Chapter 99: To Speak of the Ordinary Is Truly Ordinary

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What surprised Wei Dong even more was that the two chefs’ worldly experience came from having worked abroad! This immediately shifted his interest, and he eagerly inquired about the current procedures for going overseas. He didn’t notice the secretary quietly adjusting her posture, listening more attentively than he was.

As Manager Zhang of the photo studio had mentioned, in this inland city, having overseas experience was extremely rare—only about ten to twenty people all of last year. Most of them were chefs. In this city with a population of over three million, apart from a few culinary masters, there was no other valuable asset.

The head chefs at this restaurant all had rotations of working abroad. Of course, these were official business trips—essentially working overseas for the country’s benefit. They earned domestic-level wages plus some overseas allowances, but at foreign Michelin-level restaurant prices, they brought in the most precious foreign exchange for the nation.

In reality, such business had never ceased throughout the decades. It never stopped due to any political campaigns because such a vast country needed international exchanges and had to procure scarce materials abroad. The only bargaining chip was these time-honored culinary skills.

They did not hide this fact: “The Queen’s Restaurant is a venerable brand from the former provisional capital, so when this place opened two years ago, Queen’s branches in Washington and Hong Kong opened simultaneously. Otherwise, how do you think this building got funded? Foreign investment, of course.”

The other chef chimed in, “When we cook overseas, many seasonings and even ingredients have to be brought from home, because foreign products just don’t taste right—they don’t thicken sauces or enhance flavors. After all, at Queen’s Restaurant abroad, many customers are elderly folks who lived in the provisional capital and insist on authentic flavors. They’re willing to pay any price to taste it. So, people have come to discuss advanced foreign preservation methods with us.”

One chef had worked in Washington, the other had spent a whole year in Hong Kong—they had truly seen the world. Wei Dong listened with great interest and waved for Shen Cuiyue to bring a few boxes of premium cigarettes from the counter and brewed some tea to chat.

Of course, given their status and reputation, they could never be openly poached. Destroying the country’s foreign exchange earnings was a crime worse than killing one’s parents. Wei Dong did not want to tempt fate and quietly asked if they could introduce one or two apprentices to handle seasoning control, with salary and terms negotiable.

In fact, they only needed to develop export flavor formulas and check monthly to ensure consistency—an easy, steady income. It could even be a once-and-for-all arrangement, not interfering with daily work.

At this point, he quietly placed two fingers on the table: “One or two, fixed monthly.”

The two chefs were immediately tempted: “Two hundred?” They knew the work was light.

One pretended to smoke and looked around cautiously; clearly, Shen Cuiyue was the professional here, chatting cheerfully with the service manager.

Wei Dong chuckled inwardly—he had actually planned to say twenty thousand! For a master-level flavorist who constantly innovated, two thousand a month was obvious, but he was aiming for deals worth millions, even more.

A chief technician controlling flavor formulas at that salary was normal.

He also knew such state-run high-end restaurants wouldn’t last many more years. These culinary treasures would quickly jump ship to start their own ventures or be poached by private restaurants.

This was essentially laying groundwork in advance.

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But for now, he decided to take the sure bet: “Two thousand.”

“Deal!” The two chefs almost choked on their cigarettes, agreeing and leaving an address to discuss further after work.

Yet, the very reason they became great chefs was their focus and obsession. The chef who had worked in Hong Kong was still pondering: “You said cooked meat needs to be kept at room temperature for months to a year. You might want to consult someone at the Swan Hotel in Yuezhou—I was the head chef at the country’s first five-star hotel there for two months last year. There’s a Cantonese colleague very skilled with this, as their climate is warm year-round. I can give you his name and position, but you’ll have to find him yourself.”

In an era without cell phones, WeChat, QQ, or even switchboard phones, one either wrote endlessly long letters or went in person.

Wei Dong was immensely grateful, shaking hands and confirming they would meet later. He grabbed the takeout boxes and left with Shen Cuiyue.

Standing in the elevator of the best foreign-related hotel in Jiangzhou, Wei Dong noticed the secretary’s uneasy expression—she wasn’t just full from the meal.

Had she recalled work matters after eating?

But as the three exited the lobby, they were immediately stopped.

Manager Zhang of the photo studio across the street hurried over: “I thought it was you before lunch! Look, the Sunshine Daily has already published the call for entries for the Triumph Cup Photography Contest—a whole half-page!”

Wei Dong eagerly unfolded it, while Shen Cuiyue silently took a large stack of takeout boxes, calmly observing what new trouble had arisen.

She had been at the spicy hotpot shop these days, thinking it was Wei Dong’s business, but felt he wasn’t very concerned. Taking his brother to Shangzhou could easily lead to a big food deal.

Now, this camera business brought by the military uniform sounded like thousands of units per week, potentially very profitable, yet he was watching people’s hearts without rush.

So during the meal, she thought she had already understood Wei Dong’s strategy.

Unexpectedly, this major newspaper used a rare full-width half-page on the last spread, framed like a blackboard poster with little floral borders, making it very eye-catching.

