When Zhao Jun said he wanted to sell the gun, Sun Haizhu was taken aback.
Although anyone with money could buy a gun from the Supply and Marketing Cooperative, a sale still required the manager's signature on the receipt. Besides, it wasn't like the co-op's guns sold well anyway.
After all, people weren't well-off these days, especially hunters. Whether they pursued big game or small, they all shared one common trait: they never got rich.
That's right. For nearly a hundred years, no hunter had ever struck it rich—with the sole exceptions of Zhao Jun and Li Baoyu, whom he'd brought into the trade.
This was true even if a Bear Gall fetched a thousand or eight hundred yuan, and a single sheet of Yellow Leaves was worth thirty or fifty.
Otherwise, Zhao Youcai would never have resigned himself to slinging a ladle in the Forest Farm's cafeteria.
With hunters having it so tough, how many of them could afford to buy a new gun?
