"Dongzi, you're finally out!"
The speaker was Xiang Lin, a short, dark-skinned guy with a buzz cut, clearly a returned educated youth, looking every bit like a freshly released reform camp inmate.
This wasn't decades later; a reform camp haircut like that would get you laughed at on the streets.
"What were you dawdling for in there? Any longer, and the sun would've melted me and Xiao Linzi."
This was another childhood friend, Zhang Sen, whom their group nicknamed Sanmu.
Li Xiangdong quickly shot him a glance and hurried out without looking back, Xiao Linzi and Sanmu trailing close behind.
"Third Brother Li, I'm telling you, don't drink too much horse piss out there. If you come back like a drunkard again, I'll make you sleep in the alley tonight!"
After Li's mother finished, she slammed the door shut with a loud bang.
Faced with this, Li Xiangdong had nothing to say. His mom was like that—never sparing his dignity in front of others.
Since childhood, his friends, put off by his mom's attitude, rarely came over to hang out. They'd just shout for him from outside the gate.
Zhang Sen said, "Dongzi, your mom's temper hasn't changed a bit."
"It's mainly us brothers—nobody likes us wherever we go."
Xiang Lin sighed. After all, they were notorious loafers in the neighborhood.
Zhang Sen grinned, "Don't say that. It's you nobody likes. Who told you to get that reform camp haircut? Be glad the local cop didn't nab you as a bad guy."
Xiang Lin fumed, "Only an idiot would want a reform camp haircut. It's because the street office assigned me to the barbershop as an apprentice. The old master there saw me and another guy knew nothing, so he had us practice on each other. Who could've guessed I'd end up looking like this?"
"Hahaha, that's hilarious!"
"What about the other guy? Did he get a reform camp cut too?"
Xiang Lin smirked mischievously, "He's worse off—straight-up bald like a boiled egg."
"Hahaha!"
Zhang Sen laughed so hard he could barely breathe, practically convulsing.
At this point, Li Xiangdong asked, "What's the plan today?"
Xiang Lin said, "Nothing special. Azhe's back, so we're thinking of visiting his place to welcome him."
At the mention of Azhe, Zhang Sen's smile faded.
This childhood friend of theirs had it rough; his past few years were enough to make anyone sigh.
Azhe's full name was Shi Zhengzhe—a name that screamed cultured family.
His dad was a university teacher, specializing in economics. Before the turbulent times, Azhe's mom fled abroad with another man, leaving behind a letter cutting ties. Still, life was tough for the father and son.
In times like those, keeping a low profile and staying out of trouble might've gotten them through.
And it did—until the year Li Xiangdong got married, when nothing had happened.
But soon after, Shi Zhengzhe's dad couldn't keep his mouth shut and said things he shouldn't have.
Then the pair were sent to a countryside together, living in a "small villa," experiencing the rural life urban workers dreamed of decades later.
In his previous life, Li Xiangdong learned about the train station job recruitment from Azhe. The street office had given Azhe a spot, saying it was to compensate for the wrongs done to comrades.
Azhe didn't take the job in the end. In the previous life's trajectory, he didn't stay in the city long after returning. He and his dad went abroad to join his mom. They didn't meet again until the millennium, during the Beijing Olympics.
"Since Azhe's back, we should visit, but showing up empty-handed doesn't feel right, does it?"
Li Xiangdong was in a bind. He only had thirty cents on him, plus two packs of Daqianmen cigarettes.
Zhang Sen said, "Don't worry, Dongzi. We've got it covered."
"What'd you get?"
Li Xiangdong was puzzled. His two friends weren't exactly well-off. Xiang Lin was an apprentice at the barbershop, and Zhang Sen was assigned by the street office to pedal a tricycle. Both were married with kids, their earnings barely enough to feed their families.
Xiang Lin said sheepishly, "It wasn't me or Sanmu. Binzi arranged it through the kitchen's buyer at his restaurant. We reserved a pig's head and a full set of offal."
Binzi was another childhood friend, full name Qian Bin. After junior high, he didn't go to the countryside and worked as a cook at a state-run restaurant under his dad.
Hearing about the pig's head, Li Xiangdong's mouth watered. "Damn, let's get moving then! Cooking a pig's head takes time."
"We came to get you first, worried your mom wouldn't let you out. Plus, with meat, we need booze. Let's swing by the tavern for a few jin of loose liquor."
"If you put it that way, we can't have booze without peanuts."
"But the tavern's peanuts are pricey, and we don't have ration tickets for the co-op."
"I've got a two-ounce ticket, but no cash."
"Don't worry, I'll cover the money. Cigarettes—anyone got some?"
"I do, two packs of Daqianmen."
"Perfect, we're all set."
The three got more excited as they talked, as if they were heading to a Manchu-Han Imperial Feast, full of enthusiasm!
After planning, they split up. Xiang Lin and Zhang Sen went to the co-op for peanuts, while Li Xiangdong headed to the tavern for loose liquor.
To buy loose liquor, you needed empty bottles. His family's were in the main room, but to avoid his mom's nagging, he grabbed two tea mugs from his room to make do.
Spending his last thirty cents, he got two jin of loose Erguotou. Leaving the tavern, he steadied a mug in each hand.
Back then, things were built to last and sized generously. A jin of liquor filled a mug to about seventy or eighty percent. With the lids on tight, nothing spilled.
Li Xiangdong walked into Qian Bin's courtyard and saw Xiang Lin, Zhang Sen, and two chubby guys—one big, one small—squatting in the yard, singeing pig hair off a head over a fire. A few neighborhood kids watched the spectacle.
Nearby were two large metal basins: one held singed pig hooves and a tail, the other soaked a full set of pig offal.
He set his tea mugs on the windowsill and greeted a middle-aged man fanning himself with a palm-leaf fan. "Uncle Qian, good to see you. Sorry to trouble you on such a hot day."
Uncle Qian grinned like a Maitreya Buddha. "Dongzi's here! No trouble at all. I just pulled some strings; you boys are doing the heavy lifting."
He stood, lifted his shirt to pat his belly, and pointed his fan at the windowsill. "Why'd you bring two tea mugs out with you?"