Chapter 117 You Are Right

The next day, Rang Weidong headed to the machinery factory.

Using the dozens of small packaging bags he had brought from Shanghai and the Shanghai-made vacuum sealer, he spent the time vacuum-sealing two or three dozen finger-sized pieces of salt-baked heart and tongue, tangerine peel pork liver, spiced intestines, and soy-sauce kidney—all meticulously selected and cut the night before.

A group of technicians gathered around to watch. To them, simply replicating imported equipment was already a feat to look up to; none of them seemed to pay any attention to the delicacies inside the aluminum lunch box. Of course, they didn't bother with high-temperature sterilization—it was just a temporary setup, so there was no need to be too particular.

Taking the ferry back to the local wharf, he bought a small vine-woven flower basket produced in Shangzhou to hold the vacuum-packed snacks. These baskets were currently the main souvenir sold to tourists along the Shangzhou riverbanks, particularly the vine chairs. No one knew whose idea it was—after all, who would travel thousands of miles just to bring a vine chair home? Consequently, sales were abysmal, yet it remained one of the few export products Shangzhou had, aside from hog bristles and sausage casings. The fact that net imports were almost zero was the primary reason for the region's poverty.

Passing the wharf tavern, he grabbed some red paper used for sealing wine jars to cover the basket, bought two taels of white liquor, and marched off to see the old leader just like that.

Years later, such a scene would surely be met with strict scrutiny. How could one walk into a leader's office carrying meat and liquor as gifts in such an open manner? Wouldn't that damage an image of integrity? But at this moment, it was simply the people genuinely coming to share good news with their leader.

The security guard and the secretary both greeted Rang Weidong: "Oh, we've heard you've been tinkering over on West Second Street. Have you finally produced something?"

"You should have come to report to the leader long ago. Hurry, hurry, what is it?"

Rang Weidong handed one to each of them: "The first batch of prototypes. You all can taste them along with the leader."

They were genuinely happy to surround him and head to the office to celebrate. If the basket hadn't been so small, they would surely have brought drums and gongs to mark the occasion.

The old leader, who had everything under control, wore a Zhongshan suit and held a teacup with an unreadable expression: "Busy as a bee everywhere, I see. I want to see what kind of tricks you can pull out of your sleeve."

The people around here were experts at reading between the lines. This seemingly dismissive tone was actually laced with a touch of indulgent approval. For an old-school leader like him, this kind of attitude was exactly what everyone around him dreamed of receiving.

The former security guard, who understood the dynamic, knew exactly how to play it. He acted with casual boldness, placing the basket on the leader's desk and grabbing a handful with a proud, smug look: "Have a taste, sir!"

Back when he was first reborn, Rang Weidong had worried about what he could actually do. At the time, he felt he had no ability to establish himself within the system and was useless outside the tax bureau compound. But he had seen so many of these small-scale scenes in the courtyards, and he had even listened to other frustrated, overlooked souls gossip in the guard room about how shameless such tactics were.

In front of a leader like this, "childish" enthusiasm and competence were far more appealing than calculating, Machiavellian schemes. Because these leaders were already too old to have the energy to do things themselves, but their ability to read human nature had reached a state of perfection.

If you tried to be too calculating, you would leave them with no value. It took someone "reckless" like Rang Weidong to make the old leader burst into laughter.

Like a boxer entering the ring, the leader shrugged off his coat and picked up a small package: "Tell me, what is it that makes you so eager to claim credit and share this news?"

He couldn't tear it open!

Rang Weidong realized his mistake, took it back, and used his teeth to tear a corner, fully committing to the act as he pulled out a pen and paper to make a note: "There should be a notch here, like on a nail clipper, so the customer can tear it open easily."

He played the part of a man obsessed with research and work with such immersion that it felt three parts real. The old leader only saw a capable officer, so he was naturally tolerant; he took it, didn't even ask, and started chewing.

This was the level of trust involved. A man managing a population of over seven million—even if he wasn't living in total luxury, he still held personal food safety in high regard.

Suddenly, the leader gasped and covered his mouth: "What is this!"

The people at the door who had stretched their necks to offer congratulations were startled. Rang Weidong was also taken aback: "What’s wrong?"

The old leader waved his hand: "Nothing, nothing. I couldn't bite through it, and a loose tooth in the back got jammed."

Rang Weidong had to check: "That must be the spiced intestine. It’s chewy, meant for fun, not for filling your stomach. It’s fragrant when you chew it—have a sip of this wine, it's top-quality Taibai brew."

During office hours, the old leader actually took the porcelain lid and sipped some: "Hmm! Interesting, a long-lasting aftertaste!"

Rang Weidong rummaged through the transparent packages: "This is a famous dish from Chef Zhao of the Queen Restaurant in Jiangzhou, Tangerine Peel Intestine. It costs over ten yuan a plate in the restaurant, but our Shangzhou-produced version costs only eight to ten cents per slice."

The people at the door were in an uproar—a single plate of food costing nearly a month's wages?!

Rang Weidong pulled out another one, tore it open, and handed it over: "This one won't hurt your teeth—tender and crisp. Salt-baked pork heart. I made a special trip to Yuezhou to visit Chef Liao, the head chef of the first five-star hotel in the country, which opened last February. Several national leaders visited last year and couldn't stop praising the cuisine at the Swan Hotel."

As long as a dish was something the Qianlong Emperor had tasted, it could be legendary for centuries—this trick remained powerful no matter how many years passed. Everyone eagerly checked what flavor they held and tried a bite.

