Chapter 51: Hoping to Pry into Trade Secrets Without Any Corrosion?

Of course, Wei Dong had to probe for information, to find out exactly what sales channels the other party possessed.

The factory representative spread his hands, “We don’t have any. We've never sold cameras before. Even when, in recent years, we produced parts to support the Xiangjiang camera, it was all under the state’s unified acquisition and distribution system. If sales were good, we’d ramp up production; if not, we wouldn’t starve, just look for ways to improve. Now, even the Xiangjiang brand has been taken back; they’ll have to fend for themselves, and so must we. Do you have any suggestions?”

Wei Dong now understood just how valuable the information gap could be. “I went to Shanghai, and saw that on Sujing Road, those big department stores and Friendship Stores also sell cameras, but only with ration tickets. Why don’t you try getting your cameras on their shelves?”

The sales manager gave a wry smile. “Everyone in the country is lining up to get in there—there’s no way they could accommodate us. Besides, our product is just a trial run, and they won’t even look at it. Especially this idea of a cheap camera—it’s even mocked here at home.”

It was clear this approach was a decision made by the factory management. “But we really like what you said: we want to make cameras that the people can afford and enjoy using! If even our own workers can’t afford them, how can we call it a people’s camera?”

Wei Dong didn’t beat around the bush. “How many units have you produced so far? What’s your production capacity?”

The man opened his hand, “Five hundred. If we can truly start selling, our normal monthly output could reach five thousand. With overtime, maybe eight to ten thousand. Beyond that, we’d have to expand the production line and call in help from partner factories. We hope that day comes.”

As he spoke, the factory leader’s eyes shone with an almost incredulous hope.

The other factory, selling at over three hundred per camera, only produced twenty or thirty thousand units a year.

But the complexity of producing a single-lens reflex camera is many times—perhaps more than ten times—greater than this product.

The defect rate was also extremely high.

This one, in contrast, was ridiculously simple.

Wei Dong already had an idea in mind. “Five hundred units...What’s the lowest bundled price you can offer me? I’ll pay up front and take the risk whether they sell or not. If they don’t sell, I’ll take the loss. If they do, how will you uphold our agreement so we can sell even more together?”

This was where his approach diverged from You Qili’s.

He only took on what he could afford with his own capital; he never leveraged himself into overreaching deals. This also made things easier and less stressful for his partners.

Immediately, a wave of relief washed over the group, and they became even more enthusiastic. “As long as you can sell them, we can offer you a price of nineteen yuan and fifty cents each. Plus, with today’s change—removing the lens cap—we can save another twenty cents. All we hope is that you can open up this market for us. We don’t even have to be involved in sales—just let us focus on manufacturing. That’s the mode we’ve been used to for more than twenty years. We can sign an agreement, a contract. As long as you pay in full for each batch, we will do our utmost to supply you.”

Just then, the technician who had gone to develop the film returned, shaking his head with a wry smile as he handed over two rolls, still wet from processing. “Comrade Wei, one roll didn’t load onto the spool at all—no exposures. The other has about half the photos exposed incorrectly. The color roll is still in temperature-controlled development—let’s hope it fares better than these two.”

Wei Dong showed no embarrassment. “Isn’t this exactly the issue you need to consider? Why didn’t I get the film on properly? How can you ensure beginners like me can load it easily, without complicated training? Why were the exposures off? How can you improve the success rate? Anyway, our requirement is just that an image is captured—no need to worry about complex exposure issues.”

Had he said this to a mature, big-brand enterprise, they would have dismissed him with a glance.

But in the early 1980s, when all industries were just getting back on their feet, factories were desperate to survive.

For someone to speak so responsibly was a godsend—they listened intently, discussed earnestly, and promised to focus on analyzing and improving.

Dong Xueqing watched from the sidelines, utterly fascinated.

It’s often said that the first impressive figure one meets upon entering the workforce leaves an indelible mark, much like a hatchling’s first glimpse of its mother through the cracked shell—instinctively learning and following.

Wei Dong was much the same. The first person he consciously chose to learn from after leaving the tax bureau was You Qili.

He had certainly set his sights high.

But his actual age kept him from idolizing anyone too much. He handled things steadily, at his own pace.

In fact, he had made a profit from the citrus business in Shangzhou—he even admitted to the city leaders that he’d made seventeen thousand in gross profit.

And there was profit in sand and gravel transport, too. All he needed was to cover a few thousand in and out.

Now, he directly handed over nearly ten thousand yuan for the goods, received the factory’s sales introduction letter, sales contract, and sales ID badge—and even got one for Dong Xueqing, who was tagging along.

All it took was a photo and a stamp—quick and easy when the studio was right there.

