My Realistic Simulation Game

Chapter 8: The Recklessness of Spending Money, Learning a Foreign Language
Two days later, at the Beijing Mosco Restaurant.

This was the first Western restaurant opened after the founding of the People's Republic of China. People in Beijing affectionately called it "Lao Mo" – for Chinese people, "Lao Mo" signifies closeness and respect.

Before the 1980s, eating here symbolized privilege and was the exclusive domain of children of high-ranking officials.

However, after the reform and opening up, the political and privileged atmosphere surrounding Moscow restaurants gradually faded.

In the eyes of consumers, the Moscow restaurant has become a restaurant with a long history, excellent service, and a truly authentic dining experience.

Back in 1990, you could have a big meal here for just 100 yuan, so the locals often frequented this place.

"What? Qin Yuan took Binzi and the others to K3?"

A young man in a leather jacket, looking rather sleazy, asked with surprise.

Did he know that the K3 line leads to Moscow, and getting on the K3 is tantamount to going to the Soviet Union?
It should be noted that China had only resumed diplomatic relations with the Soviet Union for a year.

Going there at this time would be suicide, wouldn't it?

The road is fraught with highway robbers and local gangs; it's extremely risky!
"Yes, it's all over the industry now. Some say Qin Yuan is heavily in debt and has fled to the Soviet Union. Others say he went to the Soviet Union to do business. There are all sorts of rumors."

"He's crazy!" the young man scoffed. "He only went to high school, right? He's been with us for so many years, do you think he's doing business?"

He was already waiting to see the joke.

Meanwhile, across the vast North China Plain, a dark green steel dragon is tirelessly traversing the land day and night.

Two days later, the sound of wheels hitting the rails had changed from the initial clamor to a monotonous and deeply ingrained background noise, permeating every corner of the carriage and even seeping into the very bones of everyone present.

The mingled smells of smoke, sweat, the strong odor of instant noodle seasoning packets, the stench of feet, and the cacophony of various languages ​​ferment and settle within this narrow steel cage, forming a unique "flavor" of K3.

Outside the car window, the vast plains began to be replaced by undulating hills, and the lines of the mountains appeared even more desolate and majestic in the twilight.

Qin Yuan and his group of four occupied a corner of the hard sleeper carriage.

Gangzi and Dabinzi occupied the upper and lower bunks, and were both sleeping with their eyes closed, taking advantage of every possible opportunity to recover their severely depleted strength.

The two of them, along with Qin Yuan and Old Zhang, took turns keeping watch at night.

There aren't many middlemen on the K3 international train now.

However, the potential dangers are also considerable.

Keeping watch at night is like guarding wealth!
Qin Yuan sat on a side seat by the window in the aisle, opposite him sat a lean old man named Zhang.

The train's monotonous swaying caused the small tabletop to vibrate constantly, and the water in a tin cup on the table rippled slightly.

"Uncle Zhang," Qin Yuan lowered his voice to make sure not to disturb the drowsy passengers around him, "we're almost at Erenhot. If we keep going, we'll cross the border into Mongolia."

"We've gone halfway, we've reached Moscow... How exactly?"

Old Zhang's cloudy old eyes shone through the twilight outside the window, his gaze seemingly reminiscing about something.

Hearing this, he looked away, took out half a hard naan bread from his pocket, broke off a small piece and stuffed it into his mouth, chewing it dry, his voice a little hoarse: "'Comrade'... I can say it now. In previous years, just saying 'Comrade' wasn't enough, saying it too much would easily attract the attention of the Red Armbands."

"Now... I heard things have loosened up a bit."

He swallowed the dry food in his mouth: "I understand what you mean. But finding someone to make contact? We can't just randomly pick someone!"

"My old buddies from over there are either dead or scattered, and quite a few have been caught in the fire. As for those I can trust... it's really hard to say."

He looked at Qin Yuan and said, "But don't worry, I know a kid whose uncle manages a warehouse in some 'Cheka Market,' so he's practically one of us."

“I sent a letter the year before last… but I don’t know if he’s still in that position, or if he recognizes this old man.”

Qin Yuan listened silently without saying a word.

Old Zhang's caution and limited resources are what he relies on now; he can't expect anything more.

Without a reliable local network, no matter how much cargo you bring, you might end up with nothing, or even be devoured alive. He leaned back in his hard chair, his gaze unconsciously sweeping over the crowded scene inside the carriage.

The hard-seat carriages were extremely crowded, with people crammed into the aisles and even under the seats.

Qin Yuan's gaze swept over these figures, through the gaps between the crowded passengers' shoulders, and landed on the seat diagonally opposite, near the connecting area between the carriages.

There sat a young man, probably in his early twenties, wearing glasses and a faded but clean work jacket, looking out of place in the noisy, swaying carriage.

On the small table in front of him, there was no food, miscellaneous items, or luggage used to reserve a spot; only a thick book lay there all alone.

The light coming through the car window was fragmented by the smoke and dust.

But the book's cover color and the outline of its pages turning caught Qin Yuan's eye like a glimmer of light.

The cover, a pale blue-gray and slightly worn, bears several clear Russian letters and smaller square characters.

"Practical Russian Spoken Language Crash Course and Foreign Trade Basics"

A thought flashed through Qin Yuan's mind!

Russian!

In Moscow, not knowing Russian is a big problem.

Even with Old Zhang's half-baked connection, even if we find a buyer, how do we negotiate? How do we bargain? How do we avoid being tricked?
Is it all just gestures and a few broken "compassionate" phrases? What's the difference between that and sticking your neck out to be chopped off?
Qin Yuan stood up abruptly without hesitation!
His figure swayed slightly as he decisively made his way through the somewhat crowded passageway, heading straight for the young man who looked like a student.

Snapped.

A large, rough hand with distinct knuckles landed firmly on the cover of the Russian book, covering the words "Quick Course" and "Foreign Trade Basics".

The young man, who was engrossed in reading, was startled and abruptly looked up. His eyes behind his glasses showed surprise and displeasure as he looked at Qin Yuan, who had suddenly stood in front of him.

Qin Yuan lowered his head slightly, casting a shadow on the young man's face.

He didn't mince words or small talk; he went straight to the point.

"Brother, can I borrow this book to take a look?"

He tapped the paper cover.

The young man was taken aback. "You can understand it?"

Qin Yuan laughed and said, "If you don't know how, just learn. This train ride is going to kill you, so you might as well just sit around doing nothing."

“I’m a businessman, and I was thinking of going to Russia to try and negotiate a better price. But if I don’t know anything, it’s no use trying to communicate with them.”

"How about you teach me? If you teach me, I'll pay you."

This young man was also a student studying in Moscow. He knew that his classmates sometimes brought bottles, jars, clothes, and other items with them.

Last year, one of his classmates brought several leather jackets from China to Moscow, sold them, and used the proceeds to cover his food expenses for a year.

Looking at Qin Yuan's attire, he guessed that this man had probably heard some news from somewhere and had set his sights on Moscow's trade routes.

How much money can you give me?

He raised his head, swallowed, and mumbled indistinctly.

Qin Yuan smiled slightly and decisively pulled out a hundred-yuan bill from his pocket!
Snapped!
It was slapped onto the open page of the Russian book, like a bet.

The slap was like a pebble thrown into a stagnant pool; it didn't make a sound in the chaotic carriage.

Yet it clearly pierced through the rumble of the wheels and the clamor of voices, striking the young students' ears with a resounding thud.

It also hit Old Zhang's eye, who was standing next to him.

(End of this chapter)