Chapter 14: The Robbery of the Hat

Crackling... Wang Dakui struck a match and lit the kerosene lamp.

The dim flame flickered, spewing thick black smoke.

The room, already heavy with dampness, now carried the distinct, peculiar odor of kerosene.

The originally pale asbestos tiles were blackened by the lamp’s smoke.

While Wang Dakui poured water, Li Aiguo took the opportunity to carefully examine the interior.

This place was less a house and more a shack.

Worn wooden planks served as walls; the floor was bare earth, and in the center stood a poplar tree as wide as a bowl’s mouth.

Its trunk pierced through the asbestos roof, the edges of the broken tiles smeared with black grease.

Perhaps it had been that way for years, for the oily black residue trickled down the trunk, leaving a gap in the roof through which the brilliant stars in the sky were faintly visible.

In one corner lay a pile of coarse sacks, and against the wall was a kang bed-stove.

The interior was a chaotic mess.

A clay stove, pots and pans, a square table, and a few stools were haphazardly stacked, leaving barely any space to step.

Since entering, Li Aiguo sensed Wang Dakui was no longer the same as before; his youthful innocence had faded, replaced by a steadier demeanor.

Taking the enamel mug handed to him, Li Aiguo found a clean spot to sit and removed his hat.

“Ermao, how’s it going? Got the job as a train driver?”

Wang Dakui’s eyes flickered with a trace of disappointment as he glanced at Li Aiguo’s work uniform.

“This?” Li Aiguo smiled, pointing to his clothes. “It’s my father’s. The exam’s still two weeks away.”

“You always studied so well; you’ll definitely make it. I heard train conductors earn a hundred and twenty yuan a month.”

“Being a conductor isn’t that easy. My old man’s been at it for years and is still just a regular driver.”

“Sooner or later, though. Not like me, stuck wasting time at the pigeon market.”

Wang Dakui was genuinely happy for Li Aiguo. He pulled out a cigarette from a pack and handed one over, lighting it with a cupped hand before lighting one for himself.

Recalling his own fate, his face, flickering in the uncertain light and smoke, looked as sour as an unripe persimmon.

Li Aiguo understood Wang Dakui’s thoughts.

Like his father before him, Wang Dakui dreamed of becoming a train driver.

But—

Wang Dakui’s father, before liberation, managed the ancestral hall for the Kui family in Black Sesame Alley. When social classes were assigned, he was labeled as "Ancestral Hall Manager."

Both ancestral hall managers and those collecting school rent were considered part of the land rent exploiters—a phrase taken directly from "How to Analyze Rural Classes."

Although Wang Dakui was under eighteen and thus exempt from class assignment, becoming a train driver required rigorous background checks.

As the descendant of an "Ancestral Hall Manager," Wang Dakui had no hope of becoming a train driver.

He had to drop out early to help support the family and care for his ailing mother.

As a friend,

Li Aiguo couldn’t rub salt into Wang Dakui’s wound.

Changing the subject, he picked up his hat and dusted it off.

“This hat of mine, why is it such a problem?”

Hearing this, Wang Dakui finally looked up and spoke softly:

“At first, it wasn’t a big deal.

A few years ago, lots of people wore hats like this at the pigeon market.

But last winter, out of nowhere, a group of seven or eight young men appeared—each a skilled fighter.

They wore black wool caps and carried canvas bags filled with kitchen knives and steel awls.

They hid along the side paths outside Xinbei Bridge.

If you came to the pigeon market empty-handed, they’d pretend to be smoking and chatting nearby.

But if you carried any goods, they’d swarm around you in an instant.

Those who frequented the pigeon market were usually fearless—even carrying firecrackers.

But when seven or eight men surrounded you,

with knives pressed to your neck and awls pointed at your waist,

even if you had two boxes of firecrackers, you’d have to comply quietly.

Those guys weren’t just for show—they were ruthless.

Erwang, who ran a stall with me, got blocked by them. He only pushed back slightly and got slashed.

His kidney was pierced.

He died before reaching the hospital.

Poor his mother and sister—they had to flee Beijing and seek refuge with relatives in Baoding.”

Perhaps realizing he had strayed too far, Wang Dakui rubbed his face and said, “Since then, everyone at the pigeon market—the stall owners, ticket scalpers, and dealers—called the black wool cap the ‘robbery hat.’

