After reincarnation, attack as a female imp!

Ma Chengwu's attention was not on Li Jing at all, his eyes only wandered between Zhou Xinshu and Qin Zhixin.

When Zhou Xinshu met his gaze, he would keep looking straight, but when Qin Zhixin met his gaze, Ma Chengwu would avoid it. He felt embarrassed to be looked at by such a beautiful woman, even if this beautiful woman was not even half his age.

"Look, in a few days, our school will be holding a sports meet with No. 1 Middle School's Ningjiang Middle School. It will be held in No. 1 Middle School's newly built gymnasium. Principal Qiao wants you to lead the team as the face of our Nanling Experimental High School, to overshadow No. 1 Middle School."

Qin Zhixin was a little confused. She didn't know what was going on in the school leaders' minds, but she probably knew what they were planning. They wanted to use the beauty trap and rely on a beautiful woman to do some tricks.

Ma Chengwu continued to explain.

"No. 1 Middle School is rich, after all. Their newly built gymnasium and playground can accommodate several thousand people, which is quite a stretch. Our gymnasium can only accommodate one grade of students, but their grade at No. 1 Middle School has twice as many people as ours. Just imagine how big that is, and how much it costs the government? And they even hired a TV station to broadcast the event. Look at the students from the nearby Nanling University of Science and Technology; they have to come to our gymnasium and borrow our old playground to play basketball. Our gymnasium at Nanling Experimental High School is already quite large in Nanling City, but with what that bastard from No. 1 Middle School has done, theirs is probably the best-equipped in the entire city. They're just trying to use this opportunity to put pressure on us, Nanling Experimental High School."

Ma Chengwu fell silent after that. He referred to Nanling No. 1 Middle School as "No. 1 Middle School," and he said it very quickly, both pronounced in Nanling dialect, with flat tones, sounding like one word. And when he mentioned Nanling Experimental High School, he used its full name, enunciating it word by word, trying to pronounce it as clearly as possible, which was quite amusing.

Qin Zhixin didn't know what to say at this moment. This stupid leader was almost the same all over the world. It was fine if he didn't care about anything, but once he took charge, he would mess things up. She was left in a state of confusion. She took a sip of the pineapple beer can and drank it slowly without saying anything. She was just waiting for Zhou Xinshu to express his opinion.

But Zhou Xinshu didn't say anything. Instead, Li Jing broke the silence with a long burp.

Chapter 66: Wolf-Looking Owl-Standing

While Qin Zhixin was still listening to Ma Chengwu's nonsense in the office, nine hundred kilometers away from her, in Shou'an Town, Fuliang County, Jingdezhen City, Anhui Province.

Huang Mengsong had just woken up. To be more precise, he'd been woken by the warmth of his blanket. He'd slept through the day, and now that the autumnal equinox had just passed, the nights in the mountains were a bit chilly. If he opened the window, he'd have to sleep under a blanket. But when the sun came out during the day, the temperature rose again, and even covering himself with a blanket would have made him feel too warm.

After waking up, Huang Mengsong didn't want to get up. He turned on his mobile phone and stared at the two beautiful girls in the photo album in a daze.

This photo was posted by a person named "Muzi Gou" in a group called "Chushengzhijia." It was taken secretly. He sat next to two girls while they were having dinner and filmed them like a thief. It's a good thing he filmed it secretly, otherwise he wouldn't have seen the photo. Someone found out about the two girls. They're both high school students from Nanling, one surnamed Qin and the other Tang.

He felt that he was born too early. Although he did not consider himself a visual person, the little girl was so beautiful that he fell in love with her at first sight.

Huang Mengsong, male, 24 years old, with a bachelor's degree, should be considered a native of Gan Province, at least his household registration book says Gan Province.

But his father Huang Qinzhou told him that he was actually born in a village under Nanling City, Jiangsu Province.

Gang, also known as a mountain village, generally means a village on a mountain ridge. My father, Huang Qinzhou, told me it was a great place. Not many people there, with picturesque scenery. There were many rabbits, badgers, wild boars, and monkeys in the mountains, and fish, crabs, and turtles in the water.

