zhong Wei sighed, then dashed out like lightning. His path was blocked; how could he leave without taking action? "Bang!" He kicked the fat man hard in the waist. The fat man screamed and fell to the ground: "Who the hell dares to hit me!" Zhong Wei had barely put his foot down when he kicked him again, this time right in the fat man's face, swelling it instantly.

The two skinny men's expressions changed drastically, and they charged forward, throwing punches. Zhong Wei twisted his body and threw a punch. He had trained with Old Master Zhong's bodyguards, and although he wasn't top-tier, he was more than capable of beating ordinary people. He dodged to the side, his elbow striking one of them in the chest, sending him flying; then he knocked down the other with another punch.

"You just wait!" the fat man said, wiping away blood as he stood up and ran off; the two skinny men quickly followed. Zhong Wei was both amused and exasperated, clapped his hands, and continued walking.

"Hey! Bro...wait!" A voice suddenly called from behind. Zhong Wei frowned and turned around. He saw the young man who had been beaten catch up a few steps and then stop, backing away to pick up a sack next to him. The contents inside rattled as he ran over.

Zhong Wei's expression was cold: "The fat guy has already run away, why are you following me?" There are too many injustices in the world, and he has no time to care. If it weren't for the fat guy blocking his way, he wouldn't have bothered to take action. Time is precious!

"Brother, my name is Lu Guoqiang." The young man wiped away the blood, smiled憨厚ly, "Thank you for saving me! We people from Yanjing believe in repaying kindness, I'll treat you to a meal!"

"Dinner?" Zhong Wei glanced at him. Did this guy have the money to treat him?

"Brother..." Lu Guoqiang blushed and straightened his back slightly. "Don't underestimate me just because I'm poor. This sack contains a broken radio I found. Selling it would definitely be enough to treat you to a meal. It's worth a lot!"

"Found it?" Zhong Wei's lips twitched.

"Wait a minute..." A thought suddenly struck him, and he was jolted awake. Picking up trash? Holy crap! This is a way to make a fortune! Wait... get rich by picking up trash? In the future, people will say that the world's richest man made his fortune by picking up trash?

Zhong Wei squatted on a stone bench at the entrance of the alley, his fingertips twirling a grain coupon. This nationally valid grain coupon was all the "pocket money" he had left for the month. The wind of 1979 carried the smell of coal stoves as he looked at the "Reform and Opening Up" slogan on the wall in the distance, and his Adam's apple bobbed.

"Brother Zhong, what are you spacing out for?" Lu Guoqiang came over carrying a sack, with half of a radio's black casing sticking out of it. "I picked this up at the scrap yard today. The casing was cracked, so I was thinking of taking it apart and selling the copper wire to make enough for two popsicles."

Zhong Wei's eyes lit up instantly. He remembered his mentor in the electronics factory in his previous life saying, "In the late 1970s, radios were one of the 'Four Big Items,' and repairing one could earn a worker half a month's salary." Back then, people who could repair radios were rarer than pandas, and the Zhong family had strict rules. His grandfather, a retired cadre, would never allow him to "make money under the Zhong family name." But repairing radios was different; earning a living through skill wasn't shameful.

"Let me see the radio." Zhong Wei took the sack, his fingertips brushing against the mud on the radio body, which had accumulated from being piled up in the scrap yard for so long. He unscrewed the screws, and the casing cracked open with a "click," revealing the circuit board inside: the resistors were burnt black, the capacitors were bulging like small buns, and the tuning knob's shaft was rusted.

"Do you have a screwdriver?" he asked Lu Guoqiang, looking up at him.

Lu Guoqiang scratched his head: "I'm just a construction worker carrying bricks, where would I get such a thing? Or... come to my house and get it? It's just two alleys away."

The two walked through the alleyway filled with the aroma of fried noodles with soybean paste. An aluminum lunchbox sat atop a honeycomb briquette stove against the wall, chased by several naked children who shouted, "Reform! We can eat white flour buns now!" Lu Guoqiang's home was in the east wing of a courtyard house. A faded blue cloth curtain hung at the entrance. Ten-year-old Lu Xiaomei, with pigtails, rushed over upon seeing her brother's bruised and swollen face: "Brother, you got into a fight again?" "It's nothing, I just tripped and fell." Lu Guoqiang pulled his sister aside and pointed at Zhong Wei, "Call me brother."

