Chapter 69: Seeking a Source of Goods

Thursday, July 30th.

Early that morning, after finishing his chores with Shao Hong, Zhong Di set out. Now that he had the idea of making organic liquid fertilizer, he wanted to put it into action quickly.

Today was watering day, and he followed the usual procedure: manure water mixed with a small amount of diammonium phosphate and monopotassium phosphate.

It wasn't that Zhong Di preferred to use chemical fertilizers, but during the fruit-setting period, the plants needed ample nutrients—otherwise, it would be easy for the fruit to drop, and he’d be left with no harvest at all.

Once the dates had set, he wouldn’t use chemical fertilizers anymore during irrigation—at most, he’d use a little in foliar sprays.

His task for today was to source the raw materials for the organic liquid fertilizer recipe.

In Zhong Di’s mind, ingredients like brown sugar and milk could be found at supermarkets. His first destination was Minminle Supermarket in Shache County.

It was a large supermarket, and they usually had expired milk. Since fermentation was part of the process anyway, whether the milk was expired or not didn’t matter much.

With directions from the front desk, Zhong Di found the store manager, Peng Hua. After discussing, Peng offered two options:

First, a one-time purchase—fifteen yuan per case, regardless of the type of milk. Second, a long-term contract: minimum of one hundred cases per month, with no upper limit, at ten yuan per case.

After a brief consideration, Zhong Di chose the latter.

He didn’t worry about how much milk he’d actually need. A hundred cases a month was only twelve hundred a year, amounting to twelve thousand yuan—completely manageable.

If each case weighed five kilos, that’d be six tons a year. Even if his own orchard couldn’t use it all, he could apply it to the newly leased land—no cause for concern.

Once the deal was settled, he signed the contract. After calling his older sister, he handed her mobile payment info to the finance person; the payment would go through her.

As for the milk, it was self-pickup; they wouldn’t deliver. Zhong Di figured he’d have Shao Hong handle that—looked like buying a car was inevitable!

Brown sugar was used in small quantities; he could just buy it wholesale in fifty-kilo sacks. He opted for the better-quality kind at three hundred yuan per sack, though there were cheaper options.

He could pick up the sugar along with the expired milk—a simple task.

With those two ingredients sorted, Zhong Di began searching for bone meal.

After a long search, he found nothing but small packets at flower shops—not cost-effective at all. He’d have to order in bulk online. He just needed to inform his sister about it.

By the time he had sourced all three ingredients, it was already noon. Maybe from running around so much, he was ravenously hungry.

Barbecue, hotpot, stir-fry… After some thought, Zhong Di decided on a bowl of zhajiang noodles at a noodle shop.

Yang’s Noodle House was in a bustling part of Shache County and usually had good foot traffic. It was lunchtime, and by rights, the place should be packed, yet it was oddly quiet.

A few scattered customers ate in silence—none of the lively atmosphere one might expect. Still, Zhong Di was just there to eat; such things didn’t matter to him.

Some people dine out just to fill their stomachs; others go for the ambiance—the energy of daily life.

It’s like with internet cafes: some go because they don’t have a computer at home, or theirs doesn’t work well; others have computers at home but still go out for the atmosphere.

“Boss, one bowl of zhajiang noodles. No cilantro, extra sauce, add extra noodles—just mix it in,” Zhong Di called out, then chose a corner seat.

He never liked cilantro in his zhajiang noodles; it always tasted odd to him.

“Sure thing.” The reply came from a young woman.

The noodles arrived quickly—the sauce was pre-made, the toppings were ready, and only the noodles needed to be cooked fresh.

“Here’s your noodles.”

That voice sounded familiar. Zhong Di looked up.

“Yang Meng? What are you doing here?”

Yang Meng had been his classmate in junior high and high school, but she’d suddenly dropped out in tenth grade without explanation, as if she’d vanished.

He remembered her not for any other reason, but because she’d once confessed her feelings to him. Back then, he was young… Ah, what a memory—all in the past, best left unmentioned. Maybe it was because he’d always been cute as a child, leading to these situations.

“My family owns this noodle shop! The moment you spoke, I recognized you.”

“Oh, it’s your family’s place? How’s business these days?”

“What do you think? Barely scraping by—might go under any day.” With so few customers, Yang Meng paused to chat.

