Chapter 1

In 1983, May.

The north had just shed its cold, and the heat was beginning to rise. Dust mixed with the mottled flavors of the old era, gently landing on a lush green willow tree.

The willow tree stood by the roadside, its dense branches shading the entrance of a two-story building. Two signs hung at the entrance: Ancheng Quyi Troupe and Ancheng Quyi Workers Association.

The upper floor was the office area, and the lower floor was the hall. The sounds of stringed instruments, drums, and wooden clappers, along with the dramatic storytelling, faintly echoed from inside.

"Ma Zou Xian Ya Shi Le Yi Jiao, Ma Shang De Junzi Tai Tou Qiao, Jian Shi Ren Shi Ma Hai You Shi Cheng Xiang, You Shi Zhu He Shi Yang Ya Shi Tou Diao Qiao, Ding Tian Zhu Wang Tian Hou Fen Zai Le Zuo You..."

The hall was spacious, with people scattered about. In the southeast corner, an elderly woman teacher held a wooden clapper in her left hand and a drumstick in her right, striking the flat drum. The clapper and drum worked together, producing a rhythmic sound.

This was a famous excerpt from the Xihedagǔ performance of "Yang Family Generals," titled "Pan Yang Song." Another old man with a white beard accompanied her on the sanxian, while four or five apprentices sat in front, listening intently.

On the nearby stage, four people in floral costumes were rehearsing a local play. Below the stage, two men were performing a fast-paced crosstalk, and a few other artists were reciting old stories...

The storytelling and performances were categorized, but all were careful to control the noise, trying not to disturb each other.

Xu Fei sat under the window, his bottom on a small stool, engrossed in a copy of "Popular Television."

This was the third issue of the year, with actress Xiao Xiong on the cover and a still from the eight-episode TV series "Hua Luogeng" on the back cover. The text, design, and printing all carried the aesthetic of the era.

Blue skies, white clouds, large flowers, and girls with curled hair and rosy cheeks—simple yet fresh.

"‘Silent White Goose Bay,’ ‘Black Cross,’ ‘New Sister,’ ‘King Arthur’—I haven’t seen any of these... Hmm?"

"‘Wu Song’ by Zhu Yanping, it turns out it’s airing this year."

He flipped through half the magazine, his eyes suddenly brightening as he stared at a familiar photo of the actor.

The large face and the headband that looked like a White Sheep Saint Fighter brought a long-lost sense of comfort, which quickly disappeared.

Xu Fei sighed lightly, looking at the bustling scene with a sense of detachment. Unconsciously, he had adapted for over a month, but everything still felt so strange.

Yes, he had been reborn.

In his previous life, he was a mid-level executive at a media company, with a house, a car, and a decent income. After drinking heavily with colleagues one night, he closed his eyes and opened them to find himself here.

1983!

If it were around the year 2000, he could have made a fortune in the internet and real estate; if it were in the 1990s, he could have become a successful township entrepreneur. Even if he were reborn a few years later, the social environment and openness would be completely different.

But what could he do now? The policies were still unstable, and it had only been five years since the end of the Cultural Revolution.

"Truly a troublesome year."

Xu Fei closed the magazine, feeling inexplicably hot. His undershirt clung to his shirt, slowly producing a layer of fine sweat. He unbuttoned his shirt and rolled up his sleeves, revealing his firm, slender forearms.

Indeed, the quality of the fabric was poor, not absorbent or breathable, but it was smooth, easy to wash, and affordable, making it a fashion trend in the early 1980s.

For example, his outfit was the standard look for young people: a parted hairstyle, a white的确良 (polyester) shirt tucked into his pants, and a pair of broken sandals with socks.

As for items like aviator sunglasses, bell-bottom pants, and batwing shirts, they would only become popular in the mid-1980s, and even then, they were only occasionally seen in the capital, often criticized by experts as vulgar.

Tsk, tsk, if these people knew that in thirty years, people would still walk around with half their buttocks exposed, they would be shocked...

"Xiao Xu, help move the props."

"Coming!"

He was lost in thought when the local play rehearsal ended. A sister waved, and he ran up to the stage, lifting tables and chairs with great familiarity.

It was almost quitting time. As one group finished, the others were also wrapping up. He helped each group pack up and store everything in the small warehouse beside the stage.

