“What factory?” Han Lin glanced at the group of children and quickened his pace toward home.
“Don’t know. But he’s waiting at your place,” the children replied. They eyed the bicycle with envy and curiosity, wondering what kind of worker had come all the way to Huangzhuang Brigade. Before long, they were all tagging noisily along behind.
“Hello,” Yang Dai stepped forward and greeted the visitor first, her gaze falling on the bespectacled, slightly older man.
“You must be Comrade Yang Dai from Huangzhuang Brigade?” The man stepped up, extended his hand, and introduced himself. “Comrade Yang Dai, I’m from the food factory. My name is Zheng Huasheng. Sorry to disturb you so suddenly—I hope it hasn’t caused trouble.”
As he spoke, Zheng cast a glance behind Yang Dai.
A whole troop of little carrot-heads trailed after her.
“Please, let’s step inside and talk.” Yang Dai glanced at them. Han Lin gave her a look, signaling that he’d handle the kids.
“Comrades, what brings you here?” Yang Dai invited them into the main room and set two cups of water before them.
“We saw Comrade Yang Dai’s contribution in the newspaper.” As Zheng spoke, he unfolded the paper. “May I ask if this drawing was yours?”
Yang Dai nodded. “Yes. May I ask what this is about?”
Zheng pressed his lips together, as if hesitant to speak.
“Do you still have the draft sketch?” The younger man beside him, silent until now, suddenly spoke.
Yang Dai’s gaze landed on him for a moment. Though his tone was restrained, the disdain in his eyes was obvious.
“I thought, since you came looking for me, at least you’d trust my work.” Yang Dai’s impression of Zheng was favorable.
Although Zheng hadn’t introduced himself in detail, his dress suggested he held some authority in the food factory—and that he cared about appearances.
If he had asked, she would have readily fetched her drafts. But since it came from the other one, her attitude changed.
“You…” The young man bristled at her words, tone sharpening.
Before he could finish, Zheng cut him off.
“Little Zhao, we’re here seeking Comrade Yang Dai’s help. Is that the attitude you should have? Apologize!” Zheng’s voice was stern.
Though unwilling, with Zheng openly demanding it, Zhao could only lower his head and mutter an apology.
Yang Dai gave a perfunctory smile. “If you doubt my skill, you can check the propaganda walls. The murals for the five surrounding brigades were all painted under the watch of their teams.”
Zhao bit his lip, dropped his gaze, and said no more.
“Comrade Zheng, you’re interested in my newspaper illustration?” Yang Dai shifted her focus back to Zheng.
He was a worker, and he had come to her because of her art—no matter how she looked at it, this was a good thing.
“Our food factory would like to invite you to design packaging for us.” Zheng spoke directly, producing something from his bag. “These are our newly developed biscuits. Please try them.”
The biscuits came in crude wrapping. “This one’s cucumber flavor, this one tomato, and this one is slightly spicy—but all taste good.”
Yang Dai randomly opened a packet. Beyond the flavor, the shapes themselves were interesting.
“These are designed after the twelve zodiac animals—this one’s a dragon, here’s a tiger, and this one…” Zheng’s eyes gleamed with pride as he introduced the products, brimming with confidence.
Through his words, Yang Dai understood how important this new biscuit line was for the county food factory.
Formed after the founding of the nation, the factory employed four to five hundred workers, mainly supplying local markets.
But two years ago, city factories upgraded their production lines, raising efficiency. The county factory’s market share was squeezed out.
The department store and supply co-ops prioritized city products, leaving the county factory struggling.
The county commerce bureau had even considered shutting it down and redistributing the workers elsewhere.
But since the factory had been built by everyone’s efforts, neither the leadership nor the workers wanted to see it collapse. Jobs were too precious.
To save it, several groups were sent to big cities to study technology and lobby for new equipment.
Zheng had been among them. By luck, he was sent to Jin City, where he met an excellent mentor in a food factory and learned a great deal.
Back home, he continued his research and developed these new biscuit flavors.
They tasted fresh but were too costly for the county market.
Forced again to travel to Jin, Jing, and Hu cities, he tried to expand sales. Success was elusive—until fate turned. A foreign businessman tasted his samples and took interest.
Foreign exchange was of immense value to the state. With the chance of export, higher authorities quickly approved funds to upgrade the production line. The factory’s equipment was transformed.
Production was no longer a problem. Packaging was.
The foreign merchant specifically wanted the biscuits to feature strong Chinese cultural flavor.
Zheng and the propaganda department tried designs, but all were rejected.
They even considered hiring designers from the city or province, but costs were high and results unimpressive.
Then, by chance, the factory head placed Yang Dai’s newspaper illustration on Zheng’s desk.
At first, Zheng didn’t take it seriously. A rural woman who had never published before? Hardly convincing.
But as the packaging stalemate dragged on, and with the foreign buyer issuing a final ultimatum from his guesthouse in town—threatening to cancel the deal entirely if no design was ready—Zheng grew desperate.
With nothing left to lose, he came to Huangzhuang himself.
“If your design can satisfy the buyer, the factory will meet your terms as best we can,” Zheng said sincerely, though he wasn’t very hopeful.
His only reason for trying was that an old friend of his, whose judgment he trusted, had first spotted Yang Dai’s work. Though their friendship had grown distant, Zheng respected his taste enough to gamble.
On his way here, however, he’d heard about Yang Dai’s reputation. His already shaky confidence sank further.
But since he was here already… why not?
Especially after seeing the propaganda walls for himself, Zheng was split.
One voice said: this woman sounded utterly unreliable.
The other said: you’ve come all this way—what if she really is the answer? Better than letting the deal collapse before your eyes.
“Comrade Yang Dai, if you agree, would three days be enough?”
“You could sketch a draft first. Three days later, we’ll bring it to the guesthouse to show the buyer.”
“As for payment, even if the buyer rejects it, our factory will still give you some money and ration tickets—though not much. If the buyer approves, then we can negotiate properly.”
Everyone in the factory was hoping for this deal. If it succeeded, they certainly wouldn’t shortchange their benefactor.
“Do you have the previous draft designs? I’d like to look at them for inspiration.” Yang Dai was intrigued by the mention of a foreign buyer and wanted to be involved.
“They’re all here. The buyer is very detailed in his requests and blunt in his words.” Zheng handed her the sketches, his face a little embarrassed.
Every page was marked with a big red X.
Yang Dai was speechless.
“Since you came all this way, Comrade Zheng, that shows you believe in me. I’ll give it a try. In three days, I’ll bring the drawings to meet this foreigner.”
“Good, good. In three days I’ll send someone to fetch you.” Relieved, Zheng didn’t linger. With the foreigner in town, he had his hands full.
Only after Zheng left did Han Lin come in.
“That food factory man wants you to paint?” Han Lin hadn’t caught the details, but the sketches stacked on the table made it obvious.
Yang Dai hummed in agreement. “Looks like I’ll be busy for the next three days.” Her tone, however, carried a hint of delight.
“You work, I’ll handle the house.” Han Lin smiled faintly, quickly hiding it.
“I’m heading up the mountain. Wait for me to make dinner.” He picked up the old rifle and placed it in his large basket.
He had walked the mountain paths countless times, knew where the wildlife roamed.
But today, that wasn’t his focus. He had another plan.
Treading the rocky trail with ease, he soon reached his intended spot.
Noticing pressed leaves and scattered traces, Han Lin quietly took something from his basket, set his gaze northeast, and carefully moved forward.