Chapter 75: Whose Side Are You Really On?

After Wei Dong had finished his rant, he was startled by Yu Songhai’s excitement. “I was just speaking off the cuff! Don’t you dare put that in some article again, and don’t go inventing any letters from readers either!”

True to form, Yu Songhai whipped out his reporter’s notebook and scribbled furiously. “If there’s even a chance of this, it’s worth guarding against. There are already voices saying that trading pandas for aid is a disgrace to our national dignity…”

Wei Dong dismissed it, “Aid my foot. Do you think people just hand over good things for nothing? Aren’t all the benefits in this world just transactions? In the end, it still comes down to whether you have a strong foundation. If we get the economy going, we can afford all sorts of research and conservation ourselves—no need to go begging, trading pandas for friendship. Even in a poor marriage, everything’s miserable. To put it bluntly, this whole panda crisis boils down to poverty!”

Yu Songhai, struggling to write the last few words, poured himself a large glass of liquor and toasted Wei Dong. “I’ll drink to that!”

Wei Dong joined him, “What I’m saying might be a bit out of place right now, and I admit that even my attempts to make money feel out of place, but there’s nothing illegal about it. Honestly, I’m terrified of saying or doing the wrong thing at a time like this and ending up in trouble. That’s why I’ve anonymously donated all the money I’ve made. I believe as circumstances change and commercial trade becomes more permissible, there will be plenty more money to make. Just don’t drag my name into it, all right?”

Yu Songhai put down his glass. “Do you know why I say this donation needs to be written up in a big way? Because we need to break the mindset of some comrades who are always fixated on getting foreign aid. They think everything in developed countries is better. And there are always voices saying that being poor and enduring hardship is fine as long as we don’t waver in our resolve. Right? Including that guy from your hometown, Shangzhou. So can’t this donation be seen as a clear new way of thinking? Only if we develop our economy can we have the strength to ensure all kinds of projects—whether it’s protecting pandas, launching satellites, or achieving the Four Modernizations. Everything has to be built on an economic foundation!”

Wei Dong couldn’t resist teasing him. “Ha! That’s what they call putting the economy first. You’ll get criticized for that too.”

Yu Songhai took a deep breath. “Someone has to say these things. The straightforward truth that the whole country needs to develop the economy, over and over again, so people can live and work in peace, always gets… Well, since you don’t want to make a fuss, I’ll say it. You won’t accuse me of stealing your ideas, will you?”

Wei Dong held out his hands. “Take whatever you want! I know you, old Yu, have faith and ideals—different from Old Jin. But me, I’m just an ordinary guy. I believe in doing things earnestly, sizing up the situation, and doing what I should at this stage, making whatever money I can. But I do admire and respect the kind of people who can stand up and speak out without thinking of their own interests. To be blunt, if you really go down that path and something happens to you, I’ll take care of things at home for you.”

Yu Songhai fell silent, simply smiling as he poured another drink and clinked glasses with Wei Dong.

Wei Dong turned to explain, “Let me clarify this panda business for you. It’s not like I’m giving money away for nothing. I get to use the panda for advertising five times—just think of the effect…”

Perhaps emboldened by drink, he leaned in and quietly gestured, “Don’t tell anyone, but picture this: a big panda, wearing its mother’s dress, sits sulking in the back, while a little panda in front holds a tape recorder and, in a child’s voice, says, ‘Wherever you can’t understand, just listen here. Now mom never has to worry about me learning a foreign language!’ Tell me that ad wouldn’t be unforgettable?”

That classic ad line—didn’t it later appear on some tape recorder or something? Supposedly, it sold out everywhere.

But wasn’t it just a tape recorder?

The two men huddled, Wei Dong spreading his hands like a screen, inadvertently framing Zhang Lanzhi in the view. She caught Wei Dong’s affected accent and looked up in surprise, a hint of mischief breaking through her usual poise, elegant but with a sly charm—truly attractive.

Especially seeing her in the daytime, so dignified, and now, wearing a buttoned-to-the-neck wool cardigan, the edge of her floral pajamas peeking out, looking adorably baffled.

She could’ve played the panda mother herself.

Yu Songhai laughed heartily, completely letting loose. “Yes! Excellent, excellent, excellent! Now I can explain this to Old Feng, and he’ll get it too. Let’s settle the tape recorder deal today, shall we?”

Wei Dong, who was planning to return to Jiangzhou at dawn, was surprised. “So soon?”

Yu Songhai nodded emphatically. “I need this achievement to prove the correctness of the panda donation—even if it’s just relying on the panda itself, it can drive economic development and change the situation!”

He wasn’t wrong. Having witnessed how pandas raked in cash worldwide, Wei Dong had to agree. “It’s like begging with a golden rice bowl. All right, I’ll stay another day.”

He then carefully explained his selection process among the local electronics factories in Rongdu.

There were two television factories and a water heater plant that were already in high demand—not worth wasting time with. Everyone knew that the future domestic king of color TVs would be another military-industrial enterprise over a hundred kilometers from Rongdu.