There were wild mountains around that hill, and one had to take several detours to get there, but this was how they managed to avoid the war.

The mountains were full of badgers, and Huang Qinzhou hated them. At night, the mixed-haired badgers would start to bray non-stop, as if they were plagued by disease. These evil little creatures had a high-pitched, long-drawn-out call, resembling the bray of a donkey, but more ferocious. They were also very clever and difficult to catch, and their meat was not plentiful, so it tasted bland.

My father always remembered a family in the village. He always said that there was a family named Tang who had fled here before the founding of the People's Republic of China. They were a family of handsome men and beautiful women. When he was still alive, the Tang family had a son and a daughter. The son was as handsome as a girl, and the daughter was even more beautiful.

According to her father, Huang Qinzhou, even as a little girl, she was already much more beautiful than the celebrities on the calendars. Her skin was as white as the snow that fell in the third winter, her hands were as smooth as the ice on the surface of the Qixiang River, and her smile was so charming that it was even more beautiful than the plum blossoms blooming beside the frozen riverbed.

Unfortunately, his father left Jiangsu Province early. He committed a crime shortly after returning home from the army. When he moved, the girl from that family was still in elementary school. Every time Huang Qinzhou talked about the Tang family's daughter, Huang Mengsong felt overwhelmed. He felt his father was probably sexually repressed, obsessed with that little girl, and had been in heat for over twenty years.

Huang Mengsong is in a group called "Chushengzhijia" whose owner is called "Hunyuan Dachu". He thinks that the person behind the SpongeBob SquarePants avatar with a wretched middle-aged uncle's face is definitely a middle-aged scumbag.

But he doesn't have a God's perspective.

Huang Mengsong had no idea such a coincidence could exist. A generation ago, Huang Mengsong's father had known young Tang Yuyu, and this generation, Huang Mengsong, was connected to Qin Zhixin. Even though they had moved two provinces apart, the internet brought the distant nearer and nearer.

His nickname in the group is " ", which is a Greek letter, transliterated as "Sigma". There is no special meaning. He could just as well be called "Alpha", "Beta", or "Gamma". It's just like most online names. He just likes diving, and the Greek symbol is difficult to pronounce.

Gan Province is a very strange place with a strong clan atmosphere. Many villages and towns in Gan Province have only a few surnames. The proportion of Han people in Gan Province is the second highest in the country, and the province with the highest proportion of Han people is Shaanxi Province.

Take Shou'an Town in Fuliang County, where Huang Mengsong lived, for example. Many people in the town were surnamed Huang, along with others named Dai and Wang. These three surnames almost made up the majority of Shou'an Town's population, leading Huang Mengsong, as a child, to mistakenly believe they were also common throughout China. It wasn't until he went to Qindao University that he realized the Huang surname wasn't common in China at all, and that it was only prevalent in Jiangxi Province. Beyond Huang, Wang and Dai also shared the same surnames. Outside his hometown, Huang Mengsong didn't know many people with the Huang surname.

Sometimes he felt like he wasn't a true Gan province native, but he didn't consider himself a Jiangsu province native either. He only knew Jiangsu province as his birthplace, but he had only been to Nanling a few times, each time to visit his current girlfriend, and they'd always had a disagreement over the betrothal gift.

He felt like a native of Anhui Province, with the taste, accent, habits and world outlook all like a native of Anhui Province.

When Huang Mengsong was a child, his distant cousin took him on a tattered 50cc CFMOTO scooter. They could go to Xiuning County in Anhui Province and back with one tank of gas.

He grew up eating Xiuning County's local specialties: spring water fish, hairy tofu, and Wucheng dried tea cakes. He's even more Anhuiese than the locals. But his favorite is Xiuning County's Lantian spotted pig. Freshly slaughtered, it roasts beautifully, tender and fragrant, without a hint of mutton. It's even better when made into bacon, its fat translucent and rosy red. When sliced ​​thinly, it even has the texture of agate. Even sliced ​​raw, it's delicious.

