Chapter 12

Although it felt absurd, Zhang Xiao was now fully convinced by Li Dongling’s words—after all, they’d already built a satellite dish, so Zhang Xiao decided to give it a try and go negotiate with Pingyang Television Station.

The long-dormant Shangguan Town Yuanqi Factory reopened its gates, and workers emerged, riding bicycles to deliver notices to former employees, summoning them back to work according to a list of names and addresses.

A few years ago, this place was the envy of the town and surrounding villages—working at a state-owned factory meant a steady salary, far better than tilling the soil and relying on the heavens for food.

But things steadily declined; production officially halted last year, wages were withheld, and many workers fled to southern cities to seek employment.

Early one morning, Liu Caiyuan, who lived in the neighboring Datong Town, got up to tend his crops—tasks he’d never done before, since his wife and family handled them; his monthly wage once surpassed the income from several acres of land, so his wife refused to let him work the fields, fearing he’d overexert himself. Now, with no salary, he had to become an old ox, bending over the soil with his face to the earth.

Liu Caiyuan was skilled—he was excellent at welding—but it didn’t matter; whether state-owned or private, everything was scarce except people. He searched all over Pingyang City, but even temporary jobs had no openings—he could only stay home and farm.

Just as he finished packing his tools, a fellow townsman knocked on his door. “Caiyuan, someone just came by saying you’re to return to work—the Yuanqi Factory is reopening today!”

“Reopening?!”

At these words, Liu Caiyuan’s face lit up with joy, and his farming tools dropped to the ground.

But his wife grabbed his arm. “Why go back? They’ve owed you over a year’s wages and haven’t paid a single cent. Are you going to work for IOUs?”

“You don’t understand—Factory Director Zhang promised us: as soon as we get orders, he’ll call us back.”

“The back wages? Zhang will make them up later!”

Zhang Xiao still commanded great respect among men like Liu Caiyuan—they trusted him completely.

Though rough, Zhang Xiao was fair—he never embezzled or favored cronies. When orders dried up, he begged and borrowed everywhere to secure contracts, and when he couldn’t pay wages, he was the first to forgo his own salary, prioritizing his workers. Only when he had no options left did he send them home.

Riding his bicycle, Liu Caiyuan headed straight for the factory—if he was being tricked, he’d accept it.

By midday, the factory gate buzzed with activity; bicycles from all directions filled the empty bike shed to bursting.

Seeing so many workers return so quickly, Li Dongling gained new respect for Zhang Xiao—how could he convince so many people to come back after over a year of unpaid wages, knowing they might work for free? Zhang Xiao truly had talent.

This was perhaps the spirit of the age: in an era with little regard for written contracts, promises and trust were the foundation of human relations—that’s why Zhang Xiao could bring them back.

Even the rampant fraud of this time stemmed from this—most people hadn’t yet encountered many scams, lacked suspicion, and fraudsters exploited this trust to swindle freely.

In a few years, this wouldn’t work anymore—scammers were too numerous; after being cheated several times, people learned that verbal promises were as worthless as farts, even less so—farts at least made a sound. Trust between people could only be upheld by law and contracts—now, only contracts mattered, not people.

Standing on a platform before the factory, Zhang Xiao crossed his arms. “I’ve called you back because our factory has partnered with a company to develop a new product—and we need you to produce it!”

“I won’t lie to you: I can’t pay the wages we owe you now, and I can’t guarantee payment for this round either.”

“All I can promise is this: once the new product is made and sold for profit, I will repay every cent owed. If any of you haven’t received your wages, I won’t take a single cent for myself!”

“We trust Factory Director Zhang!”

Hearing Zhang Xiao’s words, Li Dongling saw not a single person leave. Someone shouted, and soon everyone was talking, followed by applause. When the production workshop opened, the workers filed in one by one, taking their assigned posts.

Zhang Xiao, a battle-hardened man who’d endured immense pressure for over a year, felt his eyes grow damp—he tilted his head up, as if sand had gotten into them.

The entire Shangguan Town Yuanqi Factory sprang to life: materials were processed and hauled into the workshop for assembly and testing. Li Dongling and Zhou Wenyang handled technical training—Zhou Wenyang’s specialty, far more skilled than Li Dongling.

