Chapter 67: They are All Old Foxes
Besides, how could anyone expect her to just give it away for free? Wouldn’t a deal like this usually secure some mutual benefits or logistical conveniences for the cotton mill?
Director Li knew he had to tread carefully. He needed to think long and hard about the best way to broach the topic with Comrade Sheng Wanyan.
Sheng Wanyan, meanwhile, had absolutely no idea that the display easel sketch she had quickly whipped up had already caught the eye of the lumber mill. Her mind was entirely occupied by the grueling, meticulous demands of their upcoming publicity campaign.
But before Director Li could even find a quiet moment to pull her aside, word of the design had already reached the very top of the hierarchy.
The director of the state-owned lumber mill had been unable to sit still the moment his foremen described the blueprint. The easel design was incredibly simple yet entirely novel. If they manufactured it in bulk and distributed it through the Supply and Marketing Cooperatives, the retail volume would undoubtedly skyrocket.
For a lumber factory, a commercial breakthrough like this meant massive revenue. Their payroll was packed with master craftsmen—furniture makers, wood movers, cargo transporters, and logistics crews. With such a massive workforce, their monthly overhead was steep. The problem was that they rolled out the exact same handful of traditional furniture pieces month after month, leaving their sales stagnant. They were desperate to hit an impressive milestone by the end of the year so the municipal leaders could recognize their resourcefulness and contribution.
Unable to resist the opportunity, the lumber mill director bypassed the lower channels and called the chief executive of the cotton mill directly to negotiate for the blueprints.
Technically, his master carpenters had already memorized the geometry of the prototype and could easily replicate it on their own. But the design had originated within the cotton mill. If the lumber mill rashly began mass-producing it without permission, who knew how much political friction and resentment it would breed between the two facilities? In this era, factories relied on each other heavily for food, clothing, and basic resources. You absolutely never burned a bridge with a neighboring enterprise.
The cotton mill director had been utterly bewildered when he first picked up the receiver, but as the conversation unfolded, the full picture came into sharp focus. The second he hung up, he signaled his personal assistant, Secretary Fang, to summon Director Li immediately.
“Go down to Propaganda and bring Director Li to my office.”
“Right away, Director.”
Secretary Fang set down his ledger and hurried across the courtyard. Hearing the summons, a gleeful Director Li followed him right back up the stairs.
“Director Li,” the factory manager began, leaning forward. “The lumber mill just contacted me claiming your department has designed a highly lucrative blueprint. What exactly is going on over there?”
Director Li secretly marveled at how quickly the cogs were turning. The foremen down at the sawmill truly were a pack of cunning old foxes; it hadn’t even been half a day, yet the chief executive already knew the finer details.
“Director, to be entirely frank, I don’t possess the authority to simply hand over that blueprint,” Director Li admitted.
The manager’s brow furrowed tightly at the response. As the highest authority in the facility, he was unaccustomed to being told his administration couldn’t access a project developed inside his own walls.
Sensing the sudden shift in his superior’s mood, Director Li quickly laid out the legal reality of the situation. “The technical drawing was sketched exclusively by Comrade Sheng Wanyan outside of her official duties. It is entirely her personal intellectual property.”
“Comrade Sheng Wanyan drafted the design herself?”
The manager’s eyes widened slightly in genuine surprise. Comrade Sheng Wanyan was capable of drafting precise structural blueprints?
“Yes, sir. It’s entirely her own creation,” Director Li affirmed. “Because it belongs strictly to her, I can’t very well leverage my administrative rank to force her to surrender it for free, can I?”
The factory manager fell into a long, heavy silence, tapping his fingers thoughtfully against the polished wood of his desk. The economic value of a simple display stand wasn’t astronomical, but it certainly wasn’t trivial either. He could easily deduce what the lumber mill intended to do with the schematic. It was a guaranteed commercial victory dropped right into their lap, and there was absolutely no world in which the sawmill executives would let it slip away.
This meant the lumber mill was currently at a distinct tactical disadvantage, desperately needing the cotton mill’s cooperation. The cotton mill could easily leverage this opportunity to negotiate a highly lucrative inter-enterprise treaty—perhaps forcing the lumber mill to furnish all future administrative furniture for free or supply raw lumber to their staff at a heavily discounted rate.
But the roadblock remained: the blueprint belonged solely to Comrade Sheng Wanyan. The enterprise was legally barred from trading her personal assets unless she could be persuaded to formally sign the rights over to the factory.
“Have Comrade Sheng Wanyan report to my office immediately,” the manager commanded.
“Understood, Director.”
Director Li returned to the Propaganda wing and caught Wanyan’s eye, gesturing toward the corridor. Sensing the gravity of his look, she quietly stepped out to join him.
“Director, what’s the situation?”
