That summer, Li Ye saw Yin Wengke riding an imported motorcycle, and the old dream of chasing the wind blazed to life in his heart.
So he mentioned it to his old mother, Fu Guiru, asking her to get him a few motorcycles. Perhaps because of safety concerns, Fu Guiru readily agreed with her mouth but never actually did anything.
Li Ye was unwilling to let it go, so he mentioned it to Li Dayong. Since Changbei Machinery Company was a joint venture dominated by Hong Kong capital, it had the means to import motor vehicles.
In the end, his brother came through. He had them brought over during the New Year holiday.
"Come on, brothers, give us a hand unloading these."
At Li Ye's call, everyone ran over. It was not just men like Wang Jianqiang, Hao Jian, Jin Peng, and Pei Wencong; even little wives like Pei Wenhui and Huang Suwen came over and lent a hand.
Women these days were all down-to-earth, unlike those little fairies of decades later, who held up their phones to record videos while shouting, "Hurry up and help! Hurry up and help!" yet hid far away without even lifting a finger themselves.
Nobody cared whether their clothes were suitable for labor. With hands everywhere, they unloaded the five wooden crates.
Then they began opening them on the spot. They barely used any tools, relying on both hands and feet to unpack the five motorcycles.
Who could blame men for loving motorcycles? They were impatient as monkeys!
"I know this one. It's a BMW!"
"Mm-hmm, mm-hmm. Then what is this one?"
"You don't know this one? This is a foreign brand."
"Hahahaha!"
The motorcycle Yin Wengke had ridden was an old overseas model. Since Li Dayong was giving his brothers New Year gifts,