The Cook, the Crook, and the Real Estate Tycoon Read online

  One day, when Liu Yuejin was in town to buy piglets, a classmate from middle school, Li Ailian, asked him to take a roast chicken to prison for her cousin, Feng Aiguo, who had stolen a neighbor’s cow and her two calves, for which he’d landed an eight-month sentence. Li, an orphan raised by the cousin’s mother, was grateful for the care she’d received. She was permitted one monthly visit, but this was not visiting day, and she knew that Liu’s uncle was a cook at the prison, so she asked him to go in her place. After buying the piglets, Liu went to the prison and handed the roast chicken to Uncle Niu, who summoned Feng from his cell to the kitchen. Niu gave the man the chicken and told him to take it over to the corner. But when Feng had finished about half of it, another man shouted from his cell:

  “He’s not Feng Aiguo. I am.”

  The man squatting in the corner was Ren Baoliang. Earlier, Feng had been on the toilet with a case of diarrhea when his name was called, giving Ren the opportunity to come up and enjoy the chicken. Niu slapped Ren.

  “Isn’t there any roast chicken in fucking Hebei?” Niu followed that up with a kick.

  “You think you can get away with that because I’m blind, is that it? I don’t complain when they cheat me out there, but how dare you try to cheat me in here!”

  Then he picked up a rolling pin and began hitting Ren, who froze, protecting his head with his hands, but was still quietly chewing on the chicken. Liu felt so sorry for him he went up to stop his uncle.

  “That’s enough, Uncle. It’s just a roast chicken. You can beat him all you want, but you’re not going to get the chicken back.”

  “It wasn’t for the chicken,” Ren began to cry. “It’s that no one has visited me in all this time, not once.”

  After Ren served his term, the first thing he did was go to Liu Family Village to see Liu Yuejin, taking along ten ready-to-cook chickens. Five years later, Ren was the foreman at a construction site in Beijing. He and Liu had not seen each other during all those years, though they had written. Another five years passed, and Liu, now divorced, did not know what to do. So he left Luoshui and came to see Ren in Beijing. Before he hired on as a cook at the construction site, they were close friends, but that changed once Liu got the job. Or put another way, it was all right for Ren to tell people that Liu was his friend, but Liu had to treat Ren differently. Or, they were friends in private, but with people around, Ren was the boss. Liu understood the need for hierarchy, so he always called Ren “Baoliang” when they were alone and switched to “Foreman Ren” when someone else showed up.

  In addition to the fact that Ren liked Liu’s proper manners, he also owed the younger man on account of the roast chicken years before, so he turned a blind eye to Liu’s shenanigans in the kitchen. But then one day, Liu went out drinking with some of the migrant workers, who began criticizing Ren. Liu was a different person when he was drinking, giving no thought to what came out of his mouth and forgetting who he was. With nothing much to say about Ren’s present state, he brought up the prison term and told how Ren had been beaten in the kitchen on account of a roast chicken. Eventually Ren got wind of what Liu had said. Never shy about his past, Ren was in fact quite proud of it.

  “So I’ve been in a fucking prison,” he said. “What makes you think I’m afraid of you punks?”

  He could talk about that experience, but no one else could. Or someone else could say it, but not Liu Yuejin, and that is when their friendship soured. Ren wanted to send Liu packing, but was concerned that such a move would make him look petty. So without letting on that he knew, he let Liu stay on; he just took away his shopping privileges, hoping that Liu would leave on his own once his skimming days were over.

  It so happened that Ren had a niece who had come to Beijing from Cangzhou to look for work after failing to get into college. Ren arranged for her to be in charge of shopping for the kitchen. Aware that his drunken utterance had gotten him into trouble, Liu thought he might as well leave, since staying would make it awkward for both men. But the one thing China has a surplus of is people, and it would not be easy to find another job on short notice. He could get a job digging ditches and climbing scaffolds, but not work in a kitchen, so he forced himself to stay and wait for something better to come up.

  Ren Baoliang’s niece, Ye Jingying, was a nineteen-year-old, flat-chested girl who weighed over two hundred pounds. She started work with great enthusiasm, riding a tricycle to the market each morning and recording every item in exercise books, noting even the cost of a bunch of green onions or a head of garlic. When her first month was over, she had filled two books with her accounts, and yet, thanks to her inexperience regarding the ins-and-outs of market purchasing, she spent two thousand yuan more than the previous month, while the dining hall food got worse. At the end of the month, when they went over the accounts together, she handed Ren her books, which he ripped apart and tossed to the floor.

  “You’re quite the honest one, I must say.” He added with a sigh, “I guess it’s better to hire a thief than an honest person.”

  So Ren removed Ye from the job and sent her into the kitchen to steam buns and rice, handing the shopping duties back to Liu Yuejin.

  “Foreman Ren,” he said, sucking on his teeth, “I’m getting old and am no match for those vendors.” He even spoke up for Ye: “You really can’t blame your niece, you know.”

  “You fucked me over before, Liu Yuejin.” Ren said impatiently, “And I’ve fucked you over. So let’s drop the act. If you continue to put on airs, I’ll fire you for real.”

