Chapter Thirty-Eight: Going to the Textile Factory

When three steaming bowls of mutton soup were brought to the table, a delicate fragrance wafted through the air. Lin Guoshan swallowed his saliva and began to eat without a hint of restraint. His father-in-law and mother-in-law, though a bit reserved, still dug in as well. After all, no one else in the entire city of Nanming was selling mutton soup—Chen Huajiang’s was one of a kind.

“How do you three find the taste?” Lin Jiayin sat beside them, her face aglow with a smile.

“It’s quite good, actually. But I wonder, would anyone in our neighborhood buy this? How much do you sell it for?” Lin Guoshan suddenly began entertaining thoughts of selling mutton soup himself.

“Five mao a bowl,” Lin Jiayin answered just as Chen Huajiang brought over some grilled skewers.

Watching Chen Huajiang darting about, busy with so many customers, the old couple began to think perhaps this young man had truly changed his ways—after all, a prodigal son who turns over a new leaf is worth more than gold. As long as Chen Huajiang treated their daughter well, they would be at ease.

“Mom, I really think this could be a good business. Why not use the plot of land you’ve been growing vegetables on?” Lin Guoshan tried to persuade his mother.

At that moment, Chen Huajiang came over and sat down. “Brother, here’s the thing. I’m planning to expand. If you want in, you don’t need to invest a cent—I’ll cover all the costs. When we start making money, we’ll split the profits fifty-fifty.”

Chen Huajiang wouldn’t pass up a chance to make money, not even with his beloved’s elder brother; business must be conducted with clear accounts.

“That works! So you mean I’d just be responsible for selling, right?” Lin Guoshan’s face lit up with joy. He didn’t have much money himself, so if Chen Huajiang was willing to provide the capital, that would save him a lot.

If he could earn more than a hundred yuan a day, his share would be fifty or sixty, adding up to over a thousand a month—a small fortune indeed.

“We’ll run it just like this place—grilled skewers and mutton soup. No need for braised pork. I’ve just hired some apprentices, and when the time comes, I’ll assign one to your shop. You’ll only need to manage the store and keep the accounts straight.”

It seemed Lin Guoshan wouldn’t even have to learn the ropes himself. With an apprentice from Chen Huajiang, at most he’d help carry some bowls. For Lin Guoshan, this was a great opportunity—far better than working in the factory, and much more profitable.

“However, I still need to teach you how to make the mutton soup. It’s simple: just add my prepared seasoning mix into the broth and simmer it over high heat.”

All the ingredients were already ground into powder by Chen Huajiang; it was impossible to tell what they were.

“That’s fine, I don’t have anything else to do anyway. When can we start?” Dalian was a bit anxious—at his age, still unmarried, he was already late. If he could make a bit more money, perhaps he could finally settle down.

“I’m ready whenever you are. The main thing is when Mom will let you use that plot,” Chen Huajiang replied, grinning.

“We’ll discuss it when we get home,” the old man said, making it clear the issue was more or less settled.

When the three of them got home, they began to deliberate. The old couple’s chief concern was what they would do if the soup didn’t sell. Lin Guoshan, on the other hand, was eager to give it a try; jobs were hard to come by and there wasn’t much money in them anyway.

In the end, persuaded by Lin Guoshan’s words, the old couple finally agreed.

On Liang Long’s end, things weren’t going so smoothly. He’d previously met the workshop chief’s son at the textile mill and went to ask him for information. He was told that if he wanted to use the land in front of the textile factory, he’d have to get approval from the factory director—no one else had the authority.

The director would never agree to meet Chen Huajiang and his group; after all, what were they compared to someone of his standing?

Liang Long returned to the snack shop and relayed the news to Chen Huajiang. Chen Huajiang pondered for a long time but could think of no solution. Then, once home, he suddenly remembered Old Chen, an acquaintance from before.

If not for Old Chen, he might have already been chased out of Hongji Factory by the airfield supervisor. Old Chen was a provincial official; perhaps he could use Old Chen’s name to secure a meeting with the textile mill director. While he didn’t know Old Chen well, he was certain of one thing: Old Chen supported young people starting their own businesses.

The next day, Chen Huajiang and Liang Long went to the textile mill together. They went straight to the director’s office. Liang Long was visibly anxious, but Chen Huajiang told him to relax—whatever the outcome, this was their only chance.

The director eyed them curiously as they entered. “Who are you? What business do you have with me?”

They certainly couldn’t be upfront about wanting the land at the factory gate; if they were, the director would never agree.

“Director, hello. We run a snack shop at the gate of Red Flag Factory and came to ask if we might open a similar shop at the entrance of your textile mill,” Chen Huajiang said, his tone casual.

The director frowned. Why did everyone come to him with these things? And for someone running a snack shop to appear in his office was a bit much.

“We don’t need a snack shop at our gate. Please leave,” the director replied, brusquely refusing them.

Feigning disappointment, Chen Huajiang turned to leave with Liang Long.

“Alas, looks like we won’t be able to complete Director Chen’s assignment,” Liang Long muttered suddenly—a line Chen Huajiang had prompted him to say.

The mention of Director Chen made the textile mill director pause in surprise. He quickly called after them.

“Wait—did he just say Director Chen? You mean Director Chen Maoran from the province?” the director asked, puzzled. He’d hosted Director Chen not long ago, and remembered him mentioning the snack shop at the Red Flag Factory gate, praising its flavor.

Chen Huajiang waved his hand, pretending it was nothing. “No, you must have misheard.”

But the more he denied it, the more convinced the director became.

“Wait a moment. You said you wanted to open a snack shop at our gate, right? But there’s no building there. How would you go about it?” The director’s attitude had changed completely.

Liang Long had just implied this was an assignment from Director Chen—meaning Old Chen had sent them. If the director refused, and the task went unfulfilled, Old Chen would no doubt hold him responsible—a burden he couldn’t bear.

“There’s plenty of open space in front of your factory. Building a small shop wouldn’t be hard, would it? But if you don’t agree, we’ll just look elsewhere.”