Chapter 53: If You Don't Seize Boundless Wealth, You'll Be Left With Noodles Drenched in Oil

All along the West Lake, there were suddenly crowds of people holding those black cameras, clicking away with utmost flair! The general store owner had already commented that, at first glance, these cameras looked just like the standard models priced at 120 to 150 yuan; only a discerning expert, upon close inspection, would notice a slightly toy-like quality. In modern terms, the plastic felt a bit cheap. To cut costs, they hadn't even used quality plastic, just the kind of bakelite you’d find in electric meters, lamp holders, and switch boxes from the eighties—stiff and unrefined.

But what did ordinary consumers know? Hardly any of them ever had the chance to examine a camera up close. As long as it looked like a camera, could take pictures, and could be shown off back home—“I bought this camera by West Lake”—that was more than enough for them. It was the same mentality as tourists returning from Southeast Asia, who wouldn’t feel right saying they’d been abroad if they hadn’t bought latex pillows or snakeskin belts.

After selling out, Wei Dong and his crew didn’t leave—they stayed by the general store until dark. Not for the owner’s famous sweet-and-sour fish, but out of concern that disgruntled customers might come back to complain and ruin the owner’s enthusiasm for selling cameras. This after-sales concept, so common in later generations, made the store owner think these young men were truly remarkable—he even wanted to introduce his daughter to Wei Dong.

Despite carrying over ten thousand yuan, the young man showed not a trace of arrogance; instead, he directed his companions to diligently help tidy the store, clean up the surroundings, and tend to the flowers and trees. This, surely, was the mark of a gold-star agent—doing everything possible to ensure ongoing camera sales.

In the end, there were no complaints to handle. All the film developing shops and studios in Zhejiang City reportedly saw business boom like never before. Many tourists, not even knowing how to remove film from the camera, flocked to these shops, leaving the staff hoarse from all the explanations required. But as long as a shadowy figure appeared in the developed photos, that was enough to satisfy.

These cheap cameras, lacking depth of field, focus adjustment, or nuanced light and shadow, produced clear images as long as the user’s hands didn’t shake—near or far, the results were solid. This made them ideal for beginners. Even the flaws—slightly darkened corners—created that mysterious, nostalgic atmosphere later prized by so-called LOMO cameras. And the lenses from these military optical factories, with their unique characteristics, eschewed the usual coldness of domestic lenses for vivid, warm tones.

Even photography enthusiasts sought them out!

Wei Dong, hoarse from all the talking, hurried to the post and telecommunications office to make a long-distance call to Xishan Optical Instrument Factory: “Sold out! Start production, full capacity! Maintain quality and quantity, batches of one or two thousand units—I’ll pay cash on delivery in Jiangzhou!” The person on the other end, hearing his voice, was clearly concerned—what had he gone through to sound so exhausted? The factory leader who was transferred to the call was nearly in tears with joy: “Really?! Thank you, thank you, Xiao Rang, you’ve worked so hard—are you really Xiao Rang? Amazing!”

Wei Dong, despite his hoarse voice, was eager to claim credit: “My approach is clearly correct. Produce at full speed, as fast as quality allows, and deliver batches of one or two thousand to the Hongguang Factory’s sales office on the southern bank of the Yangtze. How long will that take?”

He’d discovered, while still at the factory moving goods, that the simple camera packaging contained only a Chinese-language manual with the Xishan Camera Factory’s address and phone number. That wouldn’t do; after leaving the factory and returning to Jiangzhou, Wei Dong had Gou Dan and the others tear off the sections of the manuals where the address and phone number appeared. They’d agreed on exclusive sales—if everyone went straight to the factory, what would be the point?

So the camera’s unique selling point and creative high ground had to remain firmly in Wei Dong’s hands.

The factory folks had no such concerns; they were just frantically calculating production capacity. “While you were away these ten days, we managed to produce another five hundred units… Our proficiency is up, and two hundred a day isn’t a problem.”

“Good,” said Wei Dong. “Every batch of one or two thousand, ship it over. I’ll have cash ready.”

The factory director promised repeatedly that they could deliver, and from the phone, Wei Dong could hear the cheers in the background. He himself could hardly contain his excitement.

He called his father next, having left the fifty-thousand-yuan certificate of deposit at the sales office: “Did you give the thirty-four thousand to the metal factory? If they can wait a few days, great—if not, I’ll take the cash and catch a train back.”

The prearranged titanium ingot deal was in the neighboring town, involving a whopping 130,000 yuan in cash! No wonder Wei Dong brought so many people this time. For a transaction like that, making a round trip by train was worthwhile.

But his father surprised him: “This time I had Hongguang Factory’s accountant come for the money. They asked why I didn’t use a telegraphic transfer—do you know what that is?”

Wei Dong didn’t have a clue. He was only familiar with mobile transfers and knew that banks at the time didn’t provide universal deposit and withdrawal services. It simply hadn’t occurred to him that there was still demand for remote payments and that telegraphic remittance had existed for over a century.

