As dusk fell, Qin Gang pedaled his 28-inch bicycle—which rattled and creaked everywhere except for its silent bell—racing all the way home.
The north wind cut across his face like a knife, but he didn’t feel cold at all. With the empty glass bottle tucked inside his coat, his heart filled with the requests from his fellow workers, he pedaled so fast that sparks seemed about to fly from the bicycle chain.
Entering the courtyard gate, Qin Gang didn’t even bother to prop up his bike properly. With a loud clatter, he leaned it against the wall and shouted toward the house, “Wife! Hongmei! Great news!”
In the Main Room, Li Guilan was sitting cross-legged on the Kang Head, sewing shoe soles. Hearing the commotion, she rubbed the needle against her scalp and rolled her eyes. “What’s all the fuss? Did you find a gold ingot? Look at you, so unimpressive.”
Zhao Hongmei was shoveling out the day’s ashes from the Stove Pit. Hearing the noise, she straightened up and patted the dust off her hands. “What’s going on? Take your time, have some water.”
Qin Gang strode into the room, grabbed a ladle, and gulped down half a bellyful of cold water. Wiping his mouth, he looked at Zhao Hongmei with shining eyes, then glanced at Li Guilan.
“Mom, Hongmei, guess what? That jar of pickled radish I brought today caused a sensation at the fleet!”
“A sensation?” Li Guilan was startled and even dropped her shoe sole. “Did it hurt anyone? I told you that glass jar wasn’t sturdy. Those people can’t even eat a meal peacefully…”
“Oh, Mom, not that kind of sensation!” Qin Gang’s face flushed red with excitement, his neck thick with emotion. “They went crazy for it! Da Liu and the others tasted the pickled radish Hongmei made and said it was heavenly. They even wiped the bottom of the jar clean with steamed buns!”
Zhao Hongmei stood nearby, smiling faintly. This had been within her expectations all along. The aroma of the chili oil was an irresistible temptation for people in this era who lacked richness in their diets.
“It’s good that they liked it. Means our effort wasn’t wasted,” Zhao Hongmei said calmly.
“It’s not just about liking it!” Qin Gang pulled out the empty bottle from his coat and thumped it onto the table. “Da Liu said they want you to make some for them too. They won’t take it for free—they’ll pay! One jar of this for one yuan!”
“What?!”
This shout came from Li Guilan. It was as if a spring had been installed under her bottom—she bounced up from the kang in an instant, her narrow eyes now wider than cow’s eyes.
“One yuan? For this jar of lousy pickles?” Li Guilan pointed at the jar, her finger trembling slightly. “Radishes cost just a few cents per jin. How much are the radishes in this jar worth? Are they out of their minds?”
“Mom, they’re not out of their minds,” Qin Gang chuckled. “They’re just craving it. The fleet canteen serves boiled cabbage every day, with no richness at all. Our pickled radish is fried in oil and sprinkled with sesame seeds—it’s fragrant! They get some allowances for long-distance trips and don’t mind spending one yuan. They just want to eat something satisfying.”
Li Guilan stood there, muttering to herself, “One yuan… one yuan…”
The little abacus in her mind instantly clicked and clattered.
That pile of radishes in the courtyard—if they were all made into pickled radish, how many jars would that be? A hundred jars? Two hundred jars? That would be one or two hundred yuan!
How much was a worker’s monthly wage at this time? This pile of worthless radishes could actually be exchanged for several months’ wages?
Li Guilan’s gaze toward Zhao Hongmei shifted. Originally, she had been irritated by this daughter-in-law’s wasteful ways, using up oil and salt like it was nothing. But now, that was no longer a spendthrift daughter-in-law—that was clearly a goddess of wealth who could turn stone into gold!
“Do it! We must do it!” Li Guilan slapped her thigh, the wrinkles on her face instantly blooming into a smile. “Hongmei, since those drivers want to eat it, we can’t just turn them down, can we? This is a good deed that accumulates virtue!”
Zhao Hongmei watched her mother-in-law’s money-grubbing expression and found it amusing, but she kept a straight face.
She walked over to the table, picked up the empty jar, and turned it in her hands.