  That put a grin on Liu’s face as he got on the tricycle and headed for the market.

  3

  Han Shengli

  Liu Yuejin owed Han Shengli thirty-six hundred yuan, stemming from something else he’d done while drinking. He’d gotten into the habit of talking to himself after he turned forty. He’d blurt out something while he was chopping vegetables in the kitchen, walking down the street, or undressing for bed after a long day’s work. Later, when he thought this over, he realized he was recalling terrible things from his past and what he muttered was regret for them; he never talked to himself about good things. In recent months, he’d begun saying to himself:

  “I have to stop drinking.”

  Three months earlier, Lao Huang, who sold pigs’ necks in the market, held a wedding for his daughter. Unlike other vendors, who sold mainly the meaty parts, with the rest on the side, Huang dealt exclusively with necks and entrails, which made his products cheaper; Liu Yuejin was a regular customer. As time passed, they became such good friends that if, after buying necks, Liu took some pork intestines without paying and put them on his three-wheeler, Lao Huang would let it pass. Sometimes, after all that, Liu would stay behind to chat with Lao Huang. So when Lao Huang’s daughter got married, Liu took a wedding gift of money and attended the banquet, where he drank more than he ate and was soon drunk. The woman sitting beside him was the wife of Wu Laosan, who also dealt in chicken necks and other byproducts. Liu sometimes bantered with Wu’s wife when he was shopping. For instance, Wu and his wife were both from the northeast, where women are particularly buxom. Liu would say:

  “Look, your breasts are filling up. It’s nursing time.”

  “Call me mama, and I’ll nurse you,” Wu’s wife might reply.

  Her husband would smile silently while smoothing out his chicken necks.

  So when Liu sat down next to Wu’s wife at the banquet, they ate and drank and began their usual bantering. Liu started out with jokes, but as soon as he had a little too much to drink, he lost his common sense and control of his hands, which took their lead from his mouth and grabbed her breasts. She didn’t mind, even giggled, but her husband, who was sitting across from them, would have none of it. He might not have cared if he too hadn’t drunk too much, but he had and he was livid. He picked up a plate and flung it across the table at Liu. Had Liu not been so drunk, he’d have known he was in the wrong and wouldn’t have fought back. Completely forgetting who and where he was, he
wiped the food off his face and splashed a bowl of chicken-neck soup all over Wu, so enraging him that he picked up Huang’s butcher knife and climbed over the table to use it on Liu, who sobered up fast. Others tried to stop Wu, but that only further enraged him.

  “Keep your hands to yourselves. I’ll use this on anyone who tries to stop me. This has been going on too long and I’m not going to take it any more.”

  The disturbance ended only when Lao Huang stepped in to mediate and the two sides struck a deal. Liu would give Wu thirty-six hundred yuan for the damage caused by his roaming hands. Since he had only three hundred yuan on him, he hit up a man from his hometown, Han Shengli, for the remainder. They went to the bank, where Han withdrew thirty-three hundred, and lent it to Liu at three percent interest. Liu then handed the full thirty-six hundred to Wu, putting an end to the altercation. Still feeling the effects of the alcohol, Liu didn’t feel too bad about the money, especially because he’d managed to cop a feel, but by midnight he’d sobered up enough to be besieged by remorse and fury with Wu.

  “It only costs eighty yuan to sleep with a hooker. I didn’t even touch the important parts and I had to shell out thirty-six hundred. It shouldn’t cost that much to screw your wife and your sister!”

  Then he turned his anger to Lao Huang, who had negotiated the amount.

  “You took advantage of me when I was drunk. What kind of man are you?”

  From then on, he bought his pig and chicken necks from different vendors, ending his dealings with both Wu and Huang. But his troubles with Han were just beginning. They had agreed on a three percent interest rate, and Liu was to pay him back within three days. Three months had passed, and Liu had yet to pay back a single yuan, which could mean one of two things. Either he didn’t have the money, which was Liu’s excuse, or he had it but refused to pay his debt, which was Han’s belief. They had several arguments over this.

  “No good deed goes unpunished,” Han said with a shake of his head. “Once you do something good, your friend becomes your enemy.”

  Now that they were enemies, Han disregarded the niceties of friendship and came for his money, once a week at first, then every night. Liu changed his tune, refusing to say whether he had the money or not. Instead he said:

  “There’s money, but it’s with Ren Baoliang. He’s slow in paying me. Do you expect me to drag it out of him?”

  Or: “Go see Ren Baoliang and get him to pay me, then I’ll pay you back.”

  Han did not know what to do with him.

  “You’ve got it all turned around. You owe me, so why should I go see Ren Baoliang?”

  Han came one day, not in the evening, but at noon. He was partial to Western suits, which he bought from a vendor at the night market near the construction site; they cost him twenty or thirty yuan, all second-hand goods of dubious origin. But on this day, he was wearing a bloody white T-shirt. His pants were also stained with blood and his head was bandaged. Liu was selling food at the dining hall, where several hundred migrant workers were in line with their lunch boxes. Acting like a different man, Han pushed through the crowd of hungry workers and reached the window.

