Chapter 118: Prejudice in the Human Heart is a Mountain

It is difficult to imagine the challenge of persuading an elderly official whose mindset is deeply entrenched. Yet, Rang Weidong managed it. Perhaps he pushed a bit too hard, though; he had only intended to report the progress as a preliminary step. The old leader immediately insisted on inspecting the site. This caught Rang off guard, as the "showcase" projects—the cold storage unit and the impressive "high-tech" sterilization furnace—were still just abstract concepts.

Sensing his hesitation, the old leader immediately grew suspicious: "What is it? Are you having second thoughts?"

These veteran officials were indeed masters of the struggle. They insisted on maintaining total control over every situation, allowing them to disrupt the rhythm and sniff out any deception at a moment's notice.

Rang Weidong shook his head and rose to his feet: "Everything is moving forward. I only returned to Shangzhou yesterday, and these are the first batch of experimental products. Let's go; we can check the machinery plant or the food factory, whichever you prefer."

He immediately turned the tables to his advantage: "Actually, that's a good idea. While you take a look, I can sign a long-term contract with the slaughterhouse for offal supplies, and then I can report to you on the sales strategy."

Under the watchful eyes of countless onlookers, the old man and the young man walked side-by-side out of the municipal compound. Secretaries scurried about, asking if they needed anything or if they should arrange for a driver and vehicle. The old leader waved them all away.

Rang Weidong was already in the middle of an enthusiastic explanation: "I mentioned before that we are moving 3,000 units a week in West Lake, 1,000 in Beijing, and 1,000 in Rongdu. This business trip wasn't for nothing either—I went to Echang, where we are now doing 500 a week, 500 in Yuezhou, and 2,000 in Huhai. All of these are managed by elite university students working part-time. In the future, this nationwide sales network will be stronger than anyone else's, because our proportion of university students is the highest!"

The old leader no longer reflexively questioned the ideological correctness of his methods; instead, he voiced his genuine concern: "But university students are the most precious talent at this time. How can you use them for things like this?"

Rang Weidong was surprised: "University students study sales and economics, don't they? Isn't this the best kind of practical application? Besides, some liberal arts students are better off selling goods. Sigh, you haven't seen some of these kids. I tell them that staying in university is just wasting time; it's better to start building the nation's economy early. In short, sales work requires talent, too. We cannot look down upon the status of commerce."

The old leader thought it over seriously and actually offered a self-critique: "You're right. My thinking has been too rigid. Go on."

Countless people watched them from afar with envious eyes. The secretary and the bodyguard followed at a respectful distance.

Once they reached the vicinity of the pier, Rang Weidong took him to his car: "With over 8,000 cameras sold each week, our sales company bought this vehicle in Jiangzhou for 120,000. It's an import from Japan. It should be better than the car you're currently riding in, or perhaps any other car in all of Shangzhou. Please, get in here, and hold on here..."

As the old leader was ushered into the passenger seat, his first reaction was: "You've made quite a bit of money."

Rang Weidong had been waiting for this: "Let me finish about the car first. This is one of the 30,000 small trucks the state spent precious foreign exchange to import from Japan, distributing them to various automakers for study, assembly, and sale. They even paid a $100 technology fee for each one. Under such strained circumstances, the goal was to get these factories to reform their technology and improve our automotive production levels. But I hear that hasn't gone very smoothly. You know better than I do how state-run factories operate under the 'big pot' system. In the end, it might just be the private enterprises that have to shoulder the burden."

This was a reality he knew would unfold over the next forty years. The old leader did not refute him, instead carefully observing the car.

The Shanghai-brand cars used by officials in major cities, or the Red Flag-brand used at the provincial level, were rarely allowed into mountainous areas with poor road conditions, as they would spend all their time in the repair shop. They weren't even as durable as the 212 Jeeps commonly used by county officials. The best vehicle available here was a Volga, a Soviet-made machine, and the difference in craftsmanship between it and the Japanese model was visible to the naked eye. Even comparing a cargo truck to a sedan, the smooth gear shifting of the Japanese vehicle completely outclassed the Soviet-made clunker, not to mention the quiet, efficient air conditioning during the summer.

Rang Weidong drove through the city toward West Second Street: "Back to what you mentioned about me making money—let's put it this way: in April, I took 300,000 in cash—all the money from selling cameras, cured meat, and other goods—and donated it to the Giant Panda Protection Base."

Money, as it turned out, was the ultimate tool for status. The old leader's gaze, attention, and emotions were instantly focused on this twenty-year-old man.

Rang Weidong felt that the 300,000 donation was worth every penny. Even years later, it would remain a powerful statement. Jin Zhuoqun had tried to get him to network and take photos with various bigwigs, but Rang preferred spending his money on this. He felt it carried more prestige.

In 1984, 300,000 in cash was a significant sum, even for a prefecture-level city. To donate it quietly—what kind of spirit was that? More importantly, it served as a moral badge that naturally commanded respect. At that moment, it was indeed all that Rang Weidong had.

However, the old leader's focus shifted: "Did you participate in the series of reports by the *Sunshine Daily* advocating for reform and opening up?"

The old leader had certainly noticed the event's coverage in the central newspapers, which had sparked a national debate on reform. Rang Weidong recalled that late-night snack, and the faint figure sitting in the shadows of the chicken coop.

He drifted off for a moment: "Yes. Isn't it because we were closed off that we were so poor we had to accept international donations just to save the national treasure, the panda? If we were wealthy and developed, wouldn't we be able to stand tall before the whole world? Poverty leaves national treasures emaciated, and the same logic applies to the people. I did communicate quite a bit with the reporters from the *Sunshine Daily*, but I am more concerned with focusing on developing the economy. In short, just doing good business."

