"Who are you? What are you doing here?" The security guard in the booth immediately leaned out the window as soon as he spotted Song Nianchu, his eyes filled with suspicion.
"Hello, comrade. I’d like to purchase a batch of glass jars. Does your factory have any in stock?" Song Nianchu asked with a smile.
"You want to buy glass jars? What for? Are you here as a private buyer or representing a collective?" The guard interrogated her thoroughly.
"I’m representing our village collective," Song Nianchu replied, pulling out the proof document Wu Zhenggui had given her earlier from her pocket.
The guard took it and scrutinized it carefully. Only after confirming its authenticity did he hand it back.
"Why would your village send a young girl like you to handle procurement? Wait here—I’ll take you to our manager," the guard said, his tone noticeably softer.
"I’m strong. The village always assigns me these kinds of tasks," Song Nianchu explained cheerfully.
The guard gave her a once-over, his expression clearly skeptical—how much strength could a petite girl like her possibly have?
Song Nianchu didn’t bother elaborating. If the deal went through, he’d soon witness just how strong she was.
The guard led her to the factory manager’s office.
"Manager, there’s a young woman here to purchase glass jars," the guard announced, knocking on the door.
Li Chuanming, who had been hunched over his desk doing calculations, looked up. His thick glasses perched on his nose, and his eyes squinted slightly behind the lenses.
"Hello, Manager. I’m Song Nianchu from Qinghe Fishing Village. I’m here on behalf of our village to purchase a batch of glass jars," Song Nianchu said, stepping confidently into the office.
The guard, impressed by her boldness, didn’t linger. He had a gate to guard, after all.
Li Chuanming adjusted his glasses as he listened.
"What specifications do you need? What will they be used for? And how many?"
"Something like this," Song Nianchu said, pulling out a sheet of paper from her pocket.
It was a sketch of the glass jar she had in mind, complete with precise measurements—resembling the round-bellied jars used for canned goods in later years.
Li Chuanming studied the drawing before looking up.
"We don’t have anything exactly like this, but we do carry similar styles. Would those work?"
"Could I see a sample?" Song Nianchu asked.
"Of course." Li Chuanming stood and retrieved a round-bellied glass jar from the shelf behind him.
It was slightly larger and shorter than the one she’d sketched, and not as aesthetically pleasing.
"This could work, but I’d need matching airtight lids," Song Nianchu said, unfazed. A few decorative labels would spruce it up later.
"That’s doable," Li Chuanming nodded.
"How much would one jar cost?"
"Since this jar is larger, our factory price is ten cents per unit. If you add the airtight lid, it’s an extra five cents—fifteen cents total. Of course, if you order in bulk, we can offer a discount. How many are you looking to purchase?"
"Two thousand," Song Nianchu said.
"Two thousand?!" Li Chuanming’s eyes widened.
"Yes, but I’ll need them in batches. The first batch will be a hundred. If they work well, the second will be five hundred, and the remaining fourteen hundred will be the final batch," she explained calmly.
Li Chuanming studied her for a moment, ensuring she wasn’t joking, before taking a closer look at the young woman before him.
"What do you need so many glass jars for? Two thousand isn’t a small expense."
For their factory, this was already a substantial order.
"That’s not something I can disclose, but rest assured, it’s for legitimate purposes. Now, since I’m ordering two thousand, can you offer a better price?"
Li Chuanming thought for a moment, then picked up an abacus and began calculating. After a few rapid clicks, he looked up.
"If you commit to two thousand, I can lower the price to twelve cents per jar, including the lid. That’s the best I can do."
Song Nianchu did the math. The price was reasonable—the jars were larger, holding a third more than the standard portion of crispy fish. At twelve cents per jar, they could still turn a profit if they priced the final product at one yuan fifty.
"Deal. Twelve cents it is. I’ll take the first hundred today," she said, counting out twelve yuan from her pocket.
Li Chuanming stared, slightly dazed by how swiftly she’d agreed.
Was she serious?
"Manager?" Song Nianchu waved a hand in front of his face.
"Ah—right. I’ll get the contract ready," he said, snapping out of it and calling for someone to prepare the paperwork.
The contract was straightforward—quantity, price, and delivery schedule.
After verifying the details, Song Nianchu signed and paid for the first batch.
Li Chuanming accepted the payment and escorted her to the warehouse, where a hundred glass jars were counted out for her.
"You came alone? How are you planning to transport these?" Li Chuanming frowned, eyeing her slender frame.
"No problem. Just pack them in bags for me," Song Nianchu said dismissively.
The jars could be stacked, with the lids packed separately, but even so, a hundred jars took up considerable space.
Two large factory packing bags were filled, weighing close to fifty or sixty pounds. Surely she didn’t plan to carry them back herself?
The last thing they needed was for her to drop them and shatter the lot.
As Song Nianchu moved toward the bags, Li Chuanming instinctively intervened.
"Comrade Song, perhaps you should leave them here for today and bring help tomorrow."
"No need. This weight is nothing to me," she said with a smile.
Before Li Chuanming could protest, she effortlessly lifted both bags with one hand each.
Li Chuanming: "…"
What just happened?!
Was he hallucinating?
"Manager Li, I’ll be on my way," Song Nianchu said, waving cheerfully while holding the bags.
Only after she’d walked off did Li Chuanming finally pinch his thigh to check.
Ouch.
So it wasn’t a hallucination?
That delicate-looking girl had really carried two massive bags of glass jars by herself?
Had he been cooped up in the factory too long?
Were people outside this strong now?
As Song Nianchu passed the security booth with the two bags, she waved at the guard inside.
The guard, mid-sip from his teacup, froze when he saw the bags in her hands. The cup slipped from his fingers and clattered to the ground.
But Song Nianchu was already strolling away, the heavy load seemingly weightless in her grasp.
Song Nianchu didn’t go back to the hospital with her things, eager to return to Qinghe Fishing Village as soon as possible so she could discuss the canned goods matter with Wu Zhenggui.
