Chapter 54: Reputation

"Grandpa, how do you know Uncle Joe Five?" Su Mu asked.

He only remembered that, when he was very young, he had seen that wealthy old man come to visit their home, bringing along many gifts. As he grew older, he learned that the man his grandfather called Old Five was a bona fide multimillionaire—a true tycoon who had bought a grand villa in Beverly Hills as early as the seventies. Joe Five ran a transportation company, and now Li Ping'an’s father worked under him. He had also invested in various other businesses and was considered one of the few who had truly made a name for himself in Chinatown.

His reputation, however, was built not just on business acumen, but on his connections in both the underworld and respectable society. In Los Angeles’s Chinatown, his name carried more weight than even Wang An, who ranked among the world’s top ten richest men. Everyone addressed him respectfully as Uncle Five, and sometimes you could spot a white Rolls Royce Silver Spirit on the street, its license plate bearing only the number "5"—his car.

As much as he disliked the thought, Su Mu couldn't help but feel that his own grandfather and Joe Five were worlds apart in status and standing. Their paths really should never have crossed.

But Old Su was in a good mood today. He took another bite of fermented tofu, then washed it down with a big gulp of thick white porridge. The red fermented tofu was pungent, but he loved it. When he was young, the family was poor, and they would mix fermented tofu into their meals as a savory condiment. Over time, he came to love the taste. Even now, you could sometimes find vendors in Chinatown peddling buckets of the stuff.

Only then did he answer Su Mu: "When I was a boy, he was just a kid too. Our families were distantly related back then. He was one of seven children, and a house full of half-grown boys will eat a family into poverty. The Joe family couldn’t afford proper food, so they’d buy stale bread from the bakery."

A look of nostalgia crossed the old man’s face, as if he was recalling his own childhood. He spoke calmly, "That black bread was so hard it might as well have been bricks—you had to soak it in water just to swallow it. Your great-grandfather, my father, lent his father some money, and later even brought over a sack of rice. It was wartime, and everyone was struggling to get by. The Joe brothers never forgot that kindness. That’s all there is to it."

"So my great-grandfather was their family’s savior?" Su Mu’s curiosity was piqued. He pressed on, "Then why didn’t they take you along to get rich after they struck it big? If they had, we’d be living in a mansion by now."

"You rascal..." Old Su shook his head and chided him with a laugh, setting down his bowl to start clearing the dishes. As he worked, he continued, "Hasn’t he come to our house several times, bringing valuable gifts? Don’t think I didn’t notice—before he left, he slipped you two hundred dollars for pocket money."

Su Mu, embarrassed, nodded. He’d thought he’d been discreet, but his grandfather had clearly kept track.

Old Su’s voice sounded again: "He’s long since repaid our debt. The fact that he bothers to visit at all means he’s a man of loyalty. We have food and drink at home; what could we possibly need from him?"

"Besides," he went on, "just because our elders were close doesn’t mean our families should stay in touch forever. Back then, your Uncle Five wasn’t exactly on the right side of the law—he even spent two years in prison. Luckily, he managed to go straight in time, or who knows how things would have turned out. If you hadn’t gotten yourself in trouble this time, I’d never have gone looking for him. When we go out later to buy a few things, you must remember to be respectful…"

…

Two bottles of Wuliangye, a carton of Zhonghua cigarettes, and some fruit.

Neither the liquor nor the cigarettes came cheap. In those days, if you didn’t have the right connections, you couldn’t even find Zhonghua cigarettes locally. They’d long been famous as a state-supplied brand and a popular gift for foreign guests, only becoming available for general sale in recent years. A carton cost over four hundred dollars—the price had skyrocketed!

There was no helping it; only a few thousand cases were produced each year. Considering the massive Chinese population, it was no surprise the price stayed high. Most people bought them strictly for gift-giving.

In the 1980s, smoking was still common in America. People thought of it as a way to stay alert and relieve stress, much like coffee. There were even tobacco ads on TV. White-collar workers would smoke one after another while working overtime, many dying inexplicably as a result. Public awareness of the dangers of tobacco hadn’t yet taken hold. It wasn’t just the Chinese—whites and blacks alike often gave cigarettes as gifts.

Su Mu hadn’t expected his grandfather to be so generous today. Half a month’s wages vanished all at once. Carrying the gifts, he grumbled, "This is way too expensive. Isn’t a hundred-dollar carton of cigarettes good enough?"

"It breaks my heart, and it’s all your fault!" the old man chastised. "If you hadn’t made trouble, I wouldn’t be asking your Uncle Five for help, and we wouldn’t need these gifts. Usually, I think two-dollar packs are already too much, and now I’ve finally gritted my teeth and bought a fancy carton—only to leave it unopened, just for the scent."

His face was full of regret. The cost stung, but he knew it was necessary. Joe Five had always brought excellent gifts when visiting their home. If Old Su tried to cut corners now, it would be a loss of face—and for most Chinese, nothing was more important than saving face.

This was especially true for the older generation. The gifts weren’t extravagant, but they were already the most Old Su could afford. He’d spent half a month’s pay.

"How is this making trouble? I was helping someone. Even if you hadn’t stepped in, I could have handled it myself," Su Mu retorted.

By Su Mu’s generation, American values had already taken hold. He thought his grandfather’s insistence on such expensive gifts was unnecessary—just a matter of keeping up appearances. He recalled a classmate who had recently immigrated from Hong Kong, who once shared that some people there spent most of their monthly income on gift money, all for the sake of social ties, claiming it would be recouped later.

When he thought about the expenses involved in birthday banquets or weddings, Su Mu found it hard to believe anyone could ever break even. The real winners were probably the restaurants and grocery stores. Some families, he’d heard, shamelessly accepted gifts for every occasion, happy or sad, just to make a profit. He couldn’t see why anyone would maintain such relationships or keep pouring out gift money.

Chinese families, not wealthy to begin with, seemed to care more about saving face than saving money whenever pride was at stake…

Su Mu was well-off now and didn’t care about such petty expenses. The gap in perspective was simply a generational one—a small rift between grandfather and grandson, inevitable given their age difference.

They walked along the street for over twenty minutes. Though he’d just showered, Su Mu was sweating again by the time they reached a company called "Fengshun Transport."

From a distance, the parking lot was filled with dozens of large trucks, and the white building nearby looked quite grand.

In recent years, construction had been booming across the United States. The government was trying to boost infrastructure spending to save the economy, but with little effect. Transportation companies, however, made a killing during this time—sand, gravel, cement, all needed these trucks.

Young men in short sleeves passed by, arms covered in flashy tattoos. A fat man, fresh from dinner and shirtless, his back adorned with a sprawling dragon, walked past Su Mu and let out a fart more pungent than fermented tofu.

It was clear these weren’t exactly upstanding citizens. Su Mu was speechless, thinking to himself, The Mafia in "The Godfather" seemed so cool… Reality, it seems, is far more disappointing.