"Is the factory not doing well?" Song Nianchu was taken aback.
"Yeah, last month two major clients canceled their contracts with us. Right now, you're our only big order," the factory director sighed deeply.
"How did this happen? Your products are of good quality," Song Nianchu frowned.
"Quality alone isn't enough. Connections matter too," the director said, his face clouded with melancholy.
He was getting older and couldn’t keep up with the socializing and drinking required to maintain client relationships. Many customers had been poached by competitors.
Song Nianchu, being a businesswoman herself, understood the bitterness in his words.
People often said, "Good wine needs no bush," but she thought that was just a comforting lie told by those who hadn’t succeeded. Otherwise, why were prime retail spaces in shopping districts so fiercely contested?
"At my age, it doesn’t matter much for me personally. But the factory has many workers—if it shuts down, they’ll have nowhere to go," the director said, his expression pained.
Then, catching himself, he looked at Song Nianchu apologetically.
"Ah, listen to me rambling. Let me arrange the delivery for you."
As the director turned to leave, Song Nianchu suddenly called out to him.
"Director, since you’re sending someone to deliver my order, why not send all the remaining stock to me at once?"
"You want it all delivered?" The director was stunned.
"Yes," Song Nianchu nodded.
"But the payment for the entire batch would be substantial," the director said hesitantly.
"It’s fine. I can pay upfront," Song Nianchu replied, pulling out a thick stack of bills.
Seeing that she meant it, the director was momentarily speechless.
"Miss Song, thank you!" His eyes reddened slightly.
While the payment wouldn’t be enough to keep the factory running for long, every extra day counted.
"No need for thanks. You’re delivering for free—I can’t let your truck go back empty," Song Nianchu said simply.
The director had shown her kindness, and she was returning it in kind.
Her own funds were limited, and this was all she could do for now...
At that thought, her eyes suddenly lit up, and she fixed her gaze on the director.
"By the way, Director, does your factory have a vacuum-sealing machine?" she asked urgently.
"Vacuum-sealing?" The director blinked in confusion.
"Yes, like the kind used for canning," Song Nianchu clarified.
The director thought for a moment, then brightened. "Actually, we do have one!"
"Really?" Song Nianchu’s face lit up with excitement.
"Yes. We once produced a batch of glass jars for canned goods, and that machine was used for testing. But after the collaboration ended, it was left in storage. The glass jars you bought today are leftover from that batch," the director explained.
"Can you show it to me?" Song Nianchu asked eagerly.
"I can, but... why do you need it?" the director asked, puzzled.
"Take me to see it first. If it still works, I might have a way to help your factory through this crisis," she said calmly.
The director’s eyes widened. "You mean it?"
"I’ll need to inspect the machine first," Song Nianchu replied cautiously.
"Come, I’ll take you there right away!" The director hurriedly led the way.
After digging through a dusty corner of the warehouse, the director finally uncovered the vacuum-sealing machine.
"Does it still work?" Song Nianchu frowned at the grime-covered equipment.
"It should. Let me have it cleaned and tested," the director said, calling over a few workers.
Once plugged in, the machine whirred to life.
"Director, it’s working!" a worker called out.
"Can we test it with something?" Song Nianchu asked.
"Of course!" The director immediately arranged a trial run.
Using the glass jars Song Nianchu had purchased and water as a substitute for food, they produced a sealed "canned" bottle.
"Miss Song, take a look," the director handed her the sealed jar.
After inspecting it thoroughly—no leaks, no matter how she twisted the lid—Song Nianchu smiled.
"Director, I have another job for you. Would you be interested?" she asked brightly.
"Yes!" The director didn’t hesitate.
"You didn’t even ask what it is," Song Nianchu laughed.
"With the state of my factory, do I have the luxury of being picky?" the director said wryly.
"Then don’t complain if it’s small," she warned playfully.
"Just tell me," the director urged.
"I need vacuum-sealed canning done, but the current volume is low—only about sixty jars a day," she explained.
"Sixty?" The director’s brow furrowed. That was indeed a tiny order.
"But this is just the starting number. It’ll definitely grow!" Song Nianchu said confidently. Once her product gained traction, demand would skyrocket.
She had considered buying a vacuum-sealing machine herself, but the cost was prohibitive. For now, partnering with the factory was the best solution until she could afford her own equipment.
After a moment’s thought, the director agreed.
"Deal. I’ll take the job!"
"Thank you! We’ll also order the sixty glass jars daily from your factory," Song Nianchu said, delighted.
"Done!" the director agreed.
Though the numbers were small, steady work was better than nothing for his workers.
"Then it’s settled," Song Nianchu confirmed.
"Absolutely!"
They negotiated the payment terms and settled on a mutually acceptable rate before Song Nianchu prepared to leave.
The original delivery was canceled—she left her glass jars at the factory for use the next day. The director was more than happy to oblige, saving on fuel costs.
With the canning arrangement secured, Song Nianchu rushed to the market to buy ingredients and other supplies.
For mass production, she’d need to tweak her recipe to extend shelf life.
Her heart light with excitement, she headed back to the village—only to spot a frail figure waiting at her doorstep from afar.
