Chapter 98: Was It All in Vain Again?

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Surprisingly, even after arriving at the Queen’s Restaurant, Cuiyue Shen still showed no trace of the former Third Miss once known here. She was even more low-key and inconspicuous than the last time, not even removing her mask. Unlike before, when revisiting this place had left her visibly shaken, she now followed quietly, willing to sit outside since there was no private room, and was fine with any seat.

She instructed Wei Dong to order every dish that involved offal from the menu, yet she remained silent. She didn’t even help clear the dishes or pour tea, sitting quietly to the side like an unremarkable accessory.

In contrast, Lanzi Zhang seemed a bit excited as she poured tea for the leader, twisting slightly in her seat. “It must have been when I was twelve, just starting middle school—I came to Jiangzhou once, and it’s changed so much.”

She handed the menu to Wei Dong. “If you’re not sticking to your post, why come all the way to Jiangzhou dressed like that? In the military, disobeying orders and leaving your post is a serious offense, right?”

The waiter was a bit surprised by the amount ordered but, seeing the masked girl’s eye contact, still took the order.

Lanzi Zhang straightened up. “I’m a civilian employee here. My parents were military representatives because of their technical roles, so they weren’t exactly soldiers, and I’ve never followed military rules. Today is Labor Day. I should have the freedom to take a break.”

Wei Dong appraised her and said, “Hmm, then you should go back and see your parents.”

Lanzi nodded. “Right. It’s even closer going back to the factory from Jiangzhou. If you’re going too, I can ride with you.”

Wei Dong shook his head. “Very busy. I just got back from out of town this morning. I’m here for this meal to discuss work and might have to leave tonight.”

Lanzi Zhang ignored the quiet companion. “That’s why I came. I’m your secretary, assisting with your work—at least with the camera sales part. Weekly shipments have reached five thousand units, and the factory’s production has steadily increased to seven thousand two hundred weekly. I only know that selling a thousand units in the Rongdu area isn’t enough. I’ve heard the sales staff are all asking for more stock, but Xiao Dong says you want to control the volume. I want to ask why.”

Wei Dong thought for a moment and explained, “There are many reasons, but mainly the market in Rongdu is limited. I want to slowly build a sales team, not have them earning two or three thousand a month and losing their sense of identity.”

Lanzi Zhang was surprised. “They only make two or three thousand a month?”

In a provincial capital, the average salary was just forty or fifty! Even Cuiyue Shen subtly raised an eyebrow.

Wei Dong nodded. “Rongdu’s sales of a thousand units per week are very aggressive. I include all warehouse, management, and labor costs in their commissions. They end up with five or six hundred weekly. Interestingly, some complain I supply too little, while others grumble that their initial commission of five yuan per unit has decreased as they became more experienced.”

Lanzi frowned. “Are they really that greedy?”

Wei Dong’s concern wasn’t greed. “I have a similar team in Pingjing. They sell on commission like this, a thousand units a week. In just over a month, they’ve sent me three thick work plans discussing how many tests they’ve done, preparations made, selling in different venues, schools, department stores, camera shops. They spend their commissions on work preparations because they know this is just practice—a mere appetizer before the main course. Damn!”

Because he had been focused on the ingredients, Wei Dong hadn’t noticed nearly ten cold dishes being served consecutively—each perfectly balanced in color, aroma, and taste.

Lanzi finally noticed the dishes were exceptional, and her rare work determination began to waver. She took a deep breath. “So, do we need to adjust sales in Rongdu?”

Wei Dong gestured with his chopsticks, prompting Cuiyue Shen to remove her mask and leisurely sample each dish, starting with pork belly strips and sliced beef lung. She only took one piece or a bite of each, neatly arranging the leftovers on her plate.

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Lanzi didn’t dare look at the dishes. Wei Dong caught her expression and stifled a laugh. “This brings me back to what I asked you the other day—if these people went to you and bought products at my prices to sell, wouldn’t that bypass me? Could you resist such temptation? Could Director Cheng?”

Lanzi shook her head, and Wei Dong pointed at the dishes. “Eat. You can work while you eat; it won’t slow us down. Maybe you can resist, but what about others? If someone figures out my sales method and takes goods from the factory to sell, who will the factory staff side with? Their own familiar people or an outsider like me?”

He tasted the dishes and thought, damn, those two baskets of pork offal from a few days ago were truly a waste.

He summarized for the secretary: “The simplest solution is that you don’t get involved in my sales—completely separate production and sales. I focus on selling; the factory on producing. A secretary who wants to know and meddle in everything tends to disrupt order. Not bad, huh?”

He said the last words to Cuiyue Shen.