Lu Xiaomei glanced timidly at Zhong Wei. He was wearing a faded blue cotton shirt, but the cuffs were starched and straight. Unlike the hoodlums in the alley who were all shirtless, he looked like a "cultured man" who had stepped out of a movie.

Zhong Wei sat on a small stool with its edges smoothed down, the screwdriver twirling between his fingers. With a few clicks, he unscrewed the screws, revealing the circuit board. In his previous life, he had repaired hundreds of radios in an electronics factory, and he could spot the problem at a glance: the resistor was overloaded and burned out, the capacitor was old and failed, and the tuning knob was rusted.

"Brother, you really know how to fix it?" Lu Guoqiang squatted down next to him, his eyes wide open. These days, to fix a radio, you had to go to "Limin Repair Shop," where the mechanic charged 50 cents and you had to wait in line for three days.

"I learned that in my past life." Zhong Wei didn't elaborate. He used tweezers to remove the burnt-out resistor, replaced it with a spare one he had in his pocket (taken from the Zhong family's old radio), and then replaced the capacitor. He then used sandpaper to smooth the rust off the tuning knob. The moment the power was turned on, the radio hummed, tuned to a few channels, and suddenly the announcer's clear and resonant voice came through: "...The reform and opening-up policy has been officially implemented, encouraging individual businesses and developing a market economy..."

Lu Guoqiang's mouth formed an "O" shape. He slapped his thigh: "Amazing! When I picked up this broken radio, it didn't even have a power switch, and you fixed it in no time?" He looked at Zhong Wei as if he were looking at a god. In the hutongs of Beijing in 1979, someone who could fix a radio was more precious than someone who could get into university.

Zhong Wei reassembled the radio. The crack in the casing was still there, but it sang "The Story of Spring" quietly, like an obedient child. He handed the radio to Lu Guoqiang and asked, "How much does the scrap yard charge for a broken radio?" "Worthless. They'll give you two cents for the copper wire at most," Lu Guoqiang said, scratching his head. "And what about a repaired one?" Zhong Wei smiled.

Lu Guoqiang's mind raced: the "Limin Repair Shop" at the alley entrance charged five yuan to repair a radio, and this radio's casing was cracked, but it was still working perfectly... "Ten yuan?" he tentatively asked.

"Fifteen yuan, not expensive, right?" Zhong Wei leaned against the door frame, sunlight filtering through the gap in the curtain and casting dappled patterns on his face. "I fixed it in ten minutes. The resistor only cost two cents to fix, and I made fourteen yuan and eighty cents. That's more than you could earn carrying bricks on a construction site for ten days."

Lu Guoqiang's breathing quickened. He remembered that the foreman had deducted three yuan from his wages yesterday, that his younger sister, Lu Xiaomei, still wanted a new schoolbag that was hanging in the supply and marketing cooperative's shop window, and that when his wife gave birth, they couldn't even afford brown sugar... Repairing radios—that was a job that could support his family!

"Brother Zhong!" He suddenly squatted down with a "plop," grabbed Zhong Wei's trouser leg, and said, "Teach me how to fix radios! I'll be your apprentice, and I'll give you five yuan for every radio I fix!"

Zhong Wei paused, looking at Lu Guoqiang's bruised and swollen face, and at Lu Xiaomei's little hand clutching his clothes. He suddenly remembered his grandfather's words: "Be honest, and have real skills." He helped Lu Guoqiang up and shoved a screwdriver into his hand: "Okay, but you have to learn to recognize resistors first. This is a carbon film resistor, this is a metal film resistor, how do you read their resistance values..."

The coal stove in the alley chugped, and the aroma of fried noodles wafted in. Zhong Wei watched Lu Xiaomei skip and hop away to get her textbooks, and suddenly realized that the "breakthrough" of 1979 wasn't about approvals or capital, but about this little radio—using technology to earn a living and using skills to earn dignity. This was the "reform and opening up" that belonged to this era.

Meanwhile, on the radio, the announcer was broadcasting: "...The spring of individual business has arrived. Everyone with a skill can find their place in this land..."