When he asked at the post office, the clerk looked at him as if he were a country bumpkin. It was simple, and the fee wasn’t high. He immediately sent the ten thousand yuan he had by telegraph to Jiangzhou. Unlike out-of-town bank deposits, his father didn’t even need a bank account—he could just pick up the cash upon receiving the telegram.

Clearly, he’d need to send a few more strong young men to ensure his father’s safety.

Wei Dong politely declined the legendary sweet-and-sour fish at West Lake, then led his crew fifty kilometers to the small town to deliver the titanium ingots. The company there had realized that selling titanium alloy parts was less lucrative and convenient than simply retailing the ingots to other manufacturers. Their own consumption was maybe a ton a month, but by distributing to others in the industry, even a small price hike meant a tidy profit—and Wei Dong delivered right to their door.

They were delighted to accept as much as he could bring, ten tons or more! But Wei Dong knew the titanium business wouldn’t last forever; once Hongguang Factory understood the market and started looking for buyers themselves, they’d bypass him entirely.

For now, he played along, mainly so his own people could get acquainted with the place.

After wiring the payment, he wasn’t in a rush to leave. He had Gou Dan and a few others take the train back to Zhejiang City, while he drove to West Lake, observing as his men navigated their way, dazed but learning. Then, from Zhejiang City, they drove two or three hundred kilometers along the Grand Canal to Zhenjiang, familiarizing themselves with the local roads, long-distance passenger transport, and freight logistics, both by road and water.

Wei Dong himself not only learned but taught by example, knowing he couldn’t handle everything alone and would need capable assistants. Little did he realize that he was building his own core sales team.

In the end, he selected the most resourceful of the army kids, who stayed behind with a companion in Jiangsu and Zhejiang. Near West Lake, the general store owner helped them rent a place to live and store goods.

During those three days, his father used the old Liberation truck from Xishan Factory to deliver 1,200 new cameras to the shipping dock. Six days later, Wei Dong and his team collected the goods in Zhenjiang, intentionally avoiding trucking them directly to Zhejiang City. He watched as the two young men, like students at a driving school, handled every step themselves—from collecting the goods to transporting and finally hiring a yellow fish van to bring everything back to their rented place.

Wei Dong observed and concluded that, in the future, cameras shouldn’t be boxed at the factory—it was a waste of space. Just wrap them in bubble wrap for shipping.

The two young men assembled the boxes themselves in Zhejiang City, easily managing one or two hundred a day. The key was that Wei Dong, in Zhejiang—the national leader in printing—found a color printer and had ten thousand colorful “X” Axes Camera boxes and manuals printed, exactly as he’d envisioned, with only the Hongguang Factory sales office’s phone number left on them.

Thanks to this, Xishan Factory even lowered the price to eighteen yuan, finding it more convenient without having to handle packaging or manuals. They hadn’t realized Wei Dong had seized all the brand and sales rights for himself—he even inquired about registering a brand in Zhejiang and registered multiple categories under the “X” Axes name.

Xishan Factory had, in effect, become just an OEM. But for half a month, the entire workforce, including family members, was mobilized, and daily production reached five hundred units. “Comrade Wei Dong, can you sell them all?”

They’d never seen the swarms of tourists by West Lake. The crucial point was that these consumers changed daily, coming from all over the country—every day brought new faces. Seeing the bright, colorful posters advertising cameras for 29 yuan, people rushed in to buy. Twelve hundred units would sell out in just two or three days.

Wei Dong never thought to raise the price. The general store owner was stunned—why bother with sodas, cakes, cigarettes, or candy when you could devote almost all your space to cameras and film? The sales reps from the film company came by, puzzled but increasing their deliveries and inquiring about the situation. Despite the beautiful scenery, film sales had never been high before; most photos were taken by itinerant photographers who had their own film supply channels and never bought from the general store.

Now, with hundreds or thousands of tourists snapping pictures daily—and some even setting up photo businesses along West Lake—the consumption of film soared to thousands of rolls.

That was exactly what Wei Dong had been waiting for. He immediately asked if the film companies were interested in bundling their film with his cameras, leveraging their sales networks.

But the color film was handled by the haughty Shanghai-based Huhai Company, which dismissed his “cheap junk cameras.” The black-and-white film came from a domestic state-owned factory, whose representatives timidly said they’d need to seek approval.

Wei Dong could only leave his contact information and head north from Zhejiang, off to purchase and transport beef and mutton tallow as spring arrived. Inwardly, he scoffed, “Once I’ve made it big, you lot can all go to hell!”

By this time, his father said the sales office phone was constantly ringing with inquiries from all over, people wanting to buy or sell the camera. His parents and the three girls, following Wei Dong’s script, answered politely: “Hello, please leave your contact information. After this year’s supply allocation meeting, the company’s sales staff will contact you based on production…”

It almost sounded like a prestigious company. They were making the most of the hand-cranked phone line at the Hongguang Factory’s sales office, which normally just received calls. His father also mentioned that Sister Dong had reported the school’s phone number and wanted Wei Dong to contact her.

Wei Dong, busy until the moment he was about to leave Zhejiang, finally noticed her note in the address book and called her.