Chapter 71: A Test Born of Misjudgment

As expected, even though college students are still precious at this time, not many at the provincial university are idling away their days. The two cameras that had been sold first attracted quite a few students, money in hand, eager to buy. One of them had already shot two rolls, had them developed, and loaded another roll to show off.

By four or five o’clock, some seventy or eighty people had gathered. Wei Dong, attentive as ever, showed his work ID to everyone, but only drove the car to the campus’s back gate before unpacking the “fertilizer sacks” and selling the cameras to the students, one by one. He felt a bit disappointed—no one proactively asked about selling cameras. So he had to remind each buyer himself, “If you want to promote these People’s Cameras among your classmates, or at the major colleges in Rongdu, there’s a subsidy for every camera sold.” But still, no one responded.

How could the students here be so different from those in Beijing? Yu Songhai, snapping away with his Canon SLR nearby, drew no attention. Everyone was gleefully tearing open the “simple packaging” and playing with their new toys. The dozens of film rolls Wei Dong brought were resold at cost, and he guided them on how to load the film. Their learning ability, of course, exceeded that of the tourists at West Lake.

Some students, unable to contain themselves, dashed straight across the street to Jinjiang Park. It was clear they intended to climb over the riverbank fence to sneak in. No business sense at all—a single camera sold could cover the cost of a handful of park tickets.

Just then, Dong Xueqing, carrying her camera, got off at the bus stop. She was wearing semi-high heels, running toward the campus gate, but, seeing the commotion, she braked suddenly and nearly twisted her ankle. She hurried over, limping slightly but striving to walk with grace. She didn’t know why, but she always felt compelled to pay so much attention to her posture.

Wei Dong, busy as a street vendor, didn’t notice her, but the students around, having loaded their film, were like new recruits with freshly loaded guns—eager to aim and snap photos of everything around them. Instantly, seven or eight lenses were trained on her. Even Yu Songhai was drawn in, turning his camera to snap away.

The secret of flared trousers lies in their tightness around the waist and hips—otherwise, how could they flare out? If the waist and hips aren’t cinched, no matter how wide the legs, there’s no contrast. This was the key to the “street punk” fashion craze of the eighties—the “edgy” style of the era. Street punks typically paired them with large, floral shirts and, for women, heavy makeup to highlight their individuality and carefree attitude, resulting in the stereotype of wild, wayward beauty.

Even Wei Dong, when he glimpsed the red, wide-collared shirt on the motorboat, instinctively attached such labels. Yet, when someone like Dong Xueqing switched to a white, high-necked wool sweater, with a face as fresh and unadorned as a lotus in clear water, and a touch of refined lady-like demeanor learned from Zhang Lanzhi, a pure feminine beauty was instantly revealed—long legs, slender waist, upright posture—making everything else around seem drab by comparison.

This was perhaps the city’s earliest example of street photography featuring beautiful women. It was from this that provincial university students later developed the habit—like street punks—of photographing beauties on the city streets.

As Wei Dong, panting, stood beside her, he finally looked up, “Oh, you’re here. Did you manage to drive them off over there?”

Dong Xueqing, fond of this sense of intimacy, broke into a joyful smile, “Yes, I think she was quite honest. I said I was going back to school, and she said goodbye to me.”

Wei Dong firmly drew a boundary, “But she knows what’s going on here, so the factory can completely bypass us now.”

Feng Chu quickly chimed in, “Alright! What can I do now?”

Wei Dong glanced at the cameras around, all silently turning toward them like cruise radars.

It truly brought to mind the later famous scenes in Rongdu—city streets, chased by all manner of strange creatures on camera in viral videos.

Was this the pinnacle of camera sales? Decisively, he said, “Of course, we’ll go across to the park and take photos. If no one else wants to buy, we’ll go over there to shoot.”

The students, initially inhibited by gender and modesty, were hesitant to photograph such a pretty girl. But Yu Songhai, a middle-aged man, snapped away with confidence, prompting the young men to think—why shouldn’t I? So, as Wei Dong and Dong Xueqing crossed the street and bought tickets into the park, the students unconsciously followed, joining Yu Songhai in his pursuit.

Some even spent a dime for a ticket, trailing along for the entire shoot.

Dong Xueqing was a bit surprised—was selling cameras supposed to involve getting photographed? But as soon as she entered the park, experiencing it for the first time, she was so happy she skipped along, holding Wei Dong’s hand with delight, “Wow, this park is so much prettier than ours in Shangzhou!”

Wei Dong scoffed, “That’s not a park, just a dirt embankment. Let go of me, stand aside so I can take your picture. Do you know how to use it?”

The students were secretly pleased—the beauty had finally stepped aside, and now they could take photos. But in reality, it was to have the beauty take pictures for the camera vendor!

Disappointed, their spirits sank.

Normally, one would expect them to turn away in annoyance. But the combination of the white high-necked sweater and black flared trousers was rare even on campus, and even if they saw it, they wouldn’t dare take photos so openly. Her radiant, unpretentious smile—the kind of unguarded joy that is the world’s finest beauty—made it impossible to tear their eyes from the viewfinder.

