Chapter 346

"He found Gangdan?!" Wei Ming exclaimed in delight.

Secretary Wangcai chuckled: "As soon as Jiefang got back, he asked us if we'd seen that panda cub."

An aunt said: "I saw it—right when the flood hit!"

The aunt's son added: "Back then we were starving, we nearly…"

The aunt's husband glared at his son: "What are you talking about? In front of the cadres, you say anything!"

At that moment, his aunt-in-law came out and said: "Yesterday Jiefang went into the mountains looking—he actually found it! Today he took good food and drink back to the back hill again."

"It was almost dark, he should've come back by now," Wei Ming muttered, "Uncle, you guys keep Company Chen company—I'm going to check the back hill."

His uncle-in-law immediately said: "Xiaoming, let your brother go with you—he knows where it is."

Secretary Wangcai hurriedly added: "Xiao Wei, come back early—the village is showing a movie tonight!"

Long Xiaoyang smiled and added: "It's 'Happy Gate'."

This year's biggest summer hit was finally gaining traction in Sichuan's countryside—thanks to Sister Lin, Wei Ming never got tired of watching it, and he had to support it.

Xu Shufen was also eager to see her daughter-in-law; she rarely saw her except during movies, and she told her son: "If you don't make it back, we won't wait."

Wangcai hurriedly said: "Wait, wait—we'll watch together when you get back."

At the back hill, Long Xiaoyang asked: "Brother, are you going to be on the newspaper again?"

Wei Ming: "I might even be on TV—Sichuan TV."

Long Xiaoyang: "Oh no, too bad—the village doesn't have a TV."

Indeed, the village still had no electricity; even movie screenings relied on diesel generators.

"Brother, try this," Long Xiaoyang said, plucking a ripe wild fruit from a vine they passed.

Wei Ming held the miniature kiwi, peeled it, and bit into more than half in one go—the slight tartness gave way to sweetness, but the texture was nothing like the improved New Zealand varieties.

Long Xiaoyang asked how it was; Wei Ming said: "Give me two more."

Since his rebirth over two years ago, he'd only encountered kiwi once—last year at the Friendship Store—packaged beautifully, marketed as a national treasure fruit imported from New Zealand, each one nearly two yuan.

Back then, he'd been so tempted he bought ten yuan's worth and shared it with his family and loved ones.

At the time, Old Wei and Xiao Hong thought it was delicious—but too expensive. Only his mother immediately recognized it: "Looks a bit like our hometown's mao li'er."

Long Xiaoyang said: "This is called mao li'er—the Supply and Marketing Cooperative even buys it. Edible and medicinal—five fen a jin. These are all the ones that slipped through."

Five fen a jin, two yuan each—Wei Ming found it bitter to hear, then told his cousin a story.

"At the beginning of this century, during the Qing Dynasty, a foreign woman from New Zealand took a batch of seeds from Hubei—these mao li'er seeds, known as Mihoutao in ancient texts."

"Monkey? Hey, it really does look like one!" Long Xiaoyang chimed in.

Wei Ming: "Later, New Zealanders cultivated superior varieties on their own land—larger, sweeter—and named them kiwifruit after a native bird. Eventually, this fruit became a global sensation, a pricey rarity. If you stayed in Beijing two more days, you'd probably see it at the Friendship Store—each one nearly two yuan."

"How much?!" Long Xiaoyang gasped.

"You heard right—two yuan. I didn't dare buy more," Wei Ming said, adding that in the future, Long Xiaoyang's own orchard would mainly grow kiwifruit—and barely make enough to cover labor costs.

Because New Zealand held many kiwifruit patents, Chinese farmers had to buy seeds from them at high prices; any Chinese-bred variety resembling theirs faced patent crackdowns—deeply annoying.

Seeing Long Xiaoyang's eyes darting around, Wei Ming patted his shoulder: "Don't think about it. Feeding livestock has a future too—more and more households will raise animals, but planting? You've got only a few mu."

Long Xiaoyang thought it over and nodded; the two kept walking.

Soon, in a bamboo grove, Wei Ming spotted Old Wei and Gangdan lying together.

In the past year and a half, Gangdan had grown into a half-grown panda—was it going through a growth spurt? Why was it getting taller?

It was still alert; sensing people approaching, it sprang up and vanished into the bamboo. Old Wei stood quickly too—on the ground lay bones left over from the panda's meals.

"Gangdan, don't be afraid—it's family."

Under Old Wei's reassurance, the giant panda emerged from behind, still clutching a lamb rib with barely any meat left.

"Why's it so thin?" Wei Ming was startled seeing Gangdan standing before him—it barely looked like a panda anymore.

Old Wei stroked the panda's head and sighed: "The flood didn't just hurt people—animals suffered too. Especially little ones like this, lacking survival skills. When I found it, it was already malnourished, distant, wouldn't trust anyone. Took me a whole day before it remembered me."

