As he was leaving, Dunhuang asked tentatively: “Can I try these other companies?”
“Sure,” said Yu, “just knock on some doors. That’s how the last guy did it.”
Dunhuang nearly fainted from happiness. Heaven had dropped a penny straight into his pocket. He wandered the building, which was more than ten stories tall, but only got through two floors before the end of the work day. On those two floors alone he sold more than eighty DVDs. More than eighty. . it was unreal. Two or three hundred in pure profit. On his way out he grinned so hard at the door guard that the man looked at him uneasily.
“What are you grinning at?”
“Just saying hello,” Dunhuang said. “I’ll be back tomorrow. They told me to come.”
Dunhuang bought a newspaper before he got on the bus, and got a shock. The paper said that the night before more than 300,000 tons of dust had fallen on Beijing. His only handle on the idea of 300,000 tons of dust was to imagine how many grave mounds you could make with it. The paper went on to say that a part of these 300,000 tons was produced in Beijing itself — the city was one huge construction site, and even without the winds the dust still flew. The other part had blown in from the deserts of Xinjiang and Inner Mongolia. Wind was pretty goddamned amazing, carrying all those grains of dust from thousands of kilometers away. Quite a project. There was another bit of startling news — a train in Xinjiang was caught in the sandstorm, and the windows on one side of the train were all broken. The passengers had stuffed the windows with blankets and mattresses to fend off the sand that had come to do battle with them. Dunhuang guessed it wouldn’t have been much fun to be there, but he loved reading about it, and wanted to tell someone. But who? There seemed to be no one but the elusive Qibao. Qibao, Qibao. . where are you?
10
Another trip to Changhong Bridge, another stack of DVDs. He’d have to go restock that afternoon. Kuang Shan was shocked at how often he was coming back to Cosmic, and how well he was doing selling on his own. Dunhuang said, “I’ve just got one rule: it’s life or death. Or if you want to be pretentious about it: professionalism.”
And Dunhuang was a professional. Every time he restocked from the shop, he tried the DVDs in his own player to make sure he wasn’t selling his customers duds. He’d test at least one movie from each batch. When restocking he picked the highest-quality movies from among the pirated offerings. It didn’t matter that they were more expensive — at worst he’d earn a little less — his reputation was paramount. It was another lesson from selling fake IDs: repeat customers were essential. If they were satisfied, they’d do your advertising for you. Timely delivery was also key. And his game with the cars had given him a taste for advertising — he bought a few boxes of self-adhesive labels, wrote his ads on them, and then stuck them in places where people lingered: apartment gates, elevators, lobby entrances. The increased coverage had a noticeable effect: he’d often get calls with orders. Calls from individuals were small sales, sometimes just one or two films, but Dunhuang still did his best to deliver. When he arrived at the meeting place, he’d run his mouth and do his best to sell a few extra. One girl in particular, though, seemed immune to his patter: she only bought one or two movies, never more, and they were always gory horror films.
She lived in Zhichunli, Dunhuang had to pass through most of Zhongguancun to get there. The worst part was there were no good bus routes between Weixiuyuan and Zhichunli, so he had to transfer or walk half the distance. It took him almost an hour to get there the first time. She lived in the innermost building in her compound, on the top floor. She was pretty, but her expression was always cold, like someone owed her money, and she smoked those thin lady’s cigarettes, sometimes with a lazy, decadent flair, sometimes with it clamped in her jaw. Her aggravation and anxiety were evident. She wouldn’t let him inside, they conducted their transactions through the bars of the security door. Through the door he could see a surprisingly luxurious room, luxurious enough to be shocking. He’d only seen scenes like that on the TV and in movies. He couldn’t understand why someone living in heaven on earth would be so bitter and angry. Once, while making a delivery, Dunhuang couldn’t help asking, “Why do you always watch violent or scary movies? I’ve got a lot of art films here, and some romances, classics, award winners. . ”
Before he could finish, her temper flared. “Just shut up, will you? Do you want me to buy a movie or not?” She hurled her newly lit cigarette onto the carpet, which began to give off a strange smell.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean anything by it,” Dunhuang said, turning to leave. “Your carpet’s on fire.”
“I know!” she shouted.
Dunhuang grumbled as he went downstairs. Who do you think you are? Being pretty doesn’t give you the right to have a shitty temper. He decided he wouldn’t deliver to her anymore — it was just a DVD or two, his earnings went straight to the bus conductor, and now he had to get his ear chewed off? But the next time she called to place an order, he went. She was just a girl, why hold a grudge? Also, he continued to be faintly curious about her situation — even a little worried. He’d never seen another person in her room. No matter what else, there was something a little strange about that. Maybe a change of film diet would do her some good. When he was handing over her order Dunhuang thought better of recommending films directly, instead he framed it as small talk, “This apartment complex reminds me of one I saw in a movie. It was a real tear-jerker. . I think a girl would need a whole towel to get through it.” Or else, “Sorry I’m late, traffic was backed up by an accident. A taxi rammed a police car, pretty stupid, right? That happened in this one movie, too, have you seen it? It’s practically as moving as the Bible.” He’d read that last line in a book.
At first, the girl’s expression was as sardonic as always, like she was watching a circus. She saw right through Dunhuang’s little tricks. But after a while her attitude softened and she was a little less impatient. Her cigarette-smoking became a little more graceful as well. But she still never took the bait and asked about other movies. Dunhuang was pleased with this meager success, however, and decided to keep it up. One day, he was sure, the girl would take something other than a violent or scary film.
She called him nearly every other day — Dunhuang considered buying a bicycle. He needed one for the rest of his work, anyway. One morning, he stuck a few want ads for a bike up at Three Corners, and at noon someone called him, asking for a meeting. As it happened, he was selling DVDs not far from Peking University, so he packed his bag and went.
The man was in his early thirties, in a suit and tie, very urbane. He took Dunhuang for a walk past the library, dormitories, and classroom buildings, looking over the rows of bicycles, and asked him what kind of bike he preferred. Dunhuang thought a lightly used mountain bike would be about right, but was worried he couldn’t afford it. The suit said, no problem, we can discuss price. Something like this one here, then?
“Yeah,” Dunhuang said. “Or not quite so nice.”
“All right then,” the suit said. “I’ll see you this afternoon outside the west gate.”
At five thirty that afternoon, Dunhuang arrived at the west gate to find the man waiting by one of the stone lions, wearing sunglasses and sitting on a bicycle that seemed more familiar the more Dunhuang looked at it. The suit hopped off the bike and pushed it across the street to Weixiuyuan. “The money?” he said.
“It looks exactly like the bike we looked at earlier,” Dunhuang said.