Chapter 106

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That evening, after returning to his room, Zhang Lanzhi couldn’t help but remind him, “The woman with her hand bandaged last time, and the photography studio manager both warned that he might be a fraud.”

However, Jiang Weidong was quite confident about the drama series: “I won’t act without proof. If it truly is something perfect, then it’s not a bad thing. It all depends on his knack for maneuvering. We only need to pay the agreed price in the end.”

The secretary thoughtfully exclaimed, “So this is how TV dramas are really made.”

She had only caught fragments of the conversation and probably missed the hints.

Jiang Weidong had no such thoughts: “He might just be catering to the leadership. The show might not actually have many viewers, but if we look at it differently, what if we hired a genuinely talented actor? Wouldn’t that make the drama genuinely captivating, allowing the hero’s deeds to be celebrated by more people, and everyone involved to benefit doubly?”

He had no moral scruples; Jin Zhuoqun’s actions were often cloaked in lofty ideals while pursuing personal gain.

Without incentives, how could these clever people be motivated?

In the rural commune brigade, the scene of everyone idling and shirking work under the collective system was all too common.

Thus, Jiang Weidong found it more interesting to use the profits from personal gain to accomplish these noble tasks.

As expected, Zhang Lanzhi’s academic performance was lacking; her calculation skills were a bit behind: “Maybe so, like today’s invitation to that truly skilled Cantonese cuisine master?”

Jiang Weidong smiled and sat by the window sofa, flipping through satellite channels on the color TV with a remote. The foreign hotels that received Hong Kong and Macau broadcasts could indeed show NBA games!

This was the convenience of being at the southern gateway, such an open frontier.

For example, the matter of Master Liao from Cantonese cuisine came precisely from his reflections after visiting the plastic products factory.

Thus, the matter progressed in a deeper direction.

Wearing a tall white chef’s hat, Master Liao chatted with Jiang Weidong in the kitchen after the restaurant closed. Jin Zhuoqun and the others had already waved goodbye from afar.

With a hand-written recommendation from Master Zhao of Sichuan cuisine, this senior chef did not hold back much.

Besides, this technique wasn’t regarded as their most treasured secret: “I learned this technique from a chef in Fujian. There are two main approaches. The first is to make meat jelly by replacing moisture with gelatin. As long as it isn't heated enough to melt the gelatin, it can last several days. With vacuum packaging, the shelf life extends even longer.”

Jiang Weidong quickly took notes: “So mainly removing moisture, right? Like how we like to make dried beef and smoked bacon, which preserve for a long time after drying and smoking.”

The Cantonese chef, having more exposure to modern technology, explained further: “Yes, the main cause of spoilage in cooked meat is high protein and moisture, which provide bacteria with space to survive. So techniques like smoking, drying, and salting make the environment unsuitable for bacteria. But you don’t want the texture of dried beef; too much salt and sugar would spoil the flavor. That’s why I say meat jelly’s texture might suit you better. The second method is vacuum packaging followed by high-temperature sterilization.”

He then mentioned a key point that made Jiang Weidong laugh out loud: “You have to use a special thin-film bag, which is expensive and all imported. Let me find it for you; it’s called ethylene something…”

It turned out to be very similar to the transparent bags Jiang saw on the bag-making machine at the plastic factory earlier that afternoon. But these imported ones from Hong Kong were food-grade safe, oil and heat resistant, embossed with some English letters. This five-star hotel used such bags to package unused high-end ingredients before freezing.

Even without vacuum sealing, this ensured minimal spoilage.

The translator struggled to recognize the term: “Yes, ethylene. It’s a technical term I don’t understand, but I saw at the factory they produce bags using ethylene plastic pellets; the raw material barrels were labeled with this word.”

If this had been yesterday, Jiang Weidong would have been clueless about where to find such bags. Now, it was clear that the plastic factory could customize them!

At this point, Jiang Weidong had already decided to have Gou Dan and the others start running long-distance freight transport.

He boldly made an offer: “Master Liao, thank you for your technical support. I won’t let you gain nothing. I pay Master Zhao and the others monthly expert fees. I want to establish a company here in Yuezhou, with you holding shares. You don’t need to do much—just sell the products. If you think it’s good and it doesn’t harm your reputation, you can help tweak the taste and your signature dishes. You won’t have to worry about it, just like with Master Zhao and the others, adjusting flavors and getting paid monthly.”

Given the economic conditions in eastern Guangdong, Jiang Weidong felt that just paying two thousand yuan a month might not be enough to persuade them.

But when it came to this, he was generous.

Would he convince these master chefs with ideals or empty promises?

These were not ambitious types like Lao You or Lao Jin.

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Artisans were simply offered double shares.

Sure enough, this somewhat forceful approach directly impressed the other party.

The key was that it wouldn’t affect their reputation or interfere with their current contracts, positions, or affiliations. It was just an additional part-time income.

This kind of share-based inducement, rare throughout the country, was extremely effective.

In fact, no money changed hands; Master Liao simply wrote down a very detailed process.