“Comrade Wanyan! The lumber mill has fallen completely in love with your easel blueprint,” Director Li whispered, his face split by a proud grin. “The factory manager was contacted directly and knows the full story. He’s requested you report to his office right away.”
“I understand, Director.”
Director Li waved her forward, a quiet thrill running through him. He knew with absolute certainty that from this day forward, his favorite subordinate’s standing within the enterprise would never be the same.
This marked Sheng Wanyan’s very first time stepping inside the chief executive’s office. The administrative suite was located on the quiet second floor of the main building, a secured zone that housed only the factory director’s office, the deputy manager’s office, and the confidential records room. The secretaries operated right in the corridor, their simple office spaces consisting of nothing more than a wooden desk and a stool stationed near the heavy double doors.
The moment Secretary Fang saw Wanyan approach, he offered a reassuring smile and smoothly guided her inside.
As she stepped across the threshold, she noted the factory director’s demeanor was a stark contrast to his stern demeanor during their recent municipal trip. Today, his expression was remarkably gentle and approachable. Sheng Wanyan smiled inwardly; she understood the unwritten rule of leadership perfectly—an executive’s warmth toward you was always directly proportional to your current economic value.
“Good afternoon, Director,” she greeted politely.
The manager offered a warm nod, pointing to the empty chair directly across from his desk. “Come in, Comrade Sheng Wanyan. Take a seat.”
Wanyan smoothly sat down, and Secretary Fang stepped forward to pour her a cup of hot tea before quietly retreating.
“Comrade Wanyan, I believe you’ve already been briefed on why I’ve called you up here today,” the factory manager began, discarding the usual corporate fluff. “I won’t waste your time beating around the bush.” He wanted to lay the cards on the table so they could negotiate properly.
“Please, Director, go ahead.”
“Your blueprint is highly valuable to the lumber mill, and by extension, it can bring immense structural advantages to our own cotton mill,” the manager explained openly. “The lumber executives are eager to buy the exclusive rights to the design. I want to hear your perspective on the matter.” He paused, adjusting his spectacles. “They are prepared to offer a flat sum of three hundred yuan cash for the property.”
Sheng Wanyan kept her expression perfectly composed, though a wave of quiet caution washed over her. The leaders running the lumber mill were notorious old foxes, and none of the executives at this level were simple-minded.
They wanted to buy absolute ownership of the design for a measly three hundred yuan, knowing they could immediately mass-produce the easels and retail them through the cooperatives for roughly five yuan a piece. By the time the winter rush concluded, their net profits would be astronomical. And that wasn’t even factoring in the immense political praise the municipal committees would heap on the sawmill for innovation—a level of prestige that couldn’t be quantified by mere cash. In her past life, practically every modern household and business utilized some variation of this display rack. If she simply bided her time for a few years until the market opened up, she could launch her own commercial furniture line and pull in millions from the patent alone.
Yet, she was entirely aware that flatly refusing the executive board was an absolute impossibility. In the ideological climate of the mid-1970s, citizens were expected to eagerly, selflessly surrender their personal innovations to the state for the collective good.
More importantly, she realized this could be turned into a monumental defensive victory for herself. If she personally secured a massive inter-factory triumph for the chief executive, would he ever allow a corrupt predator like Logistics Director Wang to lay a finger on her? Her security within the facility would be ironclad.
“Director, as long as my work can contribute to the progress of our nation and the factory, I am entirely willing to hand over the design,” she stated, her eyes shining with absolute, unblemished sincerity.
Hearing her selfless declaration, the factory manager couldn’t contain his admiration, instantly giving her a firm thumbs-up.
“Splendid!” he cheered, his face lighting up with profound satisfaction. “Our facility desperately needs more honorable, forward-thinking comrades like you, Sheng Wanyan!”
“Rest assured, the administration will ensure your contribution is fully recognized by the state. When the formal project manifests are submitted to the municipal committee, your name will sit proudly at the absolute top of the list.”
The manager could not have been more thrilled with her compliance. Comrade Sheng Wanyan was exceptionally sensible; she grasped the underlying political realities of the situation without requiring him to waste his breath spelling them out.
“And of course, as long as you maintain this stellar work ethic, the cotton mill will ensure you are handsomely rewarded and protected!”
Sheng Wanyan offered a disciplined, serious nod of gratitude. Privately, however, she made a silent, ironclad vow to herself: the literal second her professional safety within the firm was fully locked down, she would never, under any circumstances, showcase her modern designs in public like this again. She possessed zero political backing or institutional weight in this era, and she had absolutely no desire to continue playing dangerous leverage games with these deeply calculated old foxes. Her primary objective remained unchanged—keep her head down, coast under the radar, and safely build her independent fortune.