This alone showed that converting military to civilian production wasn’t impossible. At least in the eighties and nineties, the key was whether there was someone capable of leading in the right direction.

In those days, the real key to any enterprise was the leader, the person at the helm.

Wei Dong, however, didn’t want to get too involved. He figured that cameras and tape recorders were destined to become obsolete, even TVs would eventually lose their luster, so he was content to make some quick money for now.

The ultimate goal was still to trade for airplanes… But as he sipped his drink, a thought struck him—was canned goods the only way to trade for planes?

Wasn’t everything he was doing now just preparation? Tape recorders, cameras, even TVs, fridges, washing machines—he could get involved with all of them now, build up relationships.

The key was to make a name for himself, like he had with cameras, and then ride that momentum to establish partnerships in other electrical goods and make even more money.

Then trade those things for planes—maybe it would work even better than with canned food.

In the end, he picked a fairly unimpressive suburban electronics factory as his intended partner.

Yu Songhai was finally able to tie together the donation event with the project of military-civilian integration—military factories producing civilian electrical goods. He was delighted, ate and drank his fill, and returned to the press office, determined to write his article overnight.

They often worked late into the night, rushing to produce, edit, and publish stories. The cluster of late-night snack shops around them owed their business to these night owls—TV and radio staff and other relatively well-off unit employees who frequently worked overtime.

Such late-night eateries were rare in Rongdu.

To Wei Dong, though, it was just a souped-up version of the street vendor he’d visited for a bowl of noodles after running away from the county hospital.

You needed all kinds of little businesses like that to give people hope in life.

For example, with taxis not running late at night, life could be truly inconvenient.

By the time they’d finished eating and drinking, it was past midnight. As they stepped out of the dingy alley, they realized even the night-watchmen had gone.

But the secretary, obviously a little overstuffed, suggested, “Why don’t we walk back? It’ll help us digest.”

Wei Dong, who’d also had plenty, nodded in agreement.

In the quiet hours before dawn, they walked side by side along the provincial capital’s first ring road, keeping a little distance between them.

It must have been five or six kilometers.

Apart from running into two patrols, the city was peaceful—no highway robbers here.

Wei Dong’s military factory work ID and Zhang Lanzhi’s little booklet both earned polite reminders from the patrols: “Take care on your way!”

But the two remained silent throughout.

Wei Dong wanted to say something, but the words wouldn’t come. With the drink making him a bit woozy, he decided to say nothing at all.

Zhang Lanzhi walked in silence, seeming even more at ease, her presence as delicate as an orchid.

In the late spring night, it almost felt like they’d been walking together like this for a very long time.

The hour-long walk was nothing to either of them; young people in those days often thought nothing of such distances.

Once they reached the guesthouse, sweat-soaked and sobered up, Wei Dong finally told his secretary, “You heard it yourself today—I donated the whole three hundred thousand I’d saved from selling cameras and other business to the pandas. From now on, do a good job networking and organizing things in Rongdu, or else the company will go under.”

Zhang Lanzhi’s stubborn streak emerged. “But Director Cheng told me to assist you with your work. For example, with this panda donation, I had no idea what was going on. Of course, I’m extremely proud of your selflessness, but you didn’t let me participate. Is there something I’m not doing well enough?”

Wei Dong, a seasoned hand at office politics, replied, “Well, you need to think carefully about whether you’re really my secretary or the military rep sent by Xishan Factory. Do you want to be paid by me? How much? That will help you figure out who you should listen to—especially if I end up at odds with Xishan Factory, whose side will you be on?”

For a military woman, this was more than she was used to handling—not a specific assignment, but a personal decision. This was exactly what was hardest for the iron rice bowl generation of the eighties to adapt to.

They were already used to orderly stability.

She stood under the eaves, frozen.

Wei Dong waved her off and climbed back into the truck to sleep.

But not long after, as dawn was just breaking, Dong Xueqing came bouncing up to the tailgate, peering in with excitement.

Discovering that Wei Dong was still asleep, she silently climbed up, shooed away the others, nestled up by the hay, and affectionately stroked his hair, then quietly picked up his clothes to sniff them.

She really ought to go study at a police dog academy.

Startled awake, Wei Dong blinked in confusion.

But the clever girl didn’t get hung up on sniffing his scent. “I couldn’t sleep all night. I don’t want to go to the job assigned by the school. I want to go work with you right away, wherever you go.”

Wei Dong, still wrapped in his towel blanket, rolled away, yawning. “I can’t make that decision for you. But I suggest you talk it over with your sister—she’s done so much to support you through telecom school. You should consider her feelings. If you really want my advice, I’d say you should at least try the job. You’ve come all this way—why not finish the journey, give yourself that closure? If you want to quit later, you always can. But I once heard a saying: nothing you go through is ever wasted. I think that’s true.”

The clever girl immediately agreed, completely trusting Wei Dong to guide her life.

This left the secretary, who’d been planning to give a full report on the way to the electronics factory, silent for the entire journey.

Especially when she watched the technical school graduate interrogate the driver in Russian—she was thoroughly astonished.