Chapter 12 The Cassette Shop Owner’s Wife

The crowd watching whispered among themselves from time to time, as if such incidents of petty theft were commonplace here. Normally, as long as their own belongings weren’t stolen, they couldn’t be bothered to care.

“This is my brother you’re accusing! On what grounds do you say he stole from you? And you even want to chop off his hand—who do you think you are?” another petty thug stepped forward. He was tall, nearly six feet, but very thin, wearing a cheap tank top that revealed a wolf’s head tattooed on his shoulder.

“If I can prove he stole it, what will you do?” Jiang Butong asked.

The tall, skinny thug replied, “Fine, if you can prove he took it, I’ll take him to the constable myself, is that enough?”

The thief caught in the act also looked unafraid.

“Very well. Since you claim the wallet is yours, tell me, is there a photo of a man and a woman inside?” Jiang Butong asked.

A flicker of confusion crossed the thug’s face. He had just stolen the wallet and hadn’t had a chance to look inside yet.

Jiang Butong held the thief with one hand, and with the other, he gently took Chen Pan’er’s hand.

The thief’s gaze darted between Jiang Butong and Chen Pan’er as he gritted his teeth and bluffed, “Yes, there’s a photo!”

Jiang Butong feigned surprise, his expression changing slightly.

Noticing the shift in Jiang Butong’s face, the skinny thug became even more convinced the photo must be inside.

“There must be a photo in there. If there’s not, then I stole it; if there is, then you’ve falsely accused me!”

Jiang Butong, pretending to be crestfallen, released his grip on the thief.

“So? Now it’s proven the wallet is mine!” The thief looked immensely pleased with himself.

Chen Pan’er, stifling a laugh, said, “Well then, open it up and show everyone.”

The thief, opening the wallet, muttered, “Fine, I’ll open it. This wallet is… it’s…”

His movements froze as he frantically searched for the photo, but after rummaging through the wallet, he found nothing but a dozen or so yuan.

“So, is it yours?” someone in the crowd called out.

The thief’s face turned awkward, but suddenly he noticed the faint smile at the corner of Jiang Butong’s mouth and, furious, shouted, “Damn you! You tricked me!”

“If it’s not your wallet, then hand it over,” Chen Pan’er said, snatching the wallet from his hand.

“So, he really is a thief!” The crowd began to jeer, mocking the petty thug.

Just as the thief was about to retaliate against Jiang Butong, the tall, skinny thug dragged him away. As they left, the tall one shot Jiang Butong a cold, menacing glance.

Thanks to this little commotion, the tension between Jiang Butong and Chen Pan’er eased, and their relationship improved.

The two continued to wander through the market.

“By the way, why was there so little money in your wallet just now?” Jiang Butong asked, realizing that someone coming to buy goods for resale would hardly carry just a few yuan.

“Hmph, I come here all the time. Did you really think I wouldn’t know how things work around here?” Chen Pan’er stuffed the wallet back into her pocket. In truth, her real money was hidden in another pocket; this wallet was just bait for pickpockets.

Suddenly, Jiang Butong stopped in front of a stall.

Displayed outside the stall were posters of celebrities—Jacky Cheung, Aaron Kwok, Leon Lai...

Jiang Butong looked at the posters with interest, then stepped into the booth.

He discovered that it was actually selling cassette tapes.

“You here to buy tapes, young man?” a pleasant, magnetic voice asked.

Jiang Butong looked up. The proprietress was strikingly attractive—elegant brows, exquisite almond-shaped eyes, fair and delicate skin, her figure accentuated by a form-fitting T-shirt.

The proprietress took note of Jiang Butong as well, especially the steadiness in his gaze, unusual for someone his age.

Chen Pan’er browsed the tapes but didn’t usually sell them herself; the wholesale price was high, sales weren’t great, and it was easy for stock to pile up. After all, everyone had different tastes in music, and her current capital couldn’t support a full range.

“How much for these tapes?” Jiang Butong asked, his attention shifting quickly from the proprietress to the tapes themselves.