“One yuan per jar, that’s a fair price,” Zhao Hongmei said slowly. “But Mom, it’s not that simple. They’re paying for it, so it’s not like we’re just making do for ourselves. The radishes have to be washed, cut, dried, and rubbed. We also have to fry the seasoning oil and pour the chili oil. Especially the oil and seasonings—those are real costs.”
“What’s a little money!” Li Guilan was feeling quite generous now, waving her hand dismissively. “Use the oil jar at home however you like! If it’s not enough, go buy more! I’ll cover the seasoning costs! As long as we can sell it, what does a little capital matter?”
With her mother-in-law’s words, she now had the “imperial sword” of approval.
But Zhao Hongmei was thinking further ahead.
She looked into Qin Gang’s eyes, which sparkled with excitement, and the vague idea in her mind gradually became clearer.
This wasn’t just about a few jars of dried radish.
What kind of place was the county transport team? It was one of the most “lucrative” units in the entire county. Those drivers were on the road all year round. Though it was hard work, they had cash on hand and were more worldly than the average villager. Most importantly, their biggest pain point on the road was “not eating well.”
State-run restaurants closed after hours, and roadside stalls were unsanitary. They craved something that was shelf-stable, appetizing, and flavorful.
Dried radish was just the stepping stone.
This key, once inserted and turned, wouldn’t just open the appetites of a few drivers—it would unlock the enormous consumption potential of the entire transport team.
Today, they could sell dried radish; tomorrow, they could sell chili sauce; the day after, they could sell braised meat; they could even make portable “field rations.”
This was a huge, untapped market.
“Gangzi,” Zhao Hongmei looked up, her eyes gleaming with shrewdness. “When you go to the team tomorrow, don’t rush to promise anything definite. Just say we happen to have another batch of dried radish strips at home, enough for about twenty or thirty jars. If anyone wants it, have them bring an empty jar first, and it’s best if they also pay a fifty-cent deposit.”
“A deposit?” Qin Gang was puzzled. “We need a deposit for pickles?”
“Of course,” Zhao Hongmei set the empty jar down. “This is called ‘pre-ordering.’ First, to avoid making too much and having no one buy it. Second, to make them think it’s in high demand. Besides, we need to buy oil and seasonings—shouldn’t we see the money first?”
Qin Gang nodded, half-understanding. Looking at his wife’s confident expression, he couldn’t help but think, how is this wife of mine so clever? She’s even better at calculations than the brigade accountant.
“Alright! I’ll do as you say!” Qin Gang thumped his chest resoundingly.
That night, smoke continued to rise from the Qin family’s chimney.
Zhao Hongmei didn’t idle around; she brought out the remaining large pile of radishes from the yard. Li Guilan, no longer afraid of the cold, wrapped herself in a padded jacket and helped wash the radishes by the well, humming old opera tunes cheerfully as she worked.
“Hongmei, should we not peel the radish skins too thoroughly? Leaving the skins on makes them look more plentiful,” Li Guilan said, fully embracing her role as a “partner.”
“Mom, we can’t peel the skins—they’re what make them crispy,” Zhao Hongmei replied, wielding a knife with swift, precise cuts. “Also, we have to wash the radishes thoroughly, not a single speck of mud can remain. People are paying for these, so they’re commodities. We have to care about appearance and hygiene. If someone bites into sand, our business will be ruined.”
“Right, right, right! I’ll listen to you. Whatever you say goes!” Li Guilan now followed Zhao Hongmei’s words without question.
Under the dim yellow light, the mother-in-law and daughter-in-law worked together—one washing, the other cutting.
Meanwhile, Qin Gang was in the yard stringing up ropes to hang the sliced radish strips.
That night, the north wind still howled, but the Qin family’s small courtyard buzzed with energy. In Zhao Hongmei’s eyes, the radish strips hanging on the ropes were no longer just radishes—they were the first kindling to ignite a prosperous life in this era.
She had even begun mentally planning what additional spices she needed to buy at the market the next day. Star anise and Sichuan peppercorns alone weren’t enough. To completely win over those picky drivers, she would have to add her own “secret ingredient.”
The legend of the fleet was just beginning.