Tong Xiaoxi felt that her eyes were opened; if she hadn’t transmigrated here, she probably would never have seen such a grand spectacle in her lifetime—opening a trade market right at the national border gate.
Lei Yihong felt excited as well.
As a third-generation heir of a wealthy family, having the opportunity to experience starting from scratch to become a first-generation self-made millionaire was a rather thrilling affair for him.
Being born as the successor of the Lei family made for a growth experience that severely lacked challenge.
His great-grandfather was among those who went to Southeast Asia in the 1930s and 40s to run small businesses, which grew larger and larger in his grandfather’s hands before his grandfather took his father back to develop in China following the reform and opening-up.
Only then did the present Lei Corporation come to be.
As the sole male heir across three generations of the family, his mission since birth was to take over the reins.
At this time, it was still three in the morning for the people across the border in the Russian Federation.
The Russian Federation was the country spanning the most time zones in the world—eleven time zones in total—with time varying from city to city.
Whenever daylight saving time or standard time was implemented, some cities needed to add or subtract two hours, others three hours, and some didn’t change at all.
It often left even the locals confused about what time it actually was.
At present, China also happened to be observing daylight saving time.
There was a three-hour time difference with the border region and a five-hour time difference with Moscow.
Most of the people trading right now were residents living near the port.
On the Russian side, there were also people who had traveled from other cities specifically to trade.
Neither country’s citizens could step past the other’s exit.
Attempting to cross the boundary carried a high risk of being shot dead on the spot.
Tong Xiaoxi retrieved a clean oilcloth tarp from the tractor, spread it out on the ground, and arranged several items from her stash.
The liquor brought by Lei Yihong was sold in bulk, contained in the white rectangular plastic jugs that were immensely popular and versatile in this era.
The reason they were called versatile was that people used these jugs to hold almost anything: soy sauce, vinegar, liquor, and soybean oil.
Lei Yihong pasted a piece of paper on each white jug, writing the alcohol proof and weight in Russian.
There were jugs containing two catties, five catties, and ten catties.
Among them, the head spirits were the most expensive—that is, the first portion extracted after discarding the initial run during the distilling process.
A popular saying among the Russians went: if a liquor can’t be set on fire, it isn’t meant for men to drink!
Liquor with an alcohol volume around 60% proved extremely stimulating to them.
As everyone knew, people of the fighting nation loved drinking regardless of age or gender; whether working or at leisure, they kept alcohol close at hand, taking a swig whenever they felt like it.
However, the Russian Federation currently enforced very strict prohibition laws, so these alcohol-obsessed Russians grew wide-eyed the moment they caught sight of the words on the white jugs.
Even the border personnel standing off to the side stared intently at the liquor jugs.
Lei Yihong picked up a one-catty jug of 60-degree liquor and presented it to the Russian border control officers.
In Russian, he said, “This is homemade brewed liquor from our family. A gift for you to taste—to friendship between our two nations!”
Hearing Lei Yihong speak fluent Russian, the two border officers grew instantly excited. Opening the liquor he gifted, they took a whiff, sampled a sip, and gave a high thumbs-up. One of them immediately unclasped his own wristwatch, pointing to the liquor jug, “Can I trade for another jug of this?”
What he wanted to trade for was a two-catty jug of head spirits, also at 60-degree strength.
Border personnel were ordinary people too; coming to work every day, they would trade whenever they spotted items they needed.
Lei Yihong glanced at the wristwatch handed over—a commemorative mechanical watch of the Russian Su-27 fighter jet with chronograph functions, of which only five hundred units were produced back then.
Saying “OK,” he picked up the two-catty jug of head spirits and handed it over to the border officer.
The border officer opened it to smell it again, giving another thumbs-up.
Seeing this, a nearby Russian grew delighted, leaning over to catch a whiff as well. He quickly raised a woolen overcoat with a fox fur collar in his hands, begging to trade.
The Russians behind also squeezed forward, clamoring to trade for white liquor.
Regardless of what they originally intended to swap for, seeing the liquor made them forget everything else.