The old leader’s eyes lit up with genuine interest: "You’ve put a lot of thought into this, being able to make connections from so far away. But can the common people actually afford this?"

Rang Weidong moved the basket to the side table and helped the leader sit down: "Not much, not much. Some things are a matter of talent. Let me explain from the beginning where our advantages in Shangzhou lie."

He turned to the others and teased: "This is a trade secret now. You aren't trying to eavesdrop, are you?"

The people in the surrounding offices really did want to listen, and even more so, they wanted to get on good terms with this young, smooth, and well-connected reformer. Seeing the old leader sit down with a smile and say nothing, they all smiled and dispersed, secretly thinking this young man was truly formidable. If he were to work by the leader's side, he would surely have a meteoric rise.

To be honest, Rang Weidong had spent many days gardening and chatting with the retired Old Shi, so he was very familiar with this scene: "I didn't come to report that I wanted to start a shoe company—I've already applied for the company in Jiangzhou. There is a prerequisite: no matter what you produce, it only counts as a success if you can sell it. I happen to have a huge advantage, like cheating, in knowing I can sell these things. So the key is what to sell."

The old leader didn't rush to ask where this certainty came from—at the very least, he had heard Rang Weidong talk about selling cameras by the West Lake. He just nodded slowly, taking another opened piece of soy-sauce kidney, smelling it but not eating yet.

"Exactly. Without investigation, there is no right to speak. Before understanding the businesses related to live hog foreign trade on West Second Street, I underestimated Shangzhou's potential. I thought that because I didn't see locally produced leather shoes, there were still opportunities in the leather factory. But in reality, from hog bristles, pigskin, and pork to sausage casings and lard—everything is a treasure. The only thing left is the 'pig offal'—worth only a dime a string..."

The old leader laughed, ate the piece, and clapped: "The taste is good, and the approach is truly ingenious. Very good, very good!"

He was clearly happy, pouring himself another sip of wine and gesturing for Rang Weidong to drink as well.

Once he finished explaining his choices, Rang Weidong described how difficult the situation was: "I reported to you before that I sold a lot of bacon in Jiangzhou, and some of it went to high-end restaurants, which is how I got to know some cooks and chefs. I took dozens of pounds of offal from the slaughterhouse, but no matter how my partners and I cooked it, it tasted bad. Finally, I thought of seeking advice from experts. Only top-tier chefs can turn offal, which ordinary people look down upon, into delicacies. This is the foundation for selling across the country."

The old leader nodded happily and ate another piece. This stuff was perfect for moments like this—chatting, drinking a little, not needing complicated stir-frying or deep-frying, just grabbing a handful to eat like sunflower seeds or peanuts. It was incredibly flavorful.

In the southwest, there are places where even stir-fried pebbles are made into a dish—just to suck the flavor while drinking. It was simply because they were too poor to afford real food. A single bag of this could last an entire meal of drinking.

But the difficulties Rang Weidong laid out were mind-boggling: "We want to sell this across the country. How do we ensure it doesn't spoil over time? First, we need a vacuum sealing machine. We didn't have one, so our Shangzhou Machinery Factory built it ourselves!"

The old leader couldn't help but pick up the crinkled, tightly sealed package and examine it with surprise: "We built it ourselves?"

Rang Weidong shook his head: "It’s very difficult. What you see here was trial-produced using a machine developed by the Shanghai Food Machinery Factory, which itself is a replica of Japanese equipment. Each unit costs over a hundred thousand yuan. Even these plastic bags, the food-grade ethylene film, are currently only available through imports. This means if we want to transport Shangzhou’s delicious snacks to people across the country, we have to humiliatingly buy imported materials and pay taxes to foreigners."

If he had said this to officials in the coastal regions, they might have scoffed, but for a cadre from an old revolutionary base who insisted on strict vigilance, the provocation was immense. The delicious food in his hand suddenly felt like it was burning!

He stared at it, his serious expression as if he wanted to melt the snack away.

Rang Weidong said softly instead: "So, should we stop doing this? Should we not sell the offal to the whole country and not revitalize this economy? Should we run away from every similar problem and let the entire city have nothing but pork liver noodles and offal noodles that are only worth one cent?"

He said this from the bottom of his heart. Shangzhou was very poor. To say something treasonous, the women and children digging through charcoal fires under the trash cliffs were no different from how they were decades ago; they had just managed to survive, but they were still living very hard lives. That foreign trade hadn't brought any change to the locals because the whole country was dirt poor at the time.

So, without waiting for a response, he answered himself: "I even ran to Yuezhou to seek advice from a Cantonese chef who was said to have preservation technology. Why would someone share their trade secrets for free? So, I started a sales company in Yuezhou. If it sells well in the future, I’ll give him a share of the profits. He not only gave me some Cantonese recipes but also the core methods of preservation. But traditional technology can only last for ten days or half a month. Ultimately, we have to rely on technology to solve the problem. If there is no capital to drive research and development, and no smart people to study and be well-rewarded, technology will not develop. In the end, this is the meaning of Reform and Opening-up: first, learn by 'borrowingism,' and then, step by step, surpass them."

This was his own personal experience, felt from the changing winds and clouds seen on the screen of a smartphone while sitting in that indifferent security booth.

He truly admired these years of grand directions, grand policies, grand strides, and the countless unsung participants in the reform. That’s why he spoke with such emotion—not with the clanging excitement of shouting slogans, but with steady, down-to-earth calm.

The old leader, a master who had experienced countless struggles, could feel the sincerity contained within. He looked up at the young man and smiled: "You are right."