Chapter 65: Mutual Concessions Inevitably Leave Gaps

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What Yu Songhai discussed with Jin Zhuoqun over drinks in the end was of no concern to Wei Dong. He squeezed in with Gou Dan and the others, sleeping soundly in the haystack outside the guesthouse, more sweetly than ever.

That was the disadvantage of bringing a woman along—you ended up spending more to stay at an inn.

Yet, Zhang Lanzhi seemed particularly intrigued by their late-night barbecue by the roadside in front of the guesthouse. She removed her hat and sat quietly at the side, eating until her tongue stuck out, only returning to her room to rest after the stall was packed up, thoroughly satisfied.

Wei Dong couldn’t help but find her appearance in uniform rather amusing.

The next morning, she was once again composed and dignified, silent as they exchanged glances. The secretary even held a classic novel and read for a while. Then Yu Songhai, tousled and hungover, arrived yawning to board the car.

The secretary put away the thick book and edged a little closer to the driver.

It was only after they had driven more than ten kilometers that the reporter, leaning against the car door, finally spoke up, somewhat more awake: “Old Jin is quite the troublemaker. I introduced you hoping he could help, but I was also afraid he’d lead you astray. This is good—just like this, it’s good. You know what you want, and borrowing a bit of his methods is enough. Keep a certain relationship and distance.”

Just for these words, Yu Songhai was more worthy of a deep friendship than Jin Zhuoqun.

Wei Dong agreed: “When he talks, I always feel as if he’s another incarnation of You Qili—full of ambition and unscrupulous. I don’t need that. Just selling things steadily is enough to make money. But it’s true that their kind of scheming can churn up great opportunities, like gold sifting through waves. I’ll just pick what I can handle and do it well. Isn’t that twice the result with half the effort?”

Yu Songhai had no such ambition: “Incarnation? That’s an interesting way to put it. I’m very satisfied that you have your own ideas and don’t waver. You’re the reform talent I dug up from Shangzhou, a model youth. I’d be sorry if you lost your way, but I also hope you can achieve even more. You must keep that sense of measure.”

Going to the provincial capital was, after all, a chance for the Sunshine Daily’s Sichuan bureau to connect with its exemplary figures and confirm local achievements—everyone had their quotas.

Wei Dong, of course, planned to settle the military representative at the Rongdu office, not bring her back to the Jiangzhou Hongguang branch.

The conversation flowed freely along the journey.

Yu Songhai gradually helped Wei Dong sort out his strategy—using the costs of a planned economy to wage price wars in a market economy.

A bit of theoretical guidance, perhaps.

But when Wei Dong mentioned that You Qili was still locked up, and wondered about the provincial investigation team’s visit, Yu Songhai could only sigh. “Appeal again, if you must. The internal reports have been submitted, but you’ve seen how things are. Just be careful not to repeat the same mistakes.”

Even the economic artery theory Wei Dong had proposed at the Steel Institute—to open up commodity trading—had drawn a call to the bureau that same night, warning it was inappropriate and shouldn’t appear in reports for now.

So the Sunshine Daily was still deliberating over Wei Dong’s article in the following days.

Zhang Lanzhi sat in the middle, never seeming to join the conversation, but Wei Dong knew she was listening to everything.

She was simply in the habit of being a silent recorder, only speaking when needed.

And when mealtime approached, she would involuntarily shift her posture, as if warming up for food.

The nearly three-hundred-kilometer journey, though mostly on the flat basin floor, took four or five days, simply because Yu Songhai recommended so many delicacies to try.

Even in an era of relative scarcity, Sichuan’s reputation as a land of abundance was well deserved.

A mild climate, a leisurely populace, and rich resources.

Having largely escaped the ravages of war for centuries, nearly every locale boasted its own signature dishes.

Most were rustic flavors, born of finding joy amid hardship.

Take, for example, the “Ba” bone meat—scraps shaved off big bones after slaughtering pigs and cattle—yet somehow made into a delicious treat.

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Yu Songhai, a connoisseur who had traveled all over Sichuan, described the region’s cuisine as skillfully using offal and scraps others disdained, pairing them with pungent and savory seasonings to create fine dishes.

Even Jiangzhou’s hotpot, and similar fare found with distinct local flair in almost every county around Rongdu, spoke to this philosophy of seeking pleasure no matter how poor or bitter life became.

So their itinerary was dictated by where Yu Songhai wanted to eat; the newspaper would reimburse some expenses, but Wei Dong often scrambled to pay, slipping the receipt to Yu Songhai to hold.

It really wasn’t much money.

Zhang Lanzhi’s main responsibility was to sit with graceful posture in various shabby roadside diners and “fly restaurants,” and, amid Gou Dan and the others’ competitive grabbing, deftly and elegantly wield her chopsticks—never yielding in how much she managed to eat.

It was truly surprising how she never seemed to gain weight.

With his limited cultural refinement, even Wei Dong felt she resembled a pristine lotus swaying above the tangled, broken stalks and leaves on West Lake—a certain clear and elegant aura.

What he hadn’t understood about West Lake’s scenery now started to make sense.