Xu Fei was the youngest, but everyone was quite polite, at least saying thank you. Of course, it wasn’t for him, but for his father and the big boss.

But he didn’t mind. When the clock struck, he slipped out of the hall, wheeled out a brand new Phoenix bicycle from the bike shed, and with a few steps, gracefully mounted it.

Indeed, in those days, riding a Phoenix bicycle around the city was quite impressive.

...

The impression of an era from TV and from personal experience were two entirely different things.

The sky was gray, and industrial dust was everywhere. The streets were particularly wide, with bicycles riding in the middle, as there were very few cars, only the tracks of electric trams running straight.

Most buildings on both sides were low and old, with a dense network of power poles and wires. Tall buildings were only on major roads, which had police booths with officers in white uniforms.

Looking around, the crowd was mostly dark, with few bright colors.

Xu Fei rode his bike home, feeling as if he was walking into a series of old photographs, everything looking blurry and unreal.

He turned down a few streets and entered a narrow alley. This area was full of courtyard houses, with two or three families sharing each one.

He stopped at a house, pushed his bike into the narrow entrance, and walked further in. The communal kitchen was ahead, with two rooms on each side. The left room belonged to the Zhang family, and the right to the Xu family, both working at the Quyi Troupe.

"Mom, I’m back!"

Xu Fei lifted the curtain and entered, finding no one inside. He turned and heard a noise from the kitchen. "Back already, what did you do today?"

"What could I do, just run errands and do odd jobs."

He entered the kitchen, where a gentle, slender woman was washing rice and cooking.

The woman was Zhang Guiqin, a dancer with the city dance troupe. Now that she was older, she had moved to a secondary role, rarely performing on stage, and mainly teaching.

"You’re young and just started, it will get better. By the way, did you get your salary today?"

"Uh, yes..."

Xu Fei pursed his lips and took out the envelope, handing it over.

Zhang Guiqin counted a small stack of money, 34 yuan in total. She kept 20 yuan and gave the rest back to her son, saying, "Save it, you never know what will happen. You haven’t performed on stage yet, and even if you do, it’s because of your father’s connections. Focus on improving your skills."

"Okay, okay, I got it!"

He grunted, not wanting to continue the conversation. Seeing that Zhang Guiqin had finished washing the rice and was adding it to the stove, he couldn’t help but say, "Mom, why don’t we get an electric rice cooker and a gas canister?"

"Gas canister? That thing is not safe, it might explode anytime."

"Who told you that? If it were unsafe, the government wouldn’t have introduced it. It lights up with a click, no need to go through all this trouble."

"That’s not practical, a canister of gas costs a lot, not worth it."

"..."

Fine, Xu Fei kept quiet.

In the early 1980s, gas canisters were still a novelty, and many people thought they were bombs, and they were relatively expensive. It wasn’t until the mid to late 1980s that urban residents began to use them extensively, even giving rise to a new service industry.

He wandered around the kitchen, munching on a cucumber, and asked casually, "Where’s Dad, why hasn’t he come back yet?"

"He has something with the big boss, he’s eating here tonight."

"Then I should get some wine."

"You know your big boss doesn’t drink."

Zhang Guiqin tapped him, thinking for a moment, "But we’re out of cigarettes, you can go buy a pack."

She rummaged through her pocket and pulled out a cigarette ration ticket, a simple piece of paper with black ink and a stamp from the Ancheng Commercial Bureau.

In those days, from rice to salt, from towels to batteries, from iron pots to umbrellas, from radios to suitcases, almost everything required a ration ticket.

Especially for large items like bicycles, you needed a bicycle ticket and industrial coupons. Industrial coupons were issued based on salary, with one coupon for every 20 yuan, and they had a wide range of uses.

These tickets had some monetary value but were not entirely money, serving as a purchasing voucher, with additional cash required.

Xu Fei took the ticket and headed to the nearest state-owned store to buy a pack of cigarettes.

On his way back, he smelled the cigarettes and happened to run into two people in the alley. One was tall and fair, his father, Xu Xiaowen.

The other was shorter, with neatly combed hair and a magical expression when he smiled. His voice was a distinctive duck-like tone:

"Kid, where are you coming from?"

(Seeking a kind person to help make a cover, please add me to the group, thank you!)