The first step was the salt and sugar ratio; the second, hot air drying to remove surface moisture; the third, vacuum sealing followed by high-temperature sterilization for a specified temperature and time—this could preserve the product for nearly a year.

He even provided a scientific testing method: as long as it reached a certain value, the preservation effect was guaranteed.

He emphasized that pork offal from the southwest might differ slightly, but repeated testing would surely find the optimal method.

Jiang Weidong quietly arranged to have a family member accompany him to register the company the next day; Master Liao didn’t even need to appear as a shareholder—only benefits, no drawbacks.

He returned upstairs to his room, feeling delighted.

Even more delightful was accidentally flipping to a foreign sports channel broadcasting NBA games—actually a draft preview from this June.

With about a month to go, the overseas basketball scene was ablaze with excitement.

The program repeatedly analyzed and showcased highlights from these rookies.

This batch included not only the legendary “Uncle Joe,” considered the greatest in NBA history, but also Hall of Famers like Olajuwon, Barkley, and Stockton.

Especially the last one.

For over a decade before Jiang Weidong lost his hand, he spent a lot of time in the security dorm watching NBA games to ease his emotions.

Only by immersing himself in this passion could he forget the pain caused by his disability.

Later, as the NBA became more of a spectacle, his interest waned.

Countless times in his heart, he had regarded Stockton as his role model.

Stockton, seemingly not very tall or strong for a white player, managed to stand firm in the star-studded NBA.

It was said he relied on extraordinary stamina and boundless energy—what people called “never tiring”—with exceptionally enduring cardiovascular fitness.

Jiang Weidong, from playing basketball in middle and high school, shared this trait; even as he aged, he sweated less and tired less than his peers.

His colleagues joked it was because of his childhood training.

He felt a special affinity for Stockton.

Instantly, he immersed himself in the television.

Zhang Lanzhi watched him at first, curious if he truly understood the commentary: “You... understand the announcer?”

Jiang Weidong didn’t turn his head: “No need, I know them all. You go ahead and rest early. Oh, I’ll turn the volume down.”

Back then, in the dormitory shared by two or four people, ever since they got a TV in 1990, it was often like this. Jiang Weidong even preferred night shifts so he could sneak out during commercial breaks to patrol, then return to watch more.

The secretary sat bashfully and nervously at the bedside for half an hour before mustering the courage to go shower and take care of herself.

She worried the volume outside might be too low. After lingering a while, she finally towel-dried her hair. Her new pajamas were a simple floral pattern, but she tiptoed so as not to disturb her boss.

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Instead, she accidentally kicked the table leg, letting out a soft yelp.

Jiang Weidong glanced over but didn’t flinch; he even returned the ball possession on the screen: “Your hair’s not dry? Why don’t you use the hairdryer at the sink?”

The secretary happily hopped back on one leg: “This one on the wall? I was just saying I don’t know what it is; it’s fixed to the wall and I can’t use it.”

At that time, mainland hairdryers were those old-fashioned white metal box types that buzzed loudly; only state-run barbershops had them, so girls from remote areas rarely had experience using one.

With more worldly knowledge, Jiang Weidong, still watching TV with dissatisfaction, mumbled as he detached the hose from the wall, fiddled with the switch, and handed it over without thinking to help dry her hair.

The secretary blushed deeply, dizzy from the almost happening but ultimately nothing, standing at the bathroom door watching the focused young man absorbed in the TV.

Finally, she crawled into bed utterly exhausted, letting him be.

At that time, domestic TV had nothing worthwhile to watch, so Jiang Weidong had no interest before.

Now, nearing midnight, after savoring NBA and Champions League previews, he was about to get up to use the restroom when he glanced at the secretary asleep beside him, wrapped in a sheet, and froze.

The color TV light flickered across her fair face, the distance between their beds in the sleeper car remained the same, yet she seemed within reach.

At twenty, youthful hormones surged wildly in Jiang Weidong’s heart.

For a year, he had almost unconsciously suppressed himself; otherwise, he was confident he could have overpowered Er Feng and Old Lady Shi.

But once crossed, it would be a different matter.

So he never gave himself such moments alone to indulge.

He originally thought the secretary would maintain a certain distance, showing no response, but his primal urge was uncontrollable.

Suddenly recalling their close moment in the “Chicken Lady” tricycle last time.

This was a public space in a train sleeper car—totally different.

Indeed, he felt a bit restless, so while still rational, he flipped to the other side of the carpet and vigorously did push-ups to burn energy and divert his attention.

It was futile.

Gazing at the myriad lights outside, he couldn’t calm down.

So he went to the bathroom for a cold shower.

Finally, after tossing and turning, he barely dozed off on the other side of the carpet.

The next morning, the secretary woke sweetly, vaguely noticing the empty bed beside her. Puzzled, she leaned over and saw a rolled-up bedding bundle under the bed.

He clearly knew how to guard against temptation when no one was watching.

Biting her lip, her face flushed, she reached out to pull back the covers…

Like defusing a bomb.