She was surprised to see that after all these years, Zhong Di was still so good-looking—cute as a child, now mature and sunny, even more handsome. She felt her youthful judgment had been spot on.

Zhong Di tasted the noodles—they were quite good. Lately, he’d gotten picky thanks to his own free-range chickens and eggs, so if he found something tasty now, it really was.

With this level of quality, how could business be this slow?

“Why’s that?” Zhong Di asked, puzzled.

“Why not? With the rise of all these platforms—Kuangbao, YouTuan—they’ve changed people’s habits. Brick-and-mortar stores keep closing, and it’s a vicious cycle. Fewer shoppers, more closures. More than half our revenue now comes from YouTuan.”

Once she started, Yang Meng poured out her woes like a breached dam.

“Well, isn’t that good? No need to offer extra services,” Zhong Di commented.

“You don’t understand. At first, it was fine—YouTuan gave subsidies to merchants and users, changing everyone’s spending habits. Now, we have to rely on the platform, and they’re squeezing us dry. Our margins have shrunk, and if we leave the platform, we can’t survive.”

“I see… but there doesn’t seem to be a good solution. How about this: I’ll bring you a chicken; you can add the meat to your dishes for dine-in customers—just a little in each bowl to enhance the flavor. For delivery, keep things as usual. What do you think?”

Zhong Di had an idea—maybe this would attract more people to dine in. He just wanted to help Yang Meng, or perhaps try to help small businesses resist the encroachment of big capital.

Of course, it was just an experiment. Against capital, any resistance seemed futile.

Yet even Zhong Di never imagined that this small idea would almost drive YouTuan out of Shache County…

At first, he thought nothing of it, but after hearing Yang Meng’s complaints, he realized: this was a classic capital playbook—spend big to capture the market, change consumption habits, then squeeze both ends. Wasn’t Kuangbao the same?

Though it had nothing to do with him, he figured it couldn’t hurt to take a stand. He didn’t want to be oppressed by capital, and it was worth resisting, even if only to fail.

If everyone thought capital was irrelevant to them, never cared, never tried to resist, then one day, it would come for them.

“Chicken? What chicken? You mean the kind I’m thinking of?”

Yang Meng was stunned—she’d just been talking about YouTuan, and now Zhong Di was bringing up chicken.

“You’ll see when I bring it tomorrow,” he said, offering no further explanation—she’d understand once she’d tried it.

After chatting a bit more, Yang Meng went back to work, leaving Zhong Di to eat alone.

He slurped his noodles with relish, drawing curious looks from nearby diners. Such a good-looking young man—why eat like that?

Zhong Di paid them no mind. People these days, he thought, were too obsessed with propriety, stifling their senses for the sake of so-called civility.

Noodles should be slurped to get the full flavor. If you sacrifice that for appearances, you’re missing out.

Not littering or spitting in public is right, but fussing over how to eat a meal is just dull.

Roast lamb should be eaten with your hands; soup dumplings should be eaten whole; noodles should be slurped…

After finishing, Yang Meng refused his money, saying it was a treat for an old classmate. Zhong Di didn’t object; he’d bring a chicken tomorrow as thanks.

If Yang Meng’s noodle shop got good feedback, he planned to experiment—perhaps making chicken soup for every noodle dish. One chicken could go a long way.

He even thought of drying and grinding the meat into powder—good not just for noodles, but for stir-fries too. The utilization would be excellent.

Instead of going home after lunch, Zhong Di headed to the open market. He searched everywhere but couldn’t find a suitable supplier.

In the recipe for organic liquid fertilizer, soybeans were the main ingredient, so he needed to be careful—not just grab any bag.

“Boss, how much for the pigeons?”

While wandering around, Zhong Di spotted some pigeons—might as well buy a few to keep for fun, since he hadn’t found the soybeans he wanted.

“Fifty yuan each—meat pigeons, fed on corn, absolutely delicious.”

Seeing a young customer, the vendor was eager—young people were easy to sell to; they’d pay whatever you asked.

“Too expensive. Thirty each—I’ll take twenty. If that’s okay, we have a deal; if not, I’m leaving.”

Zhong Di was blunt. The vendor was obviously overcharging; the local market price was thirty per bird. Maybe years ago, fifty was normal, but now, thirty was the most.

They bred fast and were cheap to raise—a little thing like that didn’t eat much at all.