Nothing was more important than liquor.
Before this, they only recognized Chinese Erguotou, shaking their heads even when offered Moutai.
Lei Yihong traded two catties to the man holding the fox fur collar overcoat.
In Russian, he announced, “I want to trade for a motorcycle. Anyone interested, come talk.”
His advantage lay in his ability to speak Russian, making communication effortless; the Russians naturally preferred interacting with someone fluent in their tongue.
Quite a few people on the Chinese side brought liquor to barter, as liquor was very cheap.
Of course, to ensure trading for a wider variety of items, one couldn’t rely solely on liquor.
If someone unacquainted with the real situation heard Lei Yihong wanting to trade liquor for a motorcycle, they would surely think he had gone mad. All the liquor he brought added up to no more than two hundred yuan, whereas a new motorcycle owned by a Russian cost three to four thousand yuan, and even a used one sold for one to two thousand yuan. How could anyone possibly trade a motorcycle just to get a drink?
Yet someone actually traded!
Scarcity governs value: Chinese locals felt their own white liquor wasn’t worth much.
However, the Russians believed motorcycles could be bought easily anywhere, while liquor couldn’t be bought even with money.
It was precisely this unequal exchange that drove people wild.
Otherwise, why would those who traveled thousands of miles to this small city in Longjiang to conduct “qianqian” business do so?
Even during slow months, one could make over a thousand yuan, and during good months, earning enough to buy a Mercedes or BMW was no pipe dream.
Border farmers engaging in early barter trade had once exchanged two vacuum flasks for a tank to drive home and plow their fields.
This wasn’t even the wild period yet; after the dissolution, things truly turned insane.
A single tin of canned food could be traded for an AK.
A Russian riding a motorcycle squeezed through the crowd, his eyes bloodshot, looking as though he were suffering from alcohol withdrawal. Pointing at the liquor jugs, he yelled, “Twenty catties, qianqian!”
He then turned back and pointed to his motorcycle parked on the roadside. Lei Yihong swept a glance over it—a JAWA 350, equipped with a 350 cc two-stroke engine delivering maximum power of 26 horsepower, a four-speed transmission, chain drive, and a top speed of 133 kilometers per hour.
It looked roughly seventy percent new.
Lei Yihong held up a hand in gesture. “Ten catties!”
The surrounding people grew anxious, wanting to offer twenty catties of liquor to trade with the Russian, but snatching business in this manner risked inciting a fight.
The universally understood rule of the trade was that no one snatched another’s deal.
The Russian trading for liquor hesitated, finally uttering, “Fifteen catties!”
In truth, Russians didn’t know how to bargain before this, but after many trades and under the “cultural influence” of the Chinese, many border Russians had learned to haggle.
Even though they learned to bargain, they hadn’t mastered its true essence—at the very least, they wouldn’t pretend to walk away, and most only counteroffered once, possessing a rather stubborn mindset.
“OK!” The Russian didn’t hesitate any longer.
Pushing the bike over, he tossed the key, embraced a ten-catty jug and a five-catty jug handed to him by Lei Yihong, and cheerfully patted Lei Yihong’s shoulder. “Tovarish, spasibo!”
Which meant, “Comrade, thank you!”
Lei Yihong smiled and replied to him, “Ne za chto!”
At this time, Russians still treated Chinese people very amicably, like good brothers.
Because they hadn’t been scammed by Chinese vendors yet.
Chinese people engaged in barter trade at this time were still very honest and sincere despite the inequality in trade value; at the very least, there were no counterfeit or inferior goods.
Exchanging other goods didn’t matter much, but large items like motorcycles required registration with customs officers.
Otherwise, riding it on the streets and getting caught by traffic police would classify it as a smuggled vehicle lacking proper documentation.
Everyone nearby offered congratulations to Lei Yihong, as this counted as completing a major deal.
The Russians along the border were becoming increasingly shrewd and difficult to fool, demanding more and more in exchange for their goods.
Earlier, the best record had been trading just two bottles of Erguotou for a motorcycle.