Observing quietly, Cuiyue Shen explained with her chopsticks tracing the edge of her plate: “Wasabi pork tripe is a standalone flavor, wasabi-tasting. The sesame sauce chicken gizzard is actually kidney salad with sesame flavor. The red oil ginger pig’s trotters have a ginger flavor. The key is the flavor profile behind it. Once you perfect the seasoning, you can use any ingredient, adjusting for the intensity of any off-flavors.”

In the time she spoke, Lanzi had quickly sampled five cold dishes—delicious! Surprised, she asked if Cuiyue was a cook.

Seeing Wei Dong’s face, she struggled to recall what they had been discussing moments ago. Her mind was clearly blank, wiped clean by the array of exquisite flavors.

Wei Dong sighed softly. “Damn, it’s profound. I’m gaining confidence in this work. Surely I can find a great recipe.”

Cuiyue responded, “What I know is only surface chatter. Just remember to decide the general flavor you want before choosing ingredients. There are thousands of combinations, but the costs vary greatly.”

Wei Dong guessed, “The shelf life must differ too. That’s crucial.”

Cuiyue considered and said, “Then hot dishes and soups aren’t important. You’ll want something like cold dishes—oil and broth won’t help.”

Wei Dong was amazed. “Try this soy-braised pig tongue—what’s the flavor?”

“Soy sauce style, sweet sauce as the base, with salt, sugar, MSG, sesame oil, and depending on the ingredient, adjustments of soy sauce, ginger, scallion, pepper, and Sichuan peppercorns. The real experts even tailor it to customers’ tastes.”

Wei Dong imagined, “Isn’t that like bespoke tailoring?”

Cuiyue’s eyes brightened. “Few realize custom-made clothes are the real luxury. There was a long-established tailor in our alley...”

They exchanged looks and she self-deprecatingly added, “I don’t dare go back.”

Wei Dong thought, “In three to five years, if you work seriously, maybe you can go back and see.”

It was a rare hint of encouragement.

Wei Dong knew the crackdown would last several years, but after that, it would feel like a new law.

Just don’t get into trouble in these years.

Cuiyue was surely pondering what that meant but nodded in agreement for now.

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They continued discussing the dishes.

Hot dishes soon arrived, and Wei Dong immediately thought the dried tangerine peel pig intestines could work, the five-spiced pig heart tongue was practically ready-made, he loved the garlic sauce, and the peppery mala sauce earned Cuiyue's praise.

Lanzi had no idea what they were talking about, but a sugar-coated pig tail dish was so delicious it almost brought her to tears; unusually, she even offered Wei Dong a piece.

In fact, the white-oil pork belly strips and snowflake beef lung slices belonged to the salty and savory flavor category, deliberately seasoned to highlight the true taste without any offal odor—clearly a sign of expert preparation.

More than thirty dishes in total!

They covered over half of the twenty-four classic Sichuan flavor profiles, though Cuiyue admitted some dishes were just out of reach for her.

The table quickly piled high with food, drawing curious glances from passing diners.

In 1984, a year emphasizing frugality and condemning waste, this was already the city’s most luxurious place, frequented only by the well-to-do.

Three young people, especially with a female soldier, making such a scene was quite conspicuous.

Wei Dong didn’t care. “If we can’t finish, we’ll pack it. I told you there’d be a lot. Don’t just stare at that pig tail. Feeling full now, right?”

The elegant secretary was stuffed to the point of choking, unable to speak, with a slightly aggrieved expression.

Cuiyue smiled, pointed out a few dishes, and instructed the waiter, “After the busy period, could you invite these chefs out to chat? They’re relatives of Uncle Xu. I’ve heard him mention family here since childhood. We want to catch up.”

The lie was effortless but seamless, impossible to refuse, especially with such a lavish two-hundred-yuan spread.

After the lunch rush, two chefs with oily faces came out, one recognizing Cuiyue.

That made things easier. Wei Dong didn’t even hide it: “I represent the Commercial City Party Committee and Reform Committee. We slaughter a large number of pigs, export the bristles to Europe, sell the casings to Da Ying, and canned pork to the Russians. Only the leftover offal goes unwanted, forcing the people of Shangzhou to eat offal noodles and pig liver noodles every day!”

The female soldier, stuffed like a pregnant woman, slumped in her chair. If an inspector saw her, they’d surely reprimand her for damaging the image, but she couldn’t help but chuckle.

Cuiyue didn’t smile but lit cigarettes for the two master chefs, then got up to settle the bill, chatting idly with the manager and waiter to distract attention.

It truly looked like a casual gathering.

Unexpectedly, after hearing Wei Dong’s explanation, one master chef said, “Your vacuum packaging won’t last long. If not handled properly, it’s only good for five to ten days, nowhere near lasting months as a snack.”

Wei Dong nearly popped his eyes out. He thought he was ahead of the game, learning from a billionaire and racing to get rich early.

But to experts, he was nothing!

I’m even building a vacuum machine!