That gang was eventually wiped out, but nobody dares wear those hats anymore.”

“Who wiped them out?” Li Aiguo asked.

“Of course, the police.

The gang leaders clashed with those black hats several times.

They never got the upper hand and lost several men.

So they devised a trap.

The black hats, foolishly reckless, kept charging forward.

They were all caught then.

Their graves must be over two meters high by now.”

Li Aiguo fell silent.

Indeed, in the face of overwhelming power, no matter how tough you are, you have to bow.

Wang Dakui added, “Of course, the police didn’t handle it cleanly, so people rarely talk about it at the market. But from then on, the rule was set: no one wears wool caps anymore.”

Feeling uneasy discussing underworld matters with Li Aiguo, Wang Dakui shifted the topic back to him after a brief chat.

“What did you come to the pigeon market to buy today?”

Li Aiguo didn’t hide anything: “Grain coupons, meat coupons, egg coupons, vegetable coupons—and a few fruit coupons, too.”

“That’s all? You didn’t need to come here for that. I can get them for you,” Wang Dakui said, patting his chest.

Seeing Wang Dakui willing to help, Li Aiguo naturally didn’t refuse and pulled out twenty yuan.

Before he could hand it over, Wang Dakui pushed it away.

“You saved my life once. If I took your money for something so small, how would I keep my face on the streets?”

Indeed, Li Aiguo had saved Wang Dakui’s life.

Back when they skipped class together and wandered onto the railway,

Wang Dakui’s foot got stuck between the rails.

A train was approaching, and Li Aiguo risked everything to pull his foot free.

Li Aiguo didn’t consider himself a hero—he just thought Wang Dakui’s foot smelled terrible.

Li Aiguo knew Wang Dakui’s nature.

He cared about honor and loyalty.

Now, to accept money would be like slapping his face.

“All right then, once you get what I asked for, we’ll settle up.”

Li Aiguo glanced up at the roof; dawn was breaking.

He stood and said, “It’s almost morning. I have to study some more, so I better head back.”

Wang Dakui stood to see him off.

“The things you want aren’t many, just bits and pieces. It’ll probably take me all day. Come by here tonight to get them, okay?”

“Fine.”

Li Aiguo turned to the small room beside them, saw no movement, and smiled.

“Please give my regards to your mother.”

Li Aiguo had met Wang Dakui’s mother during his school days.

She was a capable woman who raised her son by sewing for others after her husband died.

But back then, the Wang family lived in a large courtyard next to a siheyuan, not in this shabby alley.

Stepping outside Wang’s door, the sky was bright.

Li Aiguo could clearly see his surroundings.

The alley was filled with makeshift houses, the ground was riddled with sewage, and a faint stench lingered—apparently someone had dumped a chamber pot onto the street.

Why had the Wang family moved to such a dilapidated place?

Puzzled, Li Aiguo returned to the siheyuan.

He tightened his collar and, crossing the threshold, collided headlong with Yan Bugui.

Yan Bugui stumbled, dropping his tin bucket and net bag.

Li Aiguo reacted quickly, catching his arm to prevent him from falling.

Despite his ribs aching from the bump, Yan Bugui picked up his net and bucket, relieved they were undamaged.

Looking up, he said gratefully, “Thank you!”

“Oh! It’s Aiguo! Up early, huh?”

Recognizing Li Aiguo, Yan Bugui’s small eyes behind tortoiseshell glasses blinked rapidly.

“Third Uncle, in a rush—where you headed?” Li Aiguo greeted him.

With a hand net and a white tin bucket, it was clear Yan Bugui wasn’t off to do anything honest.

He laughed awkwardly, “I just got word that the drain on Qianmen Street is releasing water. There’ll be fish in there. I gotta go before someone else snatches the good spots.”

The Qianmen drain connected to Shichahai Lake, usually clogged with sewage.

Periodically, the district opened the sluice gates to flush the sewage with lake water, driving fish hiding at the lake’s bottom into the drain.

Ordinary people avoided fishing there, disgusted by the filth.

But Yan Bugui, who stopped to sniff the stench whenever a manure cart passed, was no ordinary person.

“I can’t chat, gotta go.”

He took a few steps, then glanced back as if remembering something.

“Aiguo, I want to introduce you to someone. What do you think?”

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