He paused, having held these thoughts in for days: "There is nothing glorious about being poor; it is shameful and humiliating. At the first five-star hotel in Yuezhou, a room costs 680 a night. If I don't stay there, the head chef might not even talk to me. If I don't eat there, how can I learn the recipes for snacks? If the country isn't wealthy, the educated and talented will leave in droves. We can't use moral high ground to force capable people to suffer, can we? That would be bullying."

The car pulled up to the gate of the food factory. West Second Street was actually one of the nicer streets in Shangzhou; due to nearly a century of foreign trade, there were churches and rows of Western-style buildings. Although not as extravagant as the foreign concession island with the Swan Hotel, they were nonetheless severely dilapidated. Yet, in such an inland, mountainous prefecture-level city, they were already a rarity.

It was ironic that the city still relied on these century-old buildings to define its urban landscape, as time had left the area only with age and stagnation, failing to match the prosperity of a hundred years ago.

The old leader sat in the passenger seat, looking at the weary street. This double-cab truck, which wouldn't look out of place even thirty years later, felt like a time machine parked there.

When Rang Weidong was away, Dong Xueying had people polish the car every day until it shone. Even neighbors and passersby couldn't help but peek at it. Rang Weidong helped the old leader out of the passenger door, and the contrast as he looked back was even more striking.

Together, they pushed open the gate of the brick-kiln workshop and were pleasantly surprised to see several technicians from the machinery plant busy taking measurements. At least, thank goodness, not everything had stayed the same.

They quickly exchanged words about where to place the large vacuum machine being assembled, where to put the small one, where the sterilization furnace should go, and how to set up the cold storage. They were all laymen discussing things on the fly.

The old leader stood nearby with his hands behind his back, watching. The kilns for firing bricks and jars were still using the same ancient, century-old methods. Just like the oily, greasy little river nearby, which had been flowing with filth for decades, its stench keeping the citizens away.

Rang Weidong gave a few simple instructions and then followed to introduce the project: "I didn't take a single cent from the city for this. The equipment is still being improved and assembled at the machinery plant. If I were only after money, I wouldn't have stayed in Shangzhou to take on this job. But since you entrusted me with this task, I will do my best. For instance, my trip to Yuezhou was to attend the largest and most important Foreign Trade Fair. I had originally purchased a $30,000 machine and was considering where to invest in production, but as soon as it was shipped back, Jiangzhou snatched it up to get it into production as soon as possible."

The old leader's brow furrowed, his gaze turning sharp.

Rang Weidong was not afraid; he made a comparison: "The day before yesterday, I demonstrated the machine to them. Yesterday, a workshop was officially established at Jiangzhou University, with the Department of Mechanical and Electrical Engineering and the Materials Research Institute working together to improve and expand the equipment. The Commercial Bureau, the Light Industry Bureau, and all other departments handled all the procedures, company premises, and even bank loans in a single day, working in perfect unison. I didn't even have to worry about the logistics. Even the fabric needed for the cotton mill or the polyethylene chemical company was handled by the Jiangzhou municipal government. I had to rush back to Shangzhou only because everything here stops the moment I’m not around. That is the difference between a city that genuinely wants reform and opening up and one that doesn't."

Sister Li and the technicians recognized the leader and were stunned. Then, they couldn't help but beam with joy; with such close support from a leader, their enterprise was sure to be rock-solid.

In reality, Rang Weidong and the old leader were playing a constant game of tug-of-war. To say that a small food factory could bring earth-shaking changes to a prefecture-level city was an exaggeration; if suppressed, it wouldn't create much of a ripple. But what Rang Weidong was desperately trying to convey was that while it was easy to crush a trading house, doing so would cause the area to wither away.

It wasn't just about the people or the project; it was about everyone's confidence in the reform and opening up. From a small retail storefront to a large factory, an industry, or even the merchants throughout the city—they would all quietly drift away. No one wanted to be thrown in jail just for selling sunflower seeds. Even going to a place like Jiangzhou would be far better than staying here.

As a river port city relying on the Yangtze, Shangzhou was almost a scaled-down version of Jiangzhou. A hundred years ago, Shangzhou had actually been more prosperous. Now, its "classmate" had become a city with independent planning status, while Shangzhou sat in the back row, rotting next to a pile of garbage.

What Rang Weidong laid out was exactly the blueprint for how local governments at all levels over the next thirty or forty years would face foreign investment, private enterprises, and even the "heavenly wealth" brought by tourists. When all departments work together, the fire burns higher.

It just so happened that the sanitary napkin project touched upon the "holding up half the sky" spirit, allowing women in every system to actively support and participate. In this era, it was an absolutely rare and special project.

By expressing it this way, Rang Weidong was highlighting how powerful the "top student" city was from top to bottom—unifying their thinking, understanding the situation, and delivering a satisfactory answer.

The old leader's face inevitably showed that he had been moved. However, it wasn't until after they signed the offal supply agreement with the slaughterhouse and crossed the river to check the bustling machinery site that the old leader finally expressed his support openly.

Rang Weidong’s roundabout strategy and all-out demonstration were all aimed at leading to one final question: "So, the necessity of our reform and opening up is clear. Can we release Old You now?"

He was still a bit green, and his timing wasn't quite perfect. The old leader saw through to his core request and chuckled: "Didn't I tell you already? The special task force has been merged into the Reform Committee. You are responsible for this work, so you can file a report based on the progress of the reform and opening up. If it's reasonable, I can approve it."

*Damn it!*

Rang Weidong certainly had the basic sensitivity expected of someone in a unit. This was the leader forcing him to act as a guarantor for Old You, forcing him to take the responsibility for letting him out. That guy was not someone who could be easily managed!