  “If you don’t give me my money today, Liu Yuejin, I’m going to kill you.”

  Liu panicked when he saw the blood.

  “What are you doing? Trying to scare me with makeup?”

  Liu handed the ladle to Ye Jingying, who was doling out rice, and walked out of the kitchen. It took all the nice things he could say to finally drag Han to the back of the dining hall, where he had him sit on a pile of steel rods before sitting himself.

  “How could you come yelling like that in front of everyone for that little bit of money? Aren’t you ashamed of yourself? I am, for your sake.”

  “I was beaten.” Han shook his bloody shirt. “Because of you.”

  “Who did it?”

  “You don’t need to know. I owe people money, too.” He glared at Liu. “People I ought to learn from. They don’t just want my money—they’ll take my life if it comes to that. All I ask from you is my money.”

  Liu knew that Han stole from people in the area. He must have been caught and gotten a serious beating.

  “Eight stitches.” Han pointed to the bandage. “Cost me a hundred and seventy, and that’s on you too.”

  Liu lit a cigarette and steered the conversation in a different direction:

  “No matter what we do, Shengli, we can’t be cold-hearted. Do you remember back home eight years ago, when your stepmother kicked you out, how it was snowing and the wind was like a knife? Who took you in and gave you a bowl of hot noodle soup?”

  “I guess I should call you uncle for what you did for me that day. But you’ve brought that up a thousand times, and it’s old hat. Let’s not get sidetracked, dear uncle. They want their money back fast, so I need it now.”

  “I really don’t have it. Honest. Give me a few days.”

  Han looked around before jabbing at the rods he was sitting on.

  “Look at all these. Get some out at night and we’ll call it even.”

  Liu wasn’t quite sure how Han got all bloodied, but the suggestion of thievery had him leap to his feet.

  “I don’t care what you do all day, Shengli, but I don’t plan to become a thief.”

  Han was upset. So was Liu. “Don’t get me mad, or thefts will be the least of your worries. It might involve something like a clean knife in and a bloody knife out.”

  “I want my money back, but you say you don’t have it,” Han shouted. “And you won’t steal for me. What do you expect?”

  A group of workers who had finished their lunch appeared around the corner, so Liu grabbed Han’s hands and lowered his voice:

  “Three days. Give me three more days.”

  4

  Liu Pengju

  Besides talking to himself, Liu Yuejin learned an important lesson upon turning forty, and that was, people can be divided into two types, one that’s qualified to talk and the other that ought to keep their mouths shut. Those in the latter group always get themselves into trouble by saying things they shouldn’t say; you can die for saying the wrong thing. For Liu Yuejin, there were things he was qualified to talk about, such as what they’d be having for lunch that day. He could offer turnip stew with cabbage, or cabbage stew with turnips, with or without pigs’ necks, and how much; he ran the show, just like his uncle at Luoshui Prison years before, a man who decided what the inmates would have for lunch. But like his uncle when he was away from prison, Liu had no authority once he left the construction site; he could say what he wanted, but it would have no effect. If he laid it on thick, he had to deal with the consequences, which could be considerable. Everything was fine if he was able to deal with those consequences, but he could really be in hot water if he couldn’t. Yet he loved to lay it on thick—it excited him.

  Liu’s son, Pengju, was a high school student back home. Liu had laid it on thick in regard to the son, which made him feel terrific when he did, but it wound up becoming a crushing burden for six years. If not for this son, Liu wouldn’t have been so shameless as to keep from paying Han back, even though he had the money. He’d been on the up and up before turning forty, but now he was a different man.

  “How did I get to be like this?” he often muttered.

  Six years earlier, his wife, Huang Xiaoqing, divorced him. Before the divorce, he was working as a cook in a restaurant called Xiang’s Diner in a county town in Henan. He did everything, from preparing the food to making the noodles and buns. A year into the job, he found an opportunity to talk the owner into hiring his wife to serve and clear tables. He made seven hundred yuan a month; she made three hundred.

  A man named Li Gengsheng, one of Liu Yuejin’s elementary school classmates, ran the Luoshui distillery. When any of the students in the class lost a fight, they took their anger out on Li, the class sissy. Like everyone else, Liu had vented his frustrations on Li, a big kid who earned the nickname, “Big and Dumb.” No one could have predict
ed that thirty years later Big and Dumb would be the general manager of Pacific Distillery, which, though small, produced “Little Leaping Chick,” which sold for two-fifty a bottle, and Maotai, which went for thirty-eight. The big and dumb sissy of thirty years before had grown into a man with backbone. One day, Li came to Xiang’s Diner with some friends and, when he heard that the waitress was Liu’s wife, he went into the kitchen to bring Liu out to drink with them. One of Li’s friends asked Liu how much his wife earned at the diner. When Li heard three hundred, he immediately offered her six hundred to work in his distillery bottling Maotai. Both Liu and his wife were elated by this unexpected good fortune.

  “I’m doing this for no other reason,” Li said, pointing to Liu Yuejin, “than the kicks you gave me when we were kids.”