Zhou Wenyang had no temper—he patiently taught anyone who asked, even if the same question was repeated dozens of times. He cared about every detail, and the entire workshop ran smoothly under his management. Li Dongling gladly delegated, handing over all production duties to Zhou Wenyang, letting him enjoy being workshop director.

When production of the satellite dishes began, the 150,000 yuan visibly dwindled—even if wages weren’t paid, they still had to buy aluminum, feedlines, motherboards, main control chips, custom packaging, and feed the workers. Could they not feed them?

On the third day, the first Xingguan satellite receiver passed its final test and was sent to the warehouse for packing. Li Dongling, Zhang Xiao, Zhou Wenyang, and others rushed over.

The packing crew counted the parts, assembled them, and began sealing them. Besides the dish, the most refined item was the set-top box—custom-made, bearing only the brand name “Xingguan” and a simple logo designed by Li Dongling: a satellite dish, resembling a radar, scanning signals against a starry sky. Two lines of poetry adorned the box: “Dawn watches the sky, dusk watches clouds; day admires drifting clouds, night observes stars”—revealing the origin of the brand’s name.

In later times, this packaging wouldn’t seem impressive, but in an era that cared little for packaging or promotion, even Zhang Xiao felt the Xingguan box radiated prestige—he felt this was what “high-tech” should look like.

Watching the first Xingguan satellite receiver packed, Zhang Xiao, whose mouth had blistered from stress in just a few days, finally exhaled in relief.

Pulling Li Dongling aside, Zhang Xiao said, “I’ve contacted Zheng Zutai, director of Pingyang Television Station. He’ll be here this afternoon.”

The TV station assumed Zhang Xiao wanted to advertise—hence they sent people over.

In this era, no company or department was doing well. Though TV stations seemed glamorous as media leaders, it depended on location—central and provincial stations didn’t lack advertisers; companies came to them, and they just collected fees.

But for ordinary city stations and county stations, it was bleak—not did companies come to them for ads, but they went begging to companies for advertising deals.

If Pingyang Television Station knew Zhang Xiao was competing with them, they’d never show up—they’d probably write a script and have their anchor rant at him for half an hour on air.

Li Dongling glanced behind him. “We can now produce sixty satellite dishes daily. The first batch will be around seven hundred. If we secure a deal with Pingyang Television Station, we can start selling.”

Success or failure hinged on how well this first batch sold—if they sold, all was well; if not, Zhang Xiao might truly be driven to climb onto the roof.

In the afternoon, a weather-beaten Jeep pulled up to the Shangguan Town Yuanqi Factory gate. Zheng Zutai stepped out.

The Jeep’s age exceeded Zheng Zutai’s tenure at the TV station—it had changed hands multiple times before becoming Pingyang TV’s official vehicle, carefully maintained and only brought out for important occasions.

Looking at the Yuanqi Factory before him, Zheng Zutai had no idea Pingyang had such a factory—how could it even think of advertising on TV?

Inside, seeing the bustling scene, Zheng Zutai smiled—he felt this might be a big order. The TV station hadn’t landed a single deal in months; bonuses hadn’t been paid since the start of the year, and even Zheng Zutai felt he hadn’t had a decent meal in ages.

“You’re Director Zheng, right?” Zhang Xiao and Li Dongling stepped forward to greet him. Zhang Xiao warmly shook Zheng Zutai’s hand. “Shall we start with a tour of our factory?”

“Good idea.”

Zheng Zutai thought for a moment and agreed—advertisers needed to understand their clients. Money couldn’t be taken without due diligence.

Beaming, Zheng Zutai followed Zhang Xiao into the workshop. Seeing the busy workers, he praised Zhang Xiao, oblivious to Li Dongling’s strange expression: “I didn’t expect your factory to be so busy—hard to find such activity in all of Pingyang City!”

Only when they reached the testing station did Zheng Zutai see technicians testing the set-top box, and on the nearby TV screen, satellite TV channels appeared one by one. His smile froze. He fell silent for a long moment. “I still don’t know what business you’re in?”