“Right! We absolutely shouldn’t deliver to them! Otherwise it’d be like meat buns thrown at dogs—gone forever!”
“Exactly! If we send one basket, they’ll start eyeing the others. All the cakes we baked today would definitely get taken by them!”
Everyone’s expressions darkened at the mention of the County Food Factory.
Guo Dajun stammered: “But if we sell them all, how can we prove we’ve baked better Caozi Cakes? How can we justify keeping the Food Factory running?”
The group realized he had a point and turned to Cheng Hui.
Cheng Hui… Well, birds of a feather flock together. No wonder these people ended up in the same place! They’re all so straightforward.
“We only used 20 pounds of flour today, and we still have dozens of pounds left. We can always bake more later,” she said.
“But we’re out of eggs, and we don’t have enough white sugar either,” said Lao Hei, who was in charge of stoking the fire.
“We can buy white sugar from the Supply and Marketing Cooperative. As for eggs, I’ll go to the Production Team to purchase them. How about setting the price at 8 cents each?” Cheng Hui suggested.
Currently, when common folks sold eggs to the state, they typically got 7 cents each. On the black market, they could get 7.5 cents.
When the state sold eggs, it was usually 1 yuan per pound.
Her offered price was quite reasonable.
However, everything was under unified purchase and sales now. For instance, this Commune Food Factory couldn’t procure raw materials themselves—they had to wait for allocations from above!
They were so accustomed to waiting for handouts that they’d never considered buying supplies themselves.
But now, with their backs against the wall, they had no choice but to purchase themselves. And being able to buy at all would be a blessing.
“But we don’t have any money… None of us have received wages for months. Our family savings are almost depleted. If it weren’t for the 4 yuan you gave earlier, I wouldn’t even have had the money to buy milk powder…” Guo Dajun said somewhat sheepishly.
Cheng Hui… She still wanted her 4 yuan back! She was poorer than any of them!
“No problem. I still have a few yuan in my pocket. I’ll advance the money to buy enough eggs for tomorrow. Once these Caozi Cakes are sold, we’ll have funds,” Cheng Hui said.
Everyone looked at the several baskets of Caozi Cakes, but their expressions didn’t improve. Instead, they sobered up and looked even more troubled.
Cheng Hui had baked four batches, each using about 4 pounds of flour, totaling 16 pounds.
If sold as Caozi Cakes, that would be 16 pounds!
At 40 cents per pound, the total would be 5.6 yuan—not really that much money.
Currently, when selling flour-based foods, weight was calculated this way: whether it was 1 pound of steamed buns, 1 pound of noodles, or 1 pound of dumplings, the “1 pound” referred not to the weight of the finished product, but to 1 pound of raw flour!
For example, 1 pound of dumplings meant 60 dumplings, because 60 dumpling wrappers used 1 pound of flour.
But Cheng Hui smiled: “As long as everyone follows my lead, I guarantee everyone will receive their back pay before the New Year, and our holiday benefits will be the best in the entire county!”
The group looked at her, then at the pile of Caozi Cakes behind her, their expressions contorted—the left side of their faces showing belief, the right side suspicion!
Cheng Hui took 1 yuan from her pocket and handed it to Gao Zhi.
“Go to the Supply and Marketing Cooperative and buy 20 sheets of Kraft Paper. Make sure they’re intact,” she instructed.
As Gao Zhi headed out, she asked, “What do you need so much Kraft Paper for?”
“It’s not for me—it’s for the factory. Where’s the accountant? Record this expense. Remember to reimburse me tomorrow when the factory has money. Oh, and the previous 4 yuan too,” Cheng Hui said.
Hearing it wasn’t her own money being spent, Gao Zhi stopped questioning and hurried off.
The small food factory was fully equipped, not only with an accountant but also a cashier, both in their twenties. Young and hot-headed, they had offended someone and were banished here.
Now both of their expressions were quite telling.
