“We’re not leaving you behind, we’re worried you’ll get hurt. What’s wrong with staying out of the action? Men aren’t gods, we can’t keep track of everything.”
“Whatever,” she said after a while. “Take a few other movies along and sell them at the same time. Just give me what they cost.”
Dunhuang was elated, and held her closer. What a great girl she was, so considerate of others. At last he could make his own money.
5
Dunhuang picked out three hundred kuai worth of DVDs. He’d worked it out — if he sold them all he’d clear five hundred in profit, even more if he could bump up the price on the porn. Instantly, he felt as refreshed as if he’d just stepped out of a bath. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky and good times were right around the corner. That wasn’t how he’d felt the first time he’d split from Bao Ding to pull ID business on his own. Then he’d been panicked, reticent, out of his depth — what he was doing was illegal, after all. It was different now, though. He was an old hand, calloused, nonchalant. Anyway, selling pirated DVDs was miles closer to legality than making fake IDs. And what was most important was his return to entrepreneurship — he was basically restarting his life in Beijing. He reminded himself constantly that he was working for himself, and that filled him with confidence.
Every morning, he and Xiaorong left Furongli together, then went their separate ways. Dunhuang had a plan — he couldn’t keep selling piecemeal like they had been. Guerrilla sales would never bring in much, and it was exhausting to always be on the run. It would be better to find a set location and build up regular clientele. He’d thought it through. There were only three types of clients. One was students, who spent money without batting an eyelash — they wanted art. Next was office drones, the kind of people that flipped through newspapers while clipping their nails — they wanted entertainment. The more educated office workers even more so. Thinking people tended to feel dissatisfied with life and they watched movies for distraction. Movies were just as good as cuddling your husband or wife, and more dignified. Third were white collar workers and company managers — too busy to even take a piss, they needed relaxation more than anyone. To splay out on the sofa and enjoy a good story. Not a book — who still read books? — but a film, a feature film, a big Hollywood blockbuster. If only Spielberg made a new movie every week. .
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.