When it comes to major cities in the Soviet Far East, there aren't many to begin with—but among them, the capital of the Amur region, Blagoveshchensk, definitely stands out. Separated only by the Heilongjiang River from Heihe City in Northeast China, the city has thrived thanks to growing border trade with China. Its development has been surprisingly fast.
Geographically, Blagoveshchensk and Heihe are incredibly close. The straight-line distance from the city's main pier to the Daheihe Island pier in Heihe is less than a thousand meters. To put it simply, Chinese and Russian traders could finalize deals by shouting across the river.
Historically, trade between Heihe and Blagoveshchensk began as early as 1957. However, the relationship didn't last long. It wasn't until 1983, with the thawing of diplomatic ties between China and the Soviet Union, that trade resumed. Even then, up until 1986, most of the border commerce was technically illegal smuggling. In fact, as far as Jason Guo remembered—even in the current year—smuggling still dominated the border trade. The government-approved exports couldn't come close to meeting Soviet demand, and the tariffs were steep.
This was a time when China had just launched its comprehensive reform and opening-up policies. The legal and regulatory framework was still weak. Not only at the Sino-Russian border, but across all coastal and border areas, smuggling had become the norm. Customs officials who received kickbacks often turned a blind eye, since the national laws were still vague and poorly enforced.
From the memories of his predecessor, Jason learned that a full division of the Soviet Far East Frontier Forces was stationed in Blagoveshchensk. The 42nd Motorized Brigade was in charge of inspecting border trade at the ferry dock. The brigade commander was a man named Bartov, and his political commissar was Vasinov. Officially, they were military leaders. In reality, they were gangsters in uniform. Jason's predecessor had dealt with them more than once. For these poorly paid soldiers, there was virtually nothing money couldn't buy. Once, Jason's predecessor cooperated with them to smuggle two tons of steel into China in exchange for a shipment of liquor back to the USSR. The entire process was shockingly simple: the Chinese border patrol selected a time, dispatched two river patrol boats, and under cover of night, transported the smuggled goods across the Heilongjiang River with hardly a hitch.
That memory stuck with Jason—and it ignited something in him. Unlike his timid predecessor who backed away after one deal, Jason intended to pick up where he left off. Military smuggling? So what? Jason Guo was aiming higher. He wanted to not only re-establish ties with Bartov and Vasinov but to eventually connect with even higher-ranking Soviet officers. If possible, he wanted to enter the arms trade.
But for now, he had a more pressing goal: get his current shipment across the border. He'd brought nearly 300,000 rubles' worth of goods—specifically, cigarettes. And not just any cigarettes—some of them were ten full boxes of Marlboro, smuggled Western goods. In the Soviet Union, tobacco was tightly controlled. Cigarette imports were restricted, and domestic sales required government approval. Even during this period of liberalization, that policy hadn't changed. Selling cigarettes without a license was illegal and carried heavy penalties. Open importation? Completely banned.
Of course, the more a country prohibits private trade in a product, the more profitable that product becomes. That was true anywhere, and especially in the Soviet Union. Up in the cold north, tobacco and alcohol were staples of everyday life. The government could restrict official sales all it wanted, but it couldn't eliminate demand. So smuggling became the only option for smokers looking to feed their addiction.
According to Jason's research, black market prices in the USSR were outrageous. Medium-quality loose tobacco sold for 80 to 150 rubles per ounce. Selling 20-gram packs for 200 rubles wasn't uncommon. Finished cigarettes? Even more lucrative. Chinese brands like Daqianmen and Dafuzi, which cost only 0.20 yuan in China, went for 20 rubles a pack. One-yuan brands like Beidaihe, Evergrande, and Shanhaiguan fetched 120 to 150 rubles. Premium brands like Zhonghua and Peony sold for 400–470 rubles. And as for foreign brands like Marlboro and Hilton? Their black market prices had no ceiling—because there was no legal market at all. Even if someone had them, they wouldn't dare sell openly. Getting caught smuggling Western cigarettes wasn't just a fine—it could land you in prison.
Jason knew the risks. This wasn't just some back-alley deal—this was a gamble. If he got caught on the Chinese side, he might be fined, but he held a license from the Harbin Tobacco Monopoly Bureau. Worst case, he'd lose the goods. But if he got caught by the Soviets? That could mean years in a labor camp.
Which is why Jason didn't bring the shipment with him directly. Instead, he had a few trusted partners deliver it to Heihe ahead of time. His plan was to first re-establish contact with Bartov and Vasinov, and then use their influence to quietly get the cigarettes across the border.
As for distribution? Jason wasn't worried. He was confident Bartov had enough connections to offload the goods quickly. The only real question was how much of a cut Bartov would demand. Jason wasn't planning to argue—he believed those ten boxes of Marlboro alone would be enough to make the greedy soldier's eyes light up.
But more than money, Jason had something else in mind. This wasn't just a business deal—it was an investment in a relationship. He wanted Bartov and Vasinov to understand one thing: Jason Guo was bold. A smuggler big enough to bring them true fortune.