One yuan here, four yuan there—why even sell these Caozi Cakes? Just let Cheng Hui take them all to settle the debt!
“Do you have a brush and ink? Black ink, if not, we’ll have to buy some,” Cheng Hui asked again.
“Yes, yes, yes!” Guo Dajun hurriedly replied.
He was afraid that if he answered too slowly, these Caozi Cakes wouldn’t be enough to cover the debt, and they’d end up having to pay extra!
He scrambled to find the brush and ink.
Meanwhile, the efficient Gao Zhi had already returned with a large roll of kraft paper.
Nowadays, kraft paper came in several types. This window-sized kind cost five cents per sheet, and twenty sheets were quite a lot.
But Gao Zhi had brought back more than twenty—twenty-five sheets, in fact.
“These few are torn or have damaged corners, so they’re practically worthless. I insisted on taking them! They’ll still work, right?” she boasted.
Cheng Hui smiled. This was the benefit of not haggling over the scarf earlier—otherwise, even if she had begged on her knees, they wouldn’t have given them to her.
“Well done! Now help me cut them to size.” Cheng Hui also asked for scissors.
She then sketched out two sizes, cut a few samples, and handed them to the others, directing everyone to work together.
No one knew what she was up to, but with the sweet, milky fragrance wafting through the room, this freshly minted deputy director was still quite persuasive for the moment.
Soon, the kraft paper was cut according to her specifications into two sizes: one large, one small.
Cheng Hui folded the cut paper back and forth, shaping it into kraft paper bags.
The large ones could hold ten cakes, while the small ones could only hold one.
Everyone suddenly understood.
Tao Juan praised, “You have to admit, this packaging looks quite nice and is convenient too. Much better than when we just wrap them haphazardly and tie them up with string…”
She trailed off, because she saw what Cheng Hui was writing on the unfolded packaging bags, and her eyes widened in shock—almost popping out!
Cheng Hui’s handwriting was beautiful, rounded regular script, as neat as printed text.
But the content was utterly startling!
“Chiffon Cake.”
“Production Date: January 5, 1973.”
“Shelf Life: 3 days.”
“Retail Price: 1 yuan.”
This was written on the small kraft paper bag that could only hold one cake!
Tao Juan stared, waiting.
Sure enough, Cheng Hui wrote on the large kraft paper bag as well, with the same text upfront, ending with “Retail Price: 10 yuan.”
“Are you crazy??” she exclaimed.
Everyone else wore the same expression!
One yuan for one cake?
Even if they were desperate for money, they wouldn’t dare write that!
“The key is, you might be crazy, but the common people aren’t! Who would buy one for a yuan? Only a fool!” Tao Juan said.
Cheng Hui smiled. “During the hardest times, candy sold for twenty yuan per jin and still sold out. There were even pastries priced at twenty yuan per jin—no need to make such a fuss, right?”
She spoke the truth.
In this era of planned economy, buying anything required ration coupons. Without coupons, you couldn’t make a purchase even if you wanted to.
Only urban residents had access to these coupons; rural folks only had a few for cloth and oil.
Other scarce coupons, like those for sugar, bicycles, or televisions, were unavailable to them.
Yet rural people often had some savings, little by little, adding up over time.
Then there were those well-off city dwellers who earned more—they had money but no ration coupons, so they couldn’t spend it.
For example, if someone earned 80 yuan a month but could only spend 30 yuan using all their ration coupons, the remaining 50 yuan would be as useless as scrap paper—a waste to throw away but pointless to keep.
This represented a huge amount of stagnant capital.
To recover this portion of funds, starting in 1960, high-priced candies, pastries, cigarettes, and alcohol were introduced. These items didn’t require ration coupons—only money—and sold extremely well.
“But what we’re making isn’t the officially designated high-priced pastries. The Supply and Marketing Cooperative won’t take them, and ordinary folks don’t recognize them. I’d hesitate even at 5 mao per jin—at over 20 yuan per jin, there’s simply no way to sell them!” said Guo Dajun.