Chapter 14: All Preparations Complete

The next morning, at just after six, Zhou Andong got up, opened the door, breathed in the cold air, as if his blood had frozen solid, and involuntarily shivered.

“Fuck, it’s really cold,” Zhou Andong muttered, pulling his cotton coat tighter. In this kind of weather, due to the formation and intensification of the greenhouse effect, it would be almost nonexistent in over a decade.

“What’s in the pot?” Zhou Andong pulled back the curtain to the outer room, where his elder sister was tending the stove; steam hissed out from beneath the lid.

With a crack, Zhou Anqin snapped a piece of firewood and shoved it into the hearth. “Leftover braised sour cabbage and corn cakes from last night.”

“Is it ready?” Zhou Andong asked.

“Ready!” Zhou Anqin lifted the lid; steam instantly filled the room. “I burned so much wood just to heat the kang—warm it up a bit, so Dad’s back will feel better.”

Zhou Andong grabbed a corn cake and bit into it—no flavor at all, dry and rough, scratching his throat—but he truly missed this taste. Standing by the pot, he ladled a bowl of sour cabbage and ate three cakes in quick succession.

“I’m done. These dumplings are for you guys—don’t be stingy.” Zhou Andong put down his chopsticks. “I’m going to work. I’ll be busy for a while, won’t come home. If anything comes up, call the factory.”

Outside the courtyard, Zhou Andong glanced at his uncle’s chimney—no smoke rising, clearly still asleep.

Zhou Anbin had thrown the little girl into a snowdrift and beaten Zhou Anbei—this wasn’t over. But he’d be busy for now. If he dealt with Zhou Anbin right away and then left home, his uncle’s family would cause chaos—probably tear the roof off his house. So he had to suppress it for now, and settle the score once he was free.

By the time Zhou Andong took the bus to the city, then transferred to the factory’s shuttle, it was already past eight.

Gu Bing was already waiting in the office. Seeing him enter, he hurriedly asked: “How’s it going? Did you finish the design?”

Zhou Andong tossed the blueprints onto the desk. “Did you contact the packaging factory?”

Gu Bing snatched up the plans. “Contacted. I’ll go myself and supervise them to produce the sample first.”

Zhou Andong nodded. “Six bottles per box—no big boxes. Must use copperplate paper.”

“Not bad. College grad really is a college grad,” Gu Bing praised.

“Of course. Without the diamond drill, who’d take on porcelain work?” Zhou Andong shamelessly claimed his sister’s work as his own.

Gu Bing was studying the back label, which described the distillery’s history: “You’re full of bullshit. Our factory has indeed been around over a hundred years, but back then it was just a small workshop. It was expanded during the Japanese invasion. Not some imperial wine supplier like you claim.”

Zhou Andong snapped back: “Premium liquor sells history and heritage. We don’t have any—so we make some up. Otherwise, you’re selling shit. Who the hell would buy it?”

In this era, there was no such thing as false advertising. Anything that sold was praised, not punished. So Zhou Andong felt zero guilt. As for the future—who could possibly care?

“Alright, alright, you’re right.” Gu Bing relented, pulling a camera and film from his drawer. “Can you use it? Need me to hire a professional photographer?”

In his past life, Zhou Andong had been laid off in 1997, done everything—raised chickens and pigs, drove a truck long-haul, ran a noodle shop, franchised a Dunkin’, planned and hosted weddings, and finally opened a bar in the university district.

There was a British guy named David who frequented the bar; they became good friends. He was a photography enthusiast. Zhou Andong bought a camera too, and on holidays, he’d follow David around with it. So he wasn’t a professional—but far from a novice.

Zhou Andong fiddled with the 120 camera: “There’s film inside, right?”

“Yes!” Gu Bing had barely finished speaking when—click—the flash fired.

Zhou Andong smiled. “Still new. No wonder—you’re a boss. Got it overnight.”

Gu Bing beamed. “If it exists in this world, I can get it.”

Zhou Andong sneered. “Get me a tank then—I’ll drive it.”

“Look at your petty ambitions,” Gu Bing scoffed. “A damn tank? What’s fun about that? Once we sell the liquor, I’ll take you flying in a helicopter.”

Zhou Andong’s heart stirred—he realized Gu Bing’s background ran deeper than he’d imagined.

“Then it’s settled. Don’t you dare bluff—I’ll look down on you if you don’t deliver.”

Next, the two discussed more details. By now it was nearly nine. Zhou Andong asked: “Where’s the money?”

“Right here!” Gu Bing pulled cash from his drawer. “After you left yesterday, I went straight to finance. Liu Jian was surprisingly cooperative—handed it over right away.”

Zhou Andong smiled, tucked the money away. “I’ve already negotiated with the printer—three yuan seventy per copy.”

“So cheap?” Gu Bing was stunned. “Last night I asked—minimum six yuan per copy.”

“Private printer, of course cheap.” Zhou Andong waved his hand. “Alright, I’ve got to go—the model’s waiting.”

Gu Bing stood up too. “I’ve got to arrange things, then head to the packaging factory.”

As Zhou Andong stepped out of the factory office, he saw Jiang Yuyue standing at the gate, hands pressed to her face, scanning around.

“I’m here. Where are you looking?”

Hearing his voice, Jiang Yuyue turned, annoyed. “You said meet at nine at the gate. It’s half past nine already. You trying to freeze me to death?”

Zhou Andong hurried to apologize. “Sorry, sorry—I was discussing something with the factory’s Party secretary, so I’m late.”

Jiang Yuyue rolled her eyes. “Don’t lie. Even your lies need to make sense. You’re just a newsreader at the broadcast station—why would the Party secretary consult you?”

“It’s a secret,” Zhou Andong whispered mysteriously. “I’ll tell you—but you must promise not to tell anyone.”

Jiang Yuyue’s curiosity flared instantly. She instinctively lowered her voice. “Don’t worry—I swear I won’t tell anyone.”

Zhou Andong whispered: “The distillery’s undergoing reform. I’m co-leading it with the Party secretary.”

Jiang Yuyue blinked her big eyes, then reached up and touched his forehead. “You’re not running a fever, are you? Didn’t sleep last night?”

“Get off!” Zhou Andong slapped her hand away. “Believe me or not.”

“I’d rather die than believe you,” Jiang Yuyue crossed her arms, then shivered. “I’ve been freezing outside for over half an hour. One ‘sorry’ won’t cut it—show some sincerity.”

Zhou Andong’s eyes gleamed like a wolf spotting a rabbit. “Am I really that stingy? To make up for it, I’ll buy you a whole new outfit.”

Jiang Yuyue sneered. “You’re being generous?”

Zhou Andong huffed. “When have I ever been stingy?”

Jiang Yuyue asked: “Do you even have money?”

“I do!” Zhou Andong patted his chest. “Enough for a new outfit.”

Jiang Yuyue shook her head. “I don’t believe you’d be this kind.”

“What kind of talk is that!” Zhou Andong grew irritated. “Even if you’re not my little sister-in-law anymore, you’re still a friend—and we were family. Buying you a dress is nothing.”

Jiang Yuyue eyed him skeptically. “No… I’ve got a feeling you’re up to something.”