Chapter 397

When Wei Ming visited Old Secretary Zhou Xingbang's home, he brought a bag and asked upon entering: "Uncle Xingbang, do you have boiling water?"

"Yes," came a young man's voice.

Wei Ming looked over—he was in military uniform, around thirty, not tall but standing straight.

"Oh! It's Uncle Wenwu! You've come back to visit family."

This was Zhou Xingbang's youngest son, Zhou Wenwu, serving in the army.

"Mm, also to meet a potential bride and get married."

Wei Ming chuckled: "You're definitely going to succeed this time."

Zhou Wenwu scratched his head and asked with a smile: "Little Ming, why do you need boiling water?"

"To eat something," Wei Ming said, pulling two packets of instant noodles from his bag.

The entire Zhou family gathered around; when Wei Ming tore open the packaging, Zhou Wenwu said: "Is this instant noodles?"

Wei Ming: "Have you eaten this before, Uncle?"

"Once during field training, the army issued us biscuit-like noodles—you could just chew them straight. But this stuff isn't cheap; I heard it's deep-fried," Zhou Wenwu still had some discernment.

Wei Ming nodded: "I brought these back from Hong Kong. In mainland markets, they're about two and a half fen per packet."

Indeed expensive—even a bowl of hot noodles at a county state-run restaurant cost only one fen and had more weight.

Wei Ming soaked both packets, then opened them after a moment: "Alright, ready to eat. Uncle Wenwu, Uncle Xingbang, Grandma—try some."

"Mm, fragrant, delicious!"

"Still chewy."

"Better than what I ate in the army."

Grandma Zhou said: "And it's convenient—just soak it for a few minutes and you've got a meal."

Zhou Xingbang slurped some broth: "Little Ming, are you thinking of getting our village to make this—this instant noodles?"

Wei Ming shook his head: "I do have that idea, but conditions aren't ripe yet."

The instant noodle market only boomed in the 1990s, but decades ago, the Magic City had already begun producing them—though they weren't widespread. Starting in the 1980s, Japan's production lines were gradually imported, and instant noodles became known domestically as a luxury food.

Wei Ming remembered that in his past life, when he first went to work at the Beijing People's Art Theatre, the first instant noodles he ate were the Tian Tan brand chicken broth noodles, made in collaboration between Beijing and Japan—three and a half fen per packet—and Huafeng's Three-Flavor Yi Noodles at five fen per packet, yet the market remained small due to sluggish economic development.

Only when the state needed to draw massive numbers of rural laborers into cities would the instant noodle market expand further, eventually becoming a hundreds-of-billions-yuan industry, with foreign players like Master Kong and Uni-President, and domestic ones like Hualong (now Meilong) from Hebei and Bai Xiang from Henan.

"You all just said it—this stuff is fragrant, oily, and convenient; the advantages are obvious. If ordinary folks have money, it won't be hard to sell. I spent some time in Japan—instant noodles were invented there, the market is huge, and the taste is even better than this. I'm confident about its potential here, but right now, people don't have money. Even if we make it, I fear it won't sell. So I think now's the time to start with raw materials."

"Raw materials?"

"Yes—flour and cooking oil. Your village already has an oil mill, right? Using livestock is too slow. I can help you find Hong Kong investors to set up an electric-powered oil mill first, then a flour mill—we're in the North China Plain, a major wheat-producing region."

"Wait—you said Hong Kong investors?" Old Secretary was stunned.

"Yes—Hong Kong investors." And they must be Hong Kong investors; this enterprise must be a joint venture.

First, introducing foreign investment is a political achievement for County Chief Qin, earning him more support—more friends, more paths.

Second, Wei Ming knew his hometown's business environment all too well.

In his past life, the county had a decent, promising beverage factory—the local flagship enterprise—specializing in carrot juice. Everything was thriving until the county government meddled: taking goods without paying, eating and drinking on the factory's tab, until it slowly collapsed and became a subcontractor for Huiyuan, which later also collapsed.

If this factory had no foreign investment, certain things would be utterly unchecked. Years later, these simple, honest farmers from Gouzitun would never be able to protect their gains.

Of course, Haoli Lai currently had no surplus funds, so Wei Ming would fund it himself—but under the Mingyi of this promising Hong Kong food company.

Wei Ming had no interest in the food industry; once Haoli Lai had cash flow, they could take over his shares. The mainland food industry had enormous potential.

Moreover, such a sizable factory would greatly boost the local economy—not only creating many jobs, but potentially allowing every household to receive dividends.

"But why would Hong Kong investors give us money?" Old Secretary asked.

Wei Ming smiled: "I don't have much else, but I have plenty of friends—both domestic and overseas. They all respect me."

Hearing this, the three of them stared at Wei Ming's big face, as if he truly had serious clout.

Wei Ming still needed to consult Uncle Liu Bin—he'd know if this plan was viable before approaching County Chief Qin.

The next morning, Qi Delong drove Wei Ming on his donkey cart; Wei Ming told him to drop him at the Yang household, then gave him ten yuan and several grain coupons: "Go treat yourself to some meat when you're hungry—you're still growing."

"Brother, I really don't want you to leave—why not stay a few more days?"

Wei Ming patted his round, sturdy head, thinking of their past life, when the two brothers supported each other in Beijing.