It prominently announced the “Domestic First Color Film – KaiXuan Brand” as organizer, “Domestic AiKeSi Camera” as co-organizer, and jointly hosted by the paper, launching the Triumph Cup “Celebrate National Day, Showcase Splendid Rivers and Mountains” photography exhibition, calling for entries nationwide with detailed rules below…

On the left, a black-and-white artistic photo featuring the AiKeSi camera and KaiXuan film in a shared frame; on the right, a photo of an oil worker’s face covered in grime coming down from a derrick.

Clearly a work by a master—Wei Dong, with little artistic sense, could still tell its high caliber.

Manager Zhang eagerly invited: “We’ve already taken some sample shots; please guide us, comrade!”

The once penniless country boy now was the hope for a century-old establishment to regain glory.

Such a miraculous reversal.

Zhang Lanzi finally recalled her main task: “Oh, Comrade Jin called the office yesterday afternoon, saying the invitation for leaders to inscribe the exhibition in Pingjing is underway, but he mentioned other matters; I replied we will proceed according to your instructions in Guozhou.”

She still avoided telling outsiders that Wei Dong wouldn’t fund it.

Manager Zhang was stunned speechless.

A national photography contest hosted by a central newspaper involving leaders’ inscriptions in Pingjing couldn’t be anyone unknown—definitely not below provincial level, likely only the highest echelons.

Yet the person handling these affairs was merely a runner following instructions.

Zhang Lanzi probably didn’t realize she had, by habit, helped Wei Dong put on quite a grand show.

But that wasn’t all. The always masked and inconspicuous Shen Cuiyue suddenly spoke: “Uh, elders often say that people running errands within the court like this are often ‘wasps.’ Historically, this is a long-standing trade where one group after another exploits others—you have to be careful.”

She herself was the gatekeeper for the “Bee,” “Hemp,” and “Sparrow” scam groups—obviously short-staffed—so while mainly focusing on the female-oriented “Swallow” group, she had to also master the gang fraud of the “Bee,” religious superstition of the “Hemp,” and violent extortion of the “Sparrow.” She spoke subtly but clearly.

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Zhang Lanzi might not understand, but Manager Zhang couldn’t help looking at this “ordinary” young woman.

Taking a deep breath, he added, “Right, I wouldn’t have thought of this if she hadn’t mentioned it. The photo studio’s old veterans also said that during the provisional capital days, people were constantly running around for those big families, helping to connect various parties. But many of them were frauds—actually, most were frauds. They’d boast about knowing so-and-so, but you had no idea how they really operated. The waters run deep here. This young woman has good insight.”

Shen Cuiyue glanced at Manager Zhang’s neat Zhongshan suit and the old photo studio behind him. “Your Old Liu family also survived with that kind of acumen. Follow Comrade Wei well; he won’t let you suffer losses.”

She unintentionally revealed a hint of pride.

Only then did Zhang Lanzi realize both were warning Wei Dong not to trust that person.

She couldn’t help but boast, “As you said, Comrade Wei told him it was just icing on the cake. To succeed, he must rely on his own ability. We’re not fools!”

Having guarded the tax gates for so many years, Wei Dong had seen every scam involving scalpers, connections, bribes, and favors.

He could only see the surface—that someone was making money off this—but had never realized it could be so duplicitous and ambiguous.

Without the systematic skills of the “Scam” group, he found these experts genuinely useful: “I definitely have to go to Pingjing and deal with these people. You come with me and see for yourself.”

Shen Cuiyue remained calm but made her loyalty clear.

From the first meeting, Manager Zhang felt Wei Dong was extraordinary. Now that even the Liu family women served him loyally, it seemed inevitable.

He respectfully invited Wei Dong to critique the sample shots taken with cheap cameras.

Wei Dong had no idea what to look for but had to admit the masters—especially top masters—were like magicians to laymen.

For example, the chefs who had exported Sichuan cuisine to Washington and Hong Kong, and the renowned photographer from the provisional capital era who had served countless celebrities—all now tucked away in this semi-private old establishment catering to officials.

There were both color and black-and-white photos; the play of light and composition, though indescribable to Wei Dong, were undeniably beautiful.

The grand auditorium of Jiangzhou, the newly opened Yangtze River Bridge—these were common subjects of prosperity narratives, yet their shots, even with the simplest cameras, were full of grandeur.

They truly captured the modest growth achievements of recent years.

If not for the exposure characteristic—bright center with slightly darkened corners—one might mistake them for works of a high-end DSLR.

Wei Dong could only praise them enthusiastically.

But since the masters, the two young women, and Manager Zhang all sincerely looked to him for opinions, he opened the newspaper again: “Perhaps in tribute to May Day, they used this kind of shot. But these are the most common propaganda images—workers and farmers struggling hard. Can we change the perspective? Capture a bit of everyday life, the warmth of people’s lives, happiness naturally shining through—that would be the greatest praise for National Day.”

Everyone fell silent, then burst into enthusiastic applause, their expressions varied.

In emphasizing the hard-fought years, such humanistic care was rare.

Whether surprise or concern, this style would definitely stand out.

Thirty or forty years later, wouldn’t this be the most common way to truly move people?