“Five yuan each,” she replied, slightly surprised. Most men meeting her for the first time would steal a few glances, even if they didn’t dare look directly at her. But this young man had only glanced once before focusing on the merchandise. Was she not dressed attractively enough today?

“These are a bit expensive,” Jiang Butong commented as he flipped through the tapes—there were ones by Natalis Chan, Alan Tam, and some in English. Most were older songs, which explained the lack of customers. In this era, only those with means could afford tapes.

“Do you have any by Yang Yuying?” he asked, recalling that Yang Yuying and Mao Ning had released their album “Love’s Rain” in 1994.

The proprietress shook her head in confusion.

“What about Wong Ka Kui?” Jiang Butong pressed.

Again, she shook her head, wondering if he was here to cause trouble, since she hadn’t even heard of the tapes he mentioned.

Jiang Butong frowned. That couldn’t be—these artists were already popular in Hong Kong. Especially “Boundless Oceans, Vast Skies,” a song he often heard and a staple at karaoke bars. He clearly remembered it was released in late 1993. Could it be that it hadn’t yet made its way to Pengcheng?

“How about ‘The Ocean’ by Chang Yusheng?” he tried again.

Still shaking her head, it was obvious she hadn’t heard of it.

Jiang Butong frowned, deep in thought, then suddenly realized that “The Ocean” was a hit from Taiwan. In this era, with no internet, it could take a long time for songs to spread and become popular.

“Are you here just to stir up trouble?” the beautiful proprietress glared at him with her almond-shaped eyes.

“What?” Jiang Butong was puzzled.

“How come I’ve never heard of any of the tapes you’re looking for?” she complained, her business already bad and her mood sour.

So that was the reason.

“Where do you get your tapes from?” Jiang Butong asked.

“That’s none of your business. Are you buying or not?” she snapped, suspecting he wasn’t a genuine customer.

Chen Pan’er, sensing the hostility, tugged Jiang Butong’s sleeve. “Let’s go somewhere else.”

Jiang Butong winked at Chen Pan’er, then turned back to the proprietress. “The artists I just mentioned—with any luck, their albums will be huge hits in a few months, or at the latest by the end of the year. I suggest you stock up on their tapes. When the time comes, I’ll buy them from you.”

The proprietress was so annoyed, she nearly laughed. “You’re young, but you sure talk big. Just because you say something will be popular, it will be? Who do you think you are?”

Jiang Butong didn’t argue; after all, people of this era had their limitations.

“How about we make a bet?” Jiang Butong proposed.

“What kind of bet?” she asked.

Jiang Butong took a hundred yuan from his pocket and slapped it on the counter.

“This is a deposit. I’ll leave it with you.”

The proprietress was taken aback by his boldness. She’d never encountered such a generous customer before, but then she began to worry he might be a cheat.

“I’ll leave this hundred with you. Then, for the albums I just named, no matter how you do it, get a batch from Hong Kong for me. However many you get, I’ll buy them all.”

The proprietress hesitated, unsure if Jiang Butong was genuine.

Jiang Butong took out another hundred.

“Two hundred as a deposit. Just get me a batch of tapes by those artists,” he said.

Seeing the two hundred yuan, she readily agreed and, to show her sincerity, wrote him a receipt.

“All right, I’ll bring in albums by those artists. But if they don’t sell, I’m keeping your two hundred.”

She’d already made up her mind: she’d use the two hundred yuan as capital, and whether or not the tapes sold, she wouldn’t lose out.

“Deal,” Jiang Butong replied.

He glanced at the signature on the receipt—Wang Yun. So, the beautiful proprietress was called Wang Yun. He wondered which lucky man had married such a lovely woman.

Then he noticed Chen Pan’er’s unhappy expression, realizing that to her, spending two hundred yuan so rashly might have seemed reckless.

“How soon can you get the tapes?” Jiang Butong asked Wang Yun.

“In about ten days. Just come back then,” she replied, now much more polite, with real money in her hand.

“If those tapes sell well, you can only sell them to me—no one else!”