His family's Shou'an Town lies at the border of Jiangxi and Anhui provinces, but according to Huang Qinzhou, his true home is a mountain village near Nanling in Jiangsu Province. His father committed a crime and feared being arrested and executed, so he fled to Jiangxi Province to seek refuge with distant relatives. But running from one mountain to another—wasn't that a wasted trip?

Huang Mengsong didn't know what his father was thinking.

His father liked to check the weather forecast, and good weather was needed to dry tea leaves. But even if the forecast said it would be sunny, his father would prepare a tarp just in case. But the way he handled the tarp always made Huang Mengsong think he was going hunting.

"The weather doesn't follow the TV. What's broadcast on TV is just predicting the weather, not creating it."

Huang Mengsong always felt that his father, Huang Qinzhou, was saying something similar. Huang Qinzhou's expression was strangely fierce. Even though his father always wore a simple, innocent smile, that fake smile still made him nervous.

…………

Huang Qinzhou is a retired soldier. In 1985, he was still in Annan, where the Nanling Military Region was on rotation. He was stationed at the forefront of the artillery outpost in Balidong Mountain. Life on the front lines was boring. He couldn't light a fire, so he ate pork straight from cans. The greasy lard was so bitter in his mouth, and the compressed biscuits were so greasy that he couldn't even poop.

Therefore, Huang Qinzhou likes to watch the weather. The weather is the "monkey whistle". When it is cloudy, rainy or foggy, the monkeys will bend their waists and come up.

Huang Qinzhou likes this kind of depressing weather. The more depressing the weather is, the better his mood is, because only when the monkeys come up can he catch them alive and play with them.

During the bombardment, he would feel an inexplicable joy the moment the shells hit the ground and exploded. Once the bombardment ended and it was confirmed to be safe, several people in the position would rush to find survivors. They would drag the monkeys stunned by the shells into the cat ear cave, strip them naked, and then carefully tie them up. Huang Qinzhou would use his bayonet to cut a small hole in his stomach and pour dirty water into it. The dirty water was fermented in a kettle with rotten intestines, minced meat, feces, etc. Later, he would stuff a few cans of braised pork into the wound, stuffing it tightly until the belly was bulging, and then he would wrap the wound with wire to prevent wasting heat.

When hurt, the monkeys would cry, "woooooo." Huang Qinzhou was delighted by the monkeys' cries. He would time them with a coarse-caliber "Jinling" watch, made in Nanling. He would count the seconds as the monkeys howled, and then count how long a human would howl. But the howling usually didn't last long. The wounds would become infected and maggots would infest them. The monkeys would quickly develop a fever from the "dirty water," and when they became delirious with fever, they would roll their eyes and stop howling, even if the monkeys were still alive.

Lard begins to melt at 28 degrees, and the monkey can be heated to 40 degrees. When the monkey is completely exhausted, they take out the cans. The canned pork heated by body temperature is hot and moist, and it tastes delicious when opened.

The monkey was lucky enough to provide several people in the position with hot canned food for three days.

Huang Qinzhou felt that this pre-meal etiquette was a sign of piety to his ancestors.

Huang Mengsong didn’t know all this. He only knew that his father was not an honest man, but must be a tough guy.

When he first arrived in Jiangxi Province, he was still very young and had no memories. Later, when he started elementary school, his family was broke. The small supermarket in town sold "beef-flavored pork," and his mother would occasionally buy a five-yuan piece of meat and stir-fry it with onions and screw peppers. There was far more vegetables than meat, and the little bit of "beef-flavored pork" was just a garnish, giving the overflowing dish a slightly meaty flavor.

Later, my mother was hit and killed by someone from the same town. The man was mentally ill, and his family was trying to use this to exonerate him. Huang Qinzhou said nothing. He was never one to argue, let alone make a scene. He preferred to resolve problems his own way.

Soon after, the man's entire family disappeared, with no one found alive or dead. Months later, a distant relative discovered the family's disappearance and reported it to the police. While the police suspected Huang Qinzhou, he had evidence that he had been in Xiuning County. Despite several visits, the police couldn't uncover anything.

Huang Qinzhou also had enough money to contract a tea plantation at that time.

After my mother died, my family became wealthy in the town.