Moreover, those taking photos often possess a magical power: once focused through the viewfinder, they no longer care about their own awkward poses—whether sticking their hips out, crouching, or squatting.

So, even though Dong Xueqing was posing for Wei Dong to photograph her the entire time, everyone was happily snapping away.

When those students who sneaked in from the riverbank joined, they were regretful—if only they’d known there’d be such an activity!

So, a whole crowd gathered around Jinjiang Pavilion: girls photographing vendors, students photographing girls, the reporter photographing everything.

Yu Songhai even suggested, “Does your university have a photography club? You could organize these activities regularly. Next time, call me and I’ll come interview the campus style.” He handed his business card to the most enthusiastic student nearby.

Wei Dong, a forty-year veteran bachelor, never realized that photographing beauties was the true appeal of photography events.

Earlier, he’d repeatedly asked if anyone wanted to sell cameras, but none of the young men were interested. Now, even those who hadn’t bought a camera were beginning to see the light. With a camera, chasing girls would surely be much more effective!

“Comrade, I didn’t bring enough money today. Will you be selling again tomorrow?”

“Yes, I’m out of film. Can you bring more rolls tomorrow?”

“Will this young lady be here for photos again tomorrow?”

Dong Xueqing, eager to help her brother-in-law sell cameras, nodded enthusiastically, “Yes, of course! No problem!”

Wei Dong couldn’t help but remind, “With such demand, ask if any students are willing to sell cameras on campus. Tomorrow, anyone interested can come by.”

Selling thirty or forty cameras was nothing—he had more fun playing basketball.

In the end, at Dong Xueqing’s insistence, Yu Songhai used her Xiangshan-brand SLR to shoot the remaining seven or eight rolls for group photos of the pair.

Only then, satisfied, did Wei Dong wrap up, heading off to play basketball with the students, still seeking “agents.”

It proved that the Beijing event was truly a forum attended by over a thousand people—finding seven “greedy boys” was normal. Wei Dong had only met a few dozen people here at the provincial university.

Once they’d sold dozens of cameras and developed dozens of rolls to display, the next afternoon, Wei Dong picked up Feng Chu—now wearing a black high-necked sweater—from the Postal and Telecommunications College and returned to the provincial university.

There, over a hundred students were waiting to buy, along with several eager to earn money.

The majority still couldn’t let go of their disdain for private entrepreneurs and the prevailing social values.

Wei Dong, however, was ready to shift the perspective, “We’re not private entrepreneurs. We’re a formally registered trading company, soon to get our business license. So if you want to take part in camera sales, you’ll be considered part-time employees. Here in Rongdu, you’ll be an independent department under the company, parallel to the sales department in Beijing. But your performance depends on your own abilities.”

Dong Xueqing wanted to join as a salesperson, but Wei Dong sent her off to take photos, “What are you hanging around us for!”

He wasn’t skilled at courting girls, but among the five, one sneakily eyed the elegant lady, an old security guard instantly saw through him.

Buying tickets into the park, they grabbed a few bottles of soda and gathered at a stone table for a meeting.

Each reported their name, origin, major, age, and thoughts on the camera sales job.

It felt a bit like an HR recruiting session.

Everyone was very earnest. No one could come up with any wildly creative, era-defining marketing strategies—impossible.

The more he interacted, the more Wei Dong realized why You Qili was destined to become a master—he truly had exceptional qualities. Comparatively, Jin Zhuoqun lacked in creative talent; his strengths lay in persuasion and communication, especially with superiors. He truly mastered the art of relationships.

Their chief common trait: extraordinary ambition.

As Wei Dong led his five “new employees” to brainstorm sales strategies for Rongdu’s tourist spots and campuses, after three days of training, Jin Zhuoqun finally showed up.

He had actually resigned from the job in Guozhou that had spared him from returning to the countryside, arriving in Rongdu nearly empty-handed to take up work for the photo exhibition.

Wei Dong welcomed him warmly and took him to “observe” the students selling cameras to panda-watchers at the zoo.

In just a few days, they’d tried every major campus, city park, Wuhou Shrine, Du Fu’s Cottage, and other historic sites. As long as they shed their embarrassment, the results were excellent.

Just as Wei Dong had experienced in Beijing, college students possessed learning abilities far beyond the average. With a bit of guidance, they quickly caught on.

Four hundred cameras—he deliberately controlled the pace, treating them more as training materials, selling about a hundred per day.

Each student earned a five-yuan commission per camera!

Even Dong Xueqing and Wei Dong joined in, earning around a hundred yuan daily, which left the group exhilarated.

So today, at the zoo, they squeezed into the cargo compartment, warmly greeting Gou Dan and the others.

Jin Zhuoqun sat in the cab, but noticed Wei Dong had yet another young lady by his side—clearly close, with no boundaries. He judged that Wei Dong’s weakness might be women.

For someone so wise in human nature and flattery, such a misjudgment could have unpredictable consequences.

Moreover, he was from the song and dance troupe, the cultural ensemble.