Thus, even before graduation, the vocational student already had a sales department badge from Xishan Optical Instruments Factory!

As long as they could sell their goods, the factory was happy to issue these cost-free badges, especially to a “big shot salesperson” like Wei Dong who picked up five hundred units at once—they’d have loved to assign him a secretary!

That’s exactly how Hongguang Factory saw it, though they clearly missed their mark and chose the wrong path.

When the five hundred cameras, along with their flimsy cardboard packaging, were loaded onto the truck, the Xishan factory leaders were solemn.

“This sale may not solve our livelihood issues yet, but it gives us hope. We just ask that you, Comrade Xiao Wei, bring us good news soon. We have just enough reserves to begin production. If losses keep mounting, even our workers’ standard of living will plummet.”

Wei Dong responded to the anxious factory leaders by giving each a slab of cured meat.

They, in turn, hurriedly gave him a factory-made pair of binoculars and even a Xiangjiang SLR camera, urging him to improve his photography skills—his latest attempts had been so poor they were beginning to doubt their product’s marketability.

He was sheepish.

Holding back his expression, Wei Dong gathered the contracts and agreements, along with documents from the Ministry of Industry and the Equipment Department listing seven national research enterprises focused on film and photo paper, and said goodbye as he headed back to Jiangzhou.

Even a security guard at the tax bureau could tell, with just a glance at these seven enterprises, that only one would later become a household name across the country.

Located in Jicheng, in the north.

That was precisely the region he was preparing to visit, summoning his courage to “drive himself” north to acquire beef and mutton fat.

He’d need to carefully plan his route.

Dong Xueqing wasn’t concerned with planning. From the moment she got in the truck, she kicked off her sheepskin shoes, leaned against Wei Dong, and giggled over the stack of photos in her hands.

Because Wei Dong’s photography was pure “future mobile phone style”—random snapshots, intentionally unflattering, as casual as possible.

Ever since his parents brought back a roll of film, he’d shot everything: strolling through lantern fairs, at the docks, cooking at home, watching TV—filling the black-and-white negatives with chaos.

His mother chased him with a spatula, the young housewife startled by the camera while holding her baby, Old Wei with a cigarette in his mouth egging his son on to mischief, and, of course, Dong Xueqing leaping and cursing in the park.

No composition, no play of light and shadow, none of the hallmarks of good photography—just a jumbled collection of shots anyone would randomly take with a phone.

But they captured the truest moments of life.

No wonder the camera factory people felt the professional world was crumbling.

In these times, film was precious—everyone hoped to leave a good image of themselves.

Who would waste shots like this?

Wei Dong tried to elbow her away, but instinctively held back a bit.

Perhaps he sensed it—Dong Xueqing, laughing, squeezed in behind the driver, resting her head on Wei Dong’s shoulder. “Spring Festival in the countryside is so lively. Next year, why don’t my sister and I go home with you to celebrate?”

The color photos, when developed, were just as scattered and noisy, but that unvarnished breath of daily life would surely attract any sensitive, lonely soul.

Wei Dong kept up his old act. “Who knows where I’ll be next year? Take that SLR back to school and really study—it’d be good if you picked up some photography skills.”

He himself didn’t care at all—had no interest in fussing with apertures and shutter speeds.

The girl, however, had moist eyes. Raised with painstaking care by her sister, never having known a father’s love, she was almost overwhelmed.

So, when no one was looking, she quietly undid her braids, leaned her head against his broad back, and closed her eyes, smiling with a deep, secret attachment.

Everyone knew that Dongfeng trucks had no interior rearview mirror.

As Wei Dong mulled over how to sell the cameras, he had no idea what games the young girl was playing behind his back.

This cozy atmosphere lasted all the way from the optical factory that afternoon to Jiangzhou—never once did they look out at the passing scenery.

The young men, who hadn’t even considered reporting last night's fight to the police, had already forgotten the brawl, crowding at the tailgate to lift the canvas and marvel at the big city.

Only Goudan, who’d been to Shanghai a dozen times, lay lazily atop the straw bedding. “What's so interesting? City hotpot is the best. Wonder if we’ll get some today.”

That was all he cared about. He wasn’t picky—anything beat eating in the countryside.

Wei Dong was determined to reward everyone.

He parked steadily outside the store and called out, “Unload the goods first, then we’ll—”

Only to see a neatly dressed, bespectacled young man emerge from the shop.

He extended his hand warmly. “Hello, Comrade Wei Dong. I’m Xu Jianmin, the factory secretary assigned to assist you. As agreed by phone, we’ve also delivered two tons of titanium ingots.”

So, Aunt Wang had been replaced?

Hongguang Factory would later regret this decision bitterly.