From that time on, the "beef-flavored pork" on the table disappeared, and stir-fries no longer had more vegetables than meat. Lantian spotted pigs from the neighboring county became the most common meat dish on the family's dinner table. But Huang Mengsong's heart always felt empty, like a piece of thick cowhide that had been cut open.

An inexplicable sense of disconnection made him uneasy, but he also felt that his father was right. He was Huang Qinzhou's son, but he felt that he had not inherited any of Huang Qinzhou's ruthlessness.

After admiring the photos of Qin Zhixin and Tang Manwen, Huang Mengsong got up and glanced at the crib next to him.

His son was not sleeping inside, but Huang Mengsong was not in a hurry. He probably thought that Huang Qinzhou had taken him to see it.

Anyway, he didn't like his son. His son didn't look like him. He just slept and cried all day long. He was so annoyed that he wanted to find a place to bury the kid alive in a hole.

Chapter 67 The Beast Wanders

About three months ago, Huang Mengsong returned to his hometown directly after graduating from Qindao University.

With his first-class degree, he would have been a top student in his hometown, but he didn't look for a job or take the civil service exam. He just helped out in the tea shop at home because he could earn more money that way.

His father contracted 80 mu of mountain land to cultivate tea trees when he was just in elementary school. Honestly, Shou'an's climate wasn't ideal for tea cultivation. The leaves of his father's tea trees, of unknown varieties, were never quite as pretty. After withering in a low-temperature dryer, they had a pungent, grassy odor and a foul, rotten smell. After fermentation and drying, there was a lot of tea residue, and even the first brew couldn't overcome the bitterness.

Huang Mengsong thought his tea was rubbish, and several elders in the clan thought so too. Huang Qinzhou didn't comment on their comments; he was too lazy to agree. Echoing was the most useless expression, worse than farting.

Even he thought it was trash tea. It was trash tea, or to put it bluntly, tea dregs.

Huang Mengsong has been helping out at the tea shop since he was in junior high school. He helps pick leaves in spring and autumn. Only spring and autumn leaves can be used to make tea. One acre of tea forest can produce about 200 kilograms. This kilogram sells for about 20 yuan. Selling all the tea for half a year brings in about 300,000 yuan. After deducting the cost of tea, he still makes 200,000 yuan a year.

This was the most ideal result for the Huang family’s 80-acre tea forest.

In previous years, Huang Qinzhou would directly contact a tea factory in Fuliang County to receive the goods. They just had to do the work and others would come to collect them when the time came.

But things started to get tough last year. Fuliang County's tea factories weren't doing well. In previous years, they'd just shipped tea to a few nearby cities, where they could sell a fair amount. But with the construction of the expressway and the emergence of e-commerce, local tea was directly squeezed out by Fujian Province, making it unsalable.

The taste of tea is very subjective. Some people like the cooked taste, some like the fresh taste, and some like the sweet aftertaste.

But whether tea tastes good or not is a very objective matter. If it tastes bad, it tastes bad. No matter how many definitions are added to describe it, Fuliang tea has no cost-effectiveness. Seeing that the tea at home was about to be stored in the warehouse, Huang Mengsong became anxious. When people are anxious, they tend to ask questions blindly like a headless fly. But he asked the right person. He asked "Hunyuan Dachu", the group owner of "Chusheng Home".

This old dog started out with his usual rudeness and sarcasm, and then he made false statements.

Hunyuan Dachu: No, why do you think it's Fujian's tea that's keeping yours from selling? Their high-end tea is well made, and one or two ounces of it is equivalent to a hundred pounds of your crappy stuff. They don't have to worry about sales at all.

……

[Hunyuan Dachu: Your tea is not so bad that you can't sell it, right? Nowadays, everyone drinks sweetened water. Who would drink tea for no reason? Your crappy tea is just for flavoring water. Now there are beverages, who would still drink your crappy tree leaves?]

……

Hunyuan Dachu: Can't you just crush it and make tea bags? Make the packaging more refined, with some baroque patterns. Don't write Chinese on the front; use French or German to fool around. The urban bourgeoisie, bored out of their minds, will love this. Don't worry about the back; use a trademark like Baron So-and-so, Viscount So-and-so, or Earl So-and-so. Who cares? Can it be as bad as that crappy Lipton stuff?

