Chapter 513: Chapter 40: The 1995 Counterfeit Cigarette Incident (Part 2)
"Then teach me how to weave mats; I want to give it a try?" Xiao Xian’s eyes twinkled with excitement.
Old Yu Shan Yang walked down the stairs. He wasn’t very tall, his back slightly hunched, and his walking posture was much like the way he talked—neither too fast nor too slow, yet it didn’t make people feel lazy.
The other elders who were busy in the courtyard looked up and greeted him: "Old Yu, off for another walk?"
He nodded lightly without engaging anyone further and left the Elderly Home.
Mealtime at the Elderly Home was usually around six o’clock. Now that Old Yu had left, he would likely be late for dinner again.
"Hey, it’s different for those who’ve been officials."
"If you’d been the vice director of the National Tobacco Bureau, you’d be different too."
These idle chats were from the pair of elders Xiao Xian had seen when she first entered, and regarding Old Yu’s behavior and his tendency to ignore others, everyone at the Elderly Home knew and didn’t take it to heart, merely taking the opportunity to bring up Old Yu’s past from time to time.
Yu Shan Yang left the Elderly Home and crossed a street. It was already half-past five in the afternoon, and the nearest post office to Fang Street was about to close its shutter.
"Comrade, I want to send a parcel," Old Yu knocked on the shutter, and the post office staff saw the Elderly Home clothes he was wearing, so they opened the shutter and let him in.
"What’s this, something over a meter long?" the staff member checked the mat the elder had brought.
"It’s just a mat, a cool mat for personal use."
"Where to send?"
After hesitating briefly, Old Yu replied, "To Ge Village in Bai Family Ancient Town, Guizhou." After stating this, the old man, as if uncertain, added, "It can be sent there, right?"
"Yes, that area has postal service now, but sending parcels to Guizhou is slow; it will probably take about ten days or so." The post office staff explained patiently.
Ten days... in ten days, it would be the start of autumn, well, even if it really gets there, there might not be anyone to use it. Black Purple Vine is a good thing; even when the weather cools, placing it under a quilt can help treat rheumatic joint pain. The damp cold in the south can be harsh, having such a mat would make life in the mountains more bearable.
After sending out the mat, with a hint of melancholy, Mr. Yu didn’t immediately return to the Elderly Home.
He wandered the Fang Street for a while and passed by a store, coming across a grocery store, he walked in and asked, "Do you have Yunyan Soft Treasure?"
The type of grocery store frequented by the elderly, such as this one, could be found everywhere in the old neighborhoods of Beijing. Inside, idling locals sat around, seven or eight of them around a table, playing mahjong continuously, with another three or four watching from the side.
The store owner, a woman in her early thirties, was absorbed in her viewing and didn’t respond to the customer buying something. She just pulled out a pack of cigarettes from the glass cabinet and tossed it to the old man.
A small square red cigarette case was then taken out, and Yu Shan Yang pinched it in his hand, squeezing the transparent plastic film a bit at the sealed end, which was slightly unglued. At the bottom of the case, the yellow warning "Smoking is harmful to your health" was printed in a line.
"Do you have the Yunyan Soft Treasure from ’95?"
Perhaps because her card game was interrupted twice, the middle-aged woman, her voice gruff, said, "Twenty yuan a pack, take it or leave it. Buying cigarettes isn’t like buying antiques, picking specifically from ’95." Yunyan is a mid-to-high-end cigarette, and it always has a good market.
Stores like this one beside Fang Street, when buying wholesale cigarettes each month, always have a quota, and never worry about being unable to sell them.
Before leaving, Mr. Yu put down the cigarettes, and said, "Comrade woman, these cigarettes are fake, don’t sell them again next time."
By the time the middle-aged woman snapped out of it, the person was already far away. With a grim face, she knew the authenticity of the tobacco she brought in; it was as clear as day.
It was strange to say, but these counterfeit cigarettes had been sold for almost half a year without anyone catching on, not even the old smokers with yellow-stained teeth who had been smoking for decades could tell the difference.
Fortunately, those in the store today were all from the know, otherwise, if word got out, her backbone would be poked full of holes.
"Mrs. Juanzi, you’ve bumped into a master this time, I’m telling you, as soon as that old man asked for the ’95 Yunyan, I felt something was off," said Uncle Wang, who just came down from the mahjong table. Playing mahjong requires full concentration. When he heard the phrase uttered by the customer looking to buy cigarettes, he accidentally discarded a good tile, got laughed off the table, and then had time to chat with the store owner.
"Listen to him talking nonsense," the other mahjong players teased, "It’s just an old lonely man from the Elderly Home, dressed ordinarily, one of those old men sunbathing at the winter alleyway, eight out of ten are like that."
"You guys obviously don’t read the papers or listen to the radio. The ’95 Yunyan Soft Treasure was involved in a big incident, dragging down many people. I heard someone’s family was even ruined because of it. That year, all Soft Treasure productions were confiscated; it was said that just destroying the tobacco took a full three days. Still, some genuine products were kept back, later becoming many people’s private stash. You don’t know the history of Yunyan. My great-grandfather, before he died of lung cancer, only smoked Yunyan. But he said after ’95, Yunyan wasn’t the same anymore; the taste when smoking it was much worse," Uncle Wang said, spitting as he spoke.
The grocery store was filled with exclamations of amazement and sympathy, but that conversation was confined within the store.
Across the street, hidden in the alleys of Fang Street Elderly Home, people were none the wiser.
At dinner time, Xiao Xian had just learned the simplest method of weaving rattan mats from Mao Dazhu, and was squatting on the steps in the courtyard under the corridor light, weaving a few bamboo strips over and over.
"Young people nowadays are interested in weaving mats? It takes time to grasp this skill, don’t be hasty. Go inside and have your meal first," Mao Dazhu noticed Xiao Xian’s actions and quietly urged her to grab a meal at the elderly home’s dining hall.
Every Friday is the day the mat store delivers money, and after getting the money, Mao Dazhu always provides extra food for the elderly. The elderly in the home are old and cannot eat rich foods; the so-called extra meals are often a few steamed fishes or some seasonal fruits.
For some reason, Xiao Xian, after eating, stayed staring blankly and looked unhappy. Mao Dazhu asked, "What’s wrong? Didn’t enjoy your meal?"
"No, I just remembered my grandfather," Xiao Xian felt a pang of sadness and suddenly had a flash of insight—Yu Shan Yang, she remembered seeing that name somewhere.
"Isn’t that elderly man who weaves the Purple Vine Mats back yet?" Xiao Xian asked eagerly.
"Not yet, Old Yu doesn’t like eating with others. He usually comes back around seven or eight, and his meal is still stewing in the pot." Mao Dazhu checked the time; the number 6 bus stops running after seven, he needed to send Xiao Xian back.
Xiao Xian wasn’t sure if her memory was correct and decided it was best to check again when she got back. She took the leftover Purple Black Vine and left. (To be continued. If you enjoy this work, you are welcome to vote for it with a recommendation ticket or a monthly ticket at Qidian (). Your support is my greatest motivation.)