"Don't worry—we'll meet again this summer. This time, I'll show you the Magic City."

Too bad time flew—rumor had it that the township's junior high and county high school had changed dramatically thanks to Wei Ming's sponsorship, but he hadn't had time to see them himself.

Once inside the Yang household, Wei Ming laid out his plan to Uncle Liu Bin.

"I agree with your idea. The changes in Shenzhen have convinced me the country is serious about economic development. Instant food industries will absolutely thrive in China's future, and instant noodles will surely lead the pack. But if we're investing, we must aim for profit—whether it's the flour mill, oil mill, or future instant noodle factory. Simply handing out money for them to fiddle around with won't work."

"Right, but what should we do? I don't understand this stuff."

Liu Bin asked: "When did this County Chief Qin take office?"

Wei Ming replied: "About a year and a half ago—he became Director of the Revolutionary Committee then, and became County Chief a year ago."

Liu Bin nodded: "Good. He won't be transferred soon. Then I'll sign a letter of intent on Haoli Lai's behalf. When I return to Hong Kong, I'll have my deputy investigate Taiwan's related industries, then send him to the mainland to oversee investment and equipment imports. He's a graduate of the University of Hong Kong, pro-mainland, and crucially—a mixed-race man with a foreign face. Let him come—it'll be good training."

Uncle Liu understood the local situation too well—a foreign face was more effective than his own.

"Alright, let's go meet County Chief Qin quickly—we can't miss the afternoon train."

When County Chief Qin heard Liu Bin insisted on building two factories in Gouzitun, he understood: this was Wei Teacher's influence, and Wei Teacher clearly intended to help his own villagers.

Liu Bin signed the letter of intent on the spot and declined County Chief Qin's invitation to stay for lunch.

"My son's getting married—the plane doesn't wait. We've booked time at the Peace Hotel and need to prepare the venue in advance."

Hearing that Liu Bin's son would hold his wedding at the famed Magic City Peace Hotel, County Chief Qin reaffirmed the Boss's clout—and he himself needed to deliberate on policies for the Hong Kong investor. This was the first potential foreign enterprise to settle in Ping'an County!

On the second night of the Lunar New Year, the two families arrived in Beijing—the plane tickets had been bought days earlier. The next morning, Xiao Hong, still dazed, boarded the plane to the Magic City with her brother and the others.

Brother was still full of energy—he'd been on the phone all night.

Wei Ming mainly wanted to reassure Xiao Mei, shaken by the Eight Kings incident. The Jiang-Zhe region had developed too fast, raising concerns from above, so they were being reined in—but the north remained conservative.

Yet this northern conservatism meant they'd miss out on most future wealth—well, let others make the money.

"Brother, where will we stay in the Magic City? At the Peace Hotel too?" Xiao Hong asked on the plane.

Wei Ming shook his head: "The Peace Hotel is for foreigners—we can't stay there."

But staying with Xue Jie or Lin Jie wasn't suitable either—they'd eventually find out. Wait—I've got it!

"We own property in the Magic City—we don't need a hotel."

"Huh?!"

After landing at Hongqiao Airport, a car from the Peace Hotel picked them up; A Long also followed Wei Ming to see the Hao Yuan No. 2 mansion.

On the way, Wei Ming told A Long: "Don't just fixate on Hong Kong property. Hong Kong homes may appreciate, but their growth rate won't match Beijing or Shanghai. You'll need to visit these two cities often—buy an old Western-style house in Shanghai, and a Sihe Academy in Beijing."

The driver heard this tone and thought: Wow—no wonder he's a foreign guest.

A Long smiled and shook his head: "I'll need to save for a few more years."

Wei Ming smiled slightly: "This wedding—pool the wedding gifts, and you'll probably have enough."

A Long froze—just then, they arrived.

"Master, you go back first—I'll take a taxi home," A Long said.

Wei Ming opened the door—it was much larger than his Beichi Lane Sihe Academy, and even two stories.

"But can you live here?" Wei Hong asked.

"Beds, quilts—all there, brand new. Just never renovated—it was previously an office," Wei Ming said, glancing at A Long—this would again be a task for his father-in-law.

Wei Hong rolled up her sleeves: "It's been empty so long, it's covered in dust—let's clean it up!"

So big—and only three of us?!

Wei Ming began regretting it—he should've just booked a regular guesthouse.

"Wait—I'll call someone." He recalled his Shanghai contacts—Lin Jie was probably filming, Xue Jie busy with her sister's wedding—no need to trouble them. Ba Lao…

No, no—asking Ba Lao to clean his house would be disrespectful. Editor Li Xiaolin was also unsuitable—he was already over forty.

Right—Ba Lao was out, but the Shanghai Writers Association must have some young people.

So Wei Ming directly called the Shanghai Writers Association, housed in the same building as the Shouhuo editorial office—he'd treated them often when revising "The Right Path of Humanity."

Coincidentally, the Shanghai Writers Association had just held a youth writers symposium due to Mengya's relaunch—and among them was Wang Anyi, a young woman Wei Ming knew well.

"Please put Wang Anyi on the line—Wei Ming calling."

After a moment, he heard Wang Anyi breathing heavily on the other end.

"Comrade Anyi, I heard you're in a meeting—do you have plans tonight?"