……

Hunyuan Dachu: Have you seen "Tiny Times"? That kind of shit gets sought after just by pretending to be a foreign luxury product. Even if your tea is awful, as long as it doesn't kill you, adding pigment to it is considered pure British style. Domestic tea dregs are overpriced at thirty or forty yuan per pound, but foreign tea dregs can be made into exquisite tea bags. If you sell a 100-gram box for fifty yuan, people still think it's cheap.

……

[Hunyuan Dachu: Why can't French and German be British? If those idiots knew all that, would they still spend money on your crap? You think too highly of them. They have taste, money, and a taste for foreign tea—these three are an impossible triangle.]

……

Hunyuan Dachu: No, who said this is a scam? It's called information asymmetry, okay? How can information asymmetry be a scam? You're selling something when the product is in your hands, and you don't just brag about it. You sell it online, spend some money on a website, add a few posts, and pretend it's a foreign brand. People who don't drink tea normally will understand? You're not selling fake tea, so the tea leaves can't be high-end foreign tea? Anyway, your hometown is right next to Jingdezhen. Find a few cheap tea sets with intricate patterns, and run a promotion where you buy a certain number of boxes of tea and get a free set. These idiots will be so happy that their dermatitis will loosen up.

…………

The time when the tea was not sold was not easy for Huang Qinzhou.

An honest and decent middle-aged man, he didn't know who the problem was. If someone was deliberately suppressing him, it could be solved physically, but at that time he felt quite confused, as if "drawing his sword and looking around with a confused heart."

When he was a soldier, he killed people in Annan, and when he returned to China, he killed more people with his own hands than he killed sheep. Maybe he himself would not admit that some of the people he killed were human beings, but even such a ruthless character would still feel pressure when he had no market and when he should feel pressure.

Every day the tea is stored in the warehouse is a cost. The money he has saved for half a lifetime is like fine sand slipping through Huang Qinzhou's fingers. No matter how tightly he clenched his fist, he couldn't slow down the loss. This made him miss the peaceful time he spent counting the seconds with the monkeys in Bali Dongshan.

Monkeys were howling in the cat ear cave, and rockets were whistling outside the cat ear cave. Their lives were lost in their cries.

But now it's his turn.

It seemed a tragic story: an honest tea farmer on the verge of bankruptcy, driven by the internet's pressure. Perhaps in two years, Huang Qinzhou's decades of hard work would be completely wasted, the tea forests in the mountains barren, just like the war-torn Balidong Mountain thirty years ago.

But the direction is different.

A person's fate is always closely linked to the times. Perhaps a careless remark from someone else can bring a sudden enlightenment to a life struggling on the brink of drowning. Huang Qinzhou once again seized the opportunity. He no longer struggled on the brink of drowning, and fresh air would once again fill every alveolus of his lungs.

"Hunyuan Dachu" said a lot, but the core is actually just one sentence: make money from fools.

These words were said casually by Hunyuan Dachu during the breaks in the group chat about pornography. Huang Mengsong's sensibility told him that this old pig-dog was a touch creature with almost no morals, and he could always say nonsense seriously.

But Huang Mengsong still listened to him. The tea in his family’s stock could not be kept for too long. Shou’an Town was at the foot of the mountain and the air was still too humid.

When there's no pressure, people can always speak high-sounding, seemingly righteous nonsense, but Huang Mengsong knows the source of his comfortable life since childhood. Before his father contracted the tea plantation, he could only eat Lantian Flower Pig during the Spring Festival. The tea produced in this tea plantation may not be of good quality, but this is the place that raised him. Huang Mengsong will not let it wither in his hands, and Huang Qinzhou will not let it wither either.

He discussed with his father on the phone and decided to cooperate with Wankang Tea Factory in Fuliang County to produce tea bags.

It took a month to prepare the product, which started selling in August last year, but the finished product sold surprisingly well. I guess it was luck, as all the tea dregs in stock were sold out in less than two months, and the response was surprisingly good.

