Chapter Fifty: So That's How It Is

“My sister-in-law is fine in most ways, but she’s far too attached to her family. Things were better in the early years, when her siblings all had jobs and money wasn’t a problem. But now, with the company bankrupt and people laid off, her family has become a disaster zone, and she’s constantly thinking of ways to send money back home.”

Chen Xin smiled and didn’t respond. She’d noticed this herself, which was why she decisively gave up on collaborating with Liu Chunyan. The two of them were still relatives, but if she got involved, things could turn ugly if they had a falling out. Still, she felt it was her duty to warn Liu Chunyan, lest the factory she worked so hard to build turned into her sister-in-law’s family’s cash machine.

“It’s fine, I understand. She’d better know when to stop. If she goes too far, I’ll make sure she loses more than she gains,” Liu Chunyan said. She wasn’t some naive woman—she was shrewd and had her own boundaries. As long as those boundaries weren’t crossed, she could be reasonable. But if someone did cross them, she’d fight to the bitter end.

“Don’t let my brother’s easy-going manner fool you. He puts up with things because he thinks they’re still manageable, but he has his limits, too. Right now my sister-in-law is testing those limits. Just wait, one day she’ll regret it.”

The Liu siblings knew each other well and understood one another’s tolerances, so they usually empathized with each other. But when patience ran out, their anger could be terrifying, and they were the type who would never try to mend things once they broke.

Since Liu Chunyan was already aware, Chen Xin didn’t want to play the bad guy. Unlike Liu Chunyan, Chen Xin turned her attention to the production line, wanting to see if domestic production lines differed from those abroad.

In the nineties, canned fruit was a prized commodity. Even in later years, canned yellow peaches and coconut jelly remained top sellers. But at this time, domestic canned fruit was still mostly oranges, apples, and pears, with the south producing more tropical fruits like lychee.

Chen Xin had no intention of making traditional canned fruit. Instead, she was considering whether to find a way to start mass-producing milk tea ingredients ahead of time—red beans, coconut jelly, tapioca pearls, and so forth. These items were rarely sold domestically, with tapioca pearls being the most common, but they were nothing like those from Taiwan. High-end dessert shops usually imported their ingredients and processed them locally, but only large shops could afford to do this. In most milk tea shops, employees cooked red beans and used artificial flavors and colorings for toppings. The taste was questionable, and the health risks were widely criticized.

Though her café focused on coffee and light meals—and sold some English teas—Chen Xin felt the milk tea market shouldn’t be ignored. Compared to coffee, milk tea had a much wider audience. Don’t underestimate a cup costing just a few yuan. Selling hundreds a day could bring in considerable monthly profit.

“That’s a good idea, but I’d suggest you just invest and let others handle the details,” her editor said over dinner that evening. The editor’s husband, Mr. Wu, was also there. He’d been in the food industry for nearly twenty years, starting on production lines and now serving as a consultant for several factories—more than qualified to be a mentor for two newcomers.

“Xin’s idea is great. There’s no need to fight over existing markets. Creating and dominating a new market is incredibly difficult, and with your current situation, you might not succeed. So I recommend finding partners or hiring a professional manager. Your company’s management structure also needs clear rules.”

Chen Xin nodded, understanding Mr. Wu’s point. Cheng Jie felt the same—quality over quantity—so she opposed Chen Xin getting involved in the raw food materials industry. But Chen Xin thought differently: she could provide technology and funding and connect sales channels, without needing to oversee every detail herself. If she could control the supply chain, it would greatly benefit her future ambitions in the food industry. But even if she explained this to Cheng Jie, they wouldn’t understand. After all, her vision was shaped by knowledge of a world twenty years ahead of theirs.

“Day by day” was no idle phrase. Many things spread silently, and only those who researched them knew how long they’d been studied.

Having a second chance, Chen Xin didn’t want to repeat her old path, always chasing trends. She wanted to create them, or at least lead them.

Cheng Jie and the others couldn’t fathom Chen Xin’s broad perspective, but Mr. Wu could sense it during their conversation. The two got more and more engrossed, until it was almost Chen Xin speaking alone, with Mr. Wu habitually jotting down notes in his pocket notebook.

“Must you two be like this?” the editor sighed, glancing at them. “Eat first. After dinner, find somewhere to chat. Xin’s free tomorrow, so you can talk all night if you want.”

The editor trusted her husband, so she wasn’t worried about anything happening, and instead gave them plenty of time to interact.

“Dear, you could start a special column and let Xin share her ideas step by step. I can already see how vast the future of the food industry will be—it’s a magnificent world.”

“But it’s also full of instability,” Chen Xin interjected, pouring cold water on Mr. Wu’s enthusiasm. “Technology advances, but the complexity of human nature can turn pure science into all sorts of harmful things. The misuse of food additives is one problem, and another is fraud at the source.”

Thinking about the future milk powder crisis and the high defect rates in baby products, Chen Xin felt it was wise to raise awareness now, before people realized the dangers.

She had considered Mr. Wu’s suggestion of a column, but as a simple food writer, she wasn’t yet qualified to start one in a magazine. During their earlier discussion, they’d touched on this topic. Chen Xin learned that the signs had appeared much earlier than she thought, and Mr. Wu and his colleagues were staunch opponents of such practices. Because of this, Mr. Wu’s position in the industry was difficult—while most chased profits and discarded conscience, honest professionals like him faced attacks from fraudsters.

“The factory you’re about to acquire—part of the reason it’s up for sale is this. The two partners had completely opposing views on this issue, couldn’t reconcile, and finally broke up and sold the factory.”

Having said so much, Mr. Wu finally revealed some of the inside story.