Sometimes he even sneaked photos of her with his camera.

Yu Songhai, catching sight of this, would help cover for him, then, upon arriving in Rongdu, promptly took all seven or eight used film rolls to be developed.

The newspaper had its own darkroom, and processing film for outsiders was part of their business.

What’s more, Zhang Lanzhi’s uniform not only ensured restaurants didn’t dare overcharge, but seemed to ward off any highway robbers along the way.

Occasionally, when they encountered uniformed officers at checkpoints, her and Wei Dong’s work badges—and Yu Songhai’s press card—were met with special respect.

Everything went smoothly, even in the city itself.

It was Wei Dong’s first time in the provincial capital, while Zhang Lanzhi only remembered the address.

Yu Songhai pointed it out on a map, agreed to meet at the newspaper the next day, and got off first to go home—his child had only recently been born.

Wei Dong handed over two cans of formula from the car for him to try.

Zhang Lanzhi finally sat in the spacious front passenger seat, holding an atlas, quietly making it easy for the driver to glance over when needed.

Wei Dong felt a sudden nostalgia, as if tracking delivery orders on a satellite map.

Especially when he noticed the secretary shifting position more often, he quickly glanced around for bearings. “What’s good at that restaurant?”

Zhang Lanzhi replied, “The steamed pork with rice flour is especially tender. I’ve had it once.”

So Gou Dan and the others were in for another treat at lunch.

The Xishan Plant office was nearby, actually a reception station and warehouse for the Fifth Ministry of Machinery in Sichuan, with a small storeroom, an office, and a couple of adjacent rooms—all the other offices of the brother optical instrument factories were locked up and vacant.

The secretary, producing a small satchel of keys, explained that there used to be staff posted here, but with military supply products nearly halted and no production tasks, everyone had been recalled home to save expenses; she only came with plant leadership for meetings or to collect documents.

Wei Dong parked the car in the compound, but his eye was caught by the basketball court. He had Gou Dan and the others move Zhang Lanzhi’s wooden and leather trunks to the office, then took the basketball out of the car, shed his jacket, and played a spirited game, even joining the soldiers at the allocation station for a half-court match.

As dusk fell, he noticed the secretary—now changed into a skirt—who had been quietly reading at the door, standing up and sitting down repeatedly. Satisfied, he called Gou Dan and the others to go eat with her.

Wei Dong himself threw on a shirt and army jacket and drove out. Zhang Lanzhi poked her head out for a look, but soon focused on the spicy braised intestines at the small restaurant outside the supply depot.

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The culinary richness of this ancient provincial city far surpassed the pitiful handful of eateries around the Xishan Plant.

Wei Dong, when Yu Songhai had pointed out locations on the map, had noticed that just eastward lay the cluster of provincial colleges and technical schools—including the Post and Telecommunications School.

Naturally, he went to find his own helper.

How else would he keep the secretary in the provincial capital?

Yet the hulking Dongfeng truck was cumbersome on the old city streets.

Especially in this region, where people carelessly occupied roads, and the school gates opened onto narrow alleys, which were bustling with pedestrians at dinnertime.

Wei Dong had to park a hundred meters from the school gate down a side road.

The two hundred cameras he’d discreetly separated earlier all had to be moved into the cab and locked up, with half carried in by hand.

Ever since Wei Dong had refused the Xishan Plant’s cardboard boxes—opting for bubble wrap and full cartons for long-distance transport—the cameras had been packed in fertilizer bags, fifty per bag, by Gou Dan and the others.

Wei Dong carried them easily in both hands.

Yet, with his sleeves and pant legs rolled up, vest open and still sweaty from basketball, he looked every inch the country lad straight from the fields, double-cropping.

Having never set foot in a provincial school in his life, he felt right at home, and promptly stopped a student to ask where the girls’ dormitory was.

It was early evening, students at leisure, and just from his age, everyone could imagine a rural youth coming to visit his wife—a classic eighties campus melodrama.

Soon, a small crowd gathered!

After the reinstatement of college entrance exams, this was a common scene—countless educated youths, already married off in the countryside, saw university as their only hope to change their fate, with many abandoning spouses to enroll.

So, as the crowd gossiped, they stared in amazement as the famously disciplined, cool senior was called down by the dorm matron.

She ignored everyone, burst into tears, and flung herself into the arms of the country boy.

If Wei Dong weren’t so sturdy, they might have both been knocked over.

He could only protest, “Hey, hey, let go! You got snot and tears all over my collar—is this any way to act? Hurry up and help me carry this stuff in!”

Dong Xueqing, arms wrapped around his waist, broke into a teary smile, her upturned, sparkling eyes full of happiness: “Did my sister ask you to come see me?”

Wei Dong, dizzy from the girl’s indescribable fragrance, retorted, “Nothing to do with her! Hurry up and get this stuff upstairs—I have serious business to talk to you about!”

Just then, Feng Chu suddenly wrinkled her sharp little nose, sniffing about, and precisely detected a different scent on his right arm: “Who is it? Who’s been here?”

The tears from a moment ago were gone.

Between these two sisters, not even the craftiest vixen could get a word in edgewise.