Whether it's lies or deception, as long as it can bring enough nutrients, the means are never important.

By sheer coincidence, Huang Qinzhou, under pressure, chose to change, a blessing in disguise for both father and son. Through the rhetoric of a young "Hunyuan Dachu," they had inadvertently stepped into a niche market for "worshiping foreign things," clumsily fluttering their wings on the back of online shopping.

In 2013, brewing tea with tea bags was still a fashionable lifestyle. After all, using tea bags looked very European and American. After selling his inventory, Huang Qinzhou spent the rest of his time collecting tea in Fuliang County, earning more in a month than he had in a year of hard work. In the middle of last year, he worried about how to sell his tea, and by the end of the year, he was worried about finding alternative sources of tea.

This year, Huang Qinzhou plans to buy half of the shares of Fuliang County Tea Factory, create a legitimate brand, and expand it.

Their product comes in the same paper box as Lipton, but with more floral patterns, less Chinese characters, and more foam in the tea bags. And the price is lower. Huang Mengsong designed this ridiculously foreign packaging himself, using patterns from off-the-shelf French court porcelain, slightly changing the colors, and then using a translation website to scramble some German text.

He didn't use French because the words there aren't long enough and don't sound as "European" as German.

The German word for "crushed raw tea bag" can take up a whole line. A tea bag is simply tea dregs, the worst kind of ground tea dregs. Whether the outside is genuine or not is no longer important, nor is even the quality of the inside.

People cannot imagine what they have never seen. When they have money, they will find that the things they longed for in childhood are insignificant.

A typical new middle-class Chinese person only sees the so-called "elegant" lifestyle of the foreign middle-class on Japanese TV when they are young, and they will be envious when they are young. When they grow up and have money, they will blindly imitate them, and therefore they will make a lot of embarrassing mistakes, such as writing manuscripts in Starbucks.

They seem to believe that the rapid development brought about by industrialization on a scale unprecedented in human history that their country is experiencing is natural and deserved, and that every country with so-called "cheap labor" can equally enjoy it.

But this is ultimately an illusion.

Development is a rare opportunity for a country, and perpetual progress is an enviable privilege. Even for most countries, maintaining the status quo is considered an exceptional political achievement. More countries are experiencing a decline induced by industrial transfers and cost-sharing brought about by globalization.

In a rising nation, the rapid mobility of classes has led to countless myths of wealth creation. This impetuous social environment can blind many people. It's a twist of history's humor that China unexpectedly became the biggest beneficiary of the postwar Yalta system. But precisely because of this, much of China's new middle class has unwaveringly embraced too many empty, beautiful things.

Civilization, political system, race, living habits, including tea bags.

Even though China's tea culture has been developed longer than in most countries, most people who are going through the stage of blindly worshipping Western society will not understand it.

During this phase, people are more likely to blindly imitate everything from "civilized people"—from their diet to their daily lives. This desire to imitate "civilized people" brings in business, creating a niche for those who dare to capitalize on "information asymmetry," creating a bizarre social food chain.

Although this crappy tea is still as bad as ever, it's just packaged in a new way. But those who know about it don't buy it, and those who buy don't know about it. This is enough.

Those who believe that "Western tea bags are more upscale" will simply think that "Westerners like to drink this kind of tea" no matter how astringent it is, and then continue to indulge in their own weird sense of superiority and reverse nationalism of "moving closer to the civilized world."

But at least the tea was sold, and the matter came to an end.

But people always experience troubles one after another, and the troubles encountered by Huang Mengsong, a young man of marriageable age from a "poor" province, are the same as those encountered by most of his male fellow villagers of the same age.

He was forced into a marriage with a woman he already hated. Although Huang Mengsong did not want to get married so early, he had a son.

Huang Mengsong always felt too cowardly to be Huang Qinzhou's son, even though they looked like they were looking in the mirror. He still felt his son was an accident. He had taken all the necessary precautions, but his girlfriend still got pregnant. The eight-month-old premature baby weighed 7.5 jin (15.3 catties), almost bordering on macrosomia.