Long Xiaoyang asked: "Where's its mother?"

Old Wei said: "Probably dead—or abandoned it. Animal maternal instinct has its limits."

Old Wei truly understood animals: wild panda mothers usually wean their cubs at one and a half years, urging independence. He hoped it had merely left its son behind—not died.

Gangdan was now at least two years old—a teenage panda. It wouldn't reach full adulthood, capable of reproduction, until five or six.

With Old Wei's coaxing, Wei Ming touched the giant panda again—its fur was coarser, harder than when it was a cub.

"Get fat fast," Wei Ming told it. "A panda isn't a panda if it's not round and plump."

Old Wei narrowed his eyes and said to Long Xiaoyang: "Xiaoyang, go back and tell your second aunt we'll be there soon."

"Huh? Oh."

Long Xiaoyang left first. Old Wei turned to his son: "That official Qi said he wanted to gift a giant panda to Hong Kong. What if we sent Gangdan?"

"Huh?"

Old Wei: "Exactly—go to Hong Kong, eat well, drink well. Better than here, where you're half-starved. Might lose some freedom, but…"

Pandas weren't particularly freedom-loving creatures—they preferred a comfortable spot to lie around for life.

Wei Ming lowered his head in thought. Staying in these mountains wasn't a good choice—two years from now, Sichuan's wild pandas would face another disaster: bamboo flowering and dying, wild food vanishing, many pandas starving to death.

In his past life, Wei Ming had worried reading the news—but had no money to donate.

And Hong Kong truly valued giant pandas, offering excellent care. Wild pandas lived 18–20 years; captive ones could live over 30.

Jiajia, the panda gifted to Hong Kong, lived to 38—the longest-lived captive panda—and was even allowed euthanasia when suffering from chronic illness.

Wei Ming thought: "Dad, you want to go to Hong Kong too, don't you?"

Old Wei grinned: "Two birds with one stone. What do you say?"

If the panda went to Hong Kong, a caretaker team would accompany it. Old Wei was skilled with animals and close to Gangdan; with Wei Ming's recommendation, securing a spot wouldn't be hard.

"But if you go to Hong Kong and can't return for a while, what about Mom?"

Old Wei didn't want to be separated from his wife either: "Why not take her along? She cooks so well—bamboo shoots with pork? Gangdan would love it."

Wei Ming: "…"

He thought: "Let's head back. If we don't, Mom's already making bamboo shoots with pork for me."

Old Wei was reluctant to leave Gangdan, warning it: "Dad'll come see you tomorrow."

Gangdan howled twice.

"I know, I know—I'll bring you good food."

It really needed to hide—these days, unless it was a bamboo bloom or flood, wild pandas were often killed by poachers.

Laws were still incomplete, and money tempted men.

Back home, dinner was ready. Company Chen had been driven around all day—he'd eat, the secretary would join, the brigade had prepared a place for him to sleep, and later they'd watch the movie.

Talking about 'Happy Gate,' he got excited: "I bet your folks haven't seen it—I've watched it in Beijing more than once. Brilliantly made! And the lead actress, Comrade Zhu Lin? So beautiful! Whoever marries a woman like that? His ancestors are smoking!"

Wei Ming, Old Wei, Xu Shufen, and Long Xiaoyang bowed their heads and ate quietly, thinking: How many ancestors were smoking already?

Hearing this, Secretary Wangcai, Uncle, and others grew eager. When they reached the open ground at the brigade headquarters, villagers—even from nearby villages—had gathered, hundreds strong.

Thanks to Wei Ming's status and Secretary Wangcai's authority, they secured the best viewing spot.

The projectionist was also surnamed Xu; before the film, he shook Wei Ming's hand: "If I'd known you were coming, we'd have shown 'Heroes from Youth'!"

'Heroes from Youth' and 'Happy Gate' were likely to compete for this year's box office crown.

Wei Ming asked Projectionist Xu: "Has this village shown it before?"

"No—this commune hasn't either. But the print's already here."

Wei Ming said: "Can we show it again tomorrow? I'll pay."

Movie screenings in the countryside cost money—usually paid by the village collective or commune, but sometimes charged: the prime viewing area was roped off with seats, five fen or a dime per person, other spots free.

Tomorrow's plan was to screen elsewhere in the commune, but Wei Ming had spoken—and it was his own screenplay. The projectionist agreed immediately, and Secretary Wangcai announced the good news to the villagers.

Before the film even started, the villagers were already joyful, clapping enthusiastically—and once it began, laughter rang out constantly.

Even if they didn't understand Mandarin well, or couldn't read subtitles, this story of rural family life was familiar—they all understood.

When scenes of disrespectful grandchildren played, villagers would all glance in the same direction, making the targeted person blush.