Franklin Turner said, “Anything you pick up and put in the basket is food. If we just stick to our original few products, we definitely won’t have enough to eat. At this point, we can’t afford to be picky anymore—anything that can make money, we’ll do it. Even if we can’t get full, at least we can get half-full, right?”

“You mean, we can expand into other businesses?” Henry Sullivan understood what Franklin Turner meant. “Do you have any specific ideas?”

Franklin Turner spread his hands and said, “I don’t know the first thing about industry, how could I have any specific ideas? Director… oh, I mean, Factory Director, weren’t you always at the old machine tool plant? You have experience in this area.”

Henry Sullivan really did fall into deep thought, muttering to himself, “Gantry milling and boring machines… press machines… grinders, what could we grind…”

“Old Zhou, I say you don’t need to rack your brains now. Let’s wait until we get to the factory.” Franklin Turner interrupted Henry Sullivan’s musings in his usual straightforward way.

He had always been rather casual in how he addressed Henry Sullivan—sometimes calling him Director, sometimes Leader, and when Henry Sullivan was in a good mood, he’d even call him Old Sullivan or even Old Mr. Sullivan. Now that the two of them had been assigned together to Lin Yi Machine, they’d probably have to rely on each other from now on, so Franklin Turner’s way of addressing Henry Sullivan had become even more informal.

Henry Sullivan was brought back to reality by Franklin Turner’s words. He smiled and said, “You’re right, I don’t even know the situation at the factory yet. Thinking too much now is pointless. Once we get there, we can discuss things with the original factory leaders and middle managers—maybe we’ll come up with some ideas then.”

“Exactly, no point worrying about it now. By the way, Old Sullivan, do you want something to eat? I brought bread, pickled vegetables, and some sausages. Want to have some together?” Franklin Turner said.

Henry Sullivan waved his hand and said, “No need, my wife packed food for me too. I’m not hungry right now—I’ll go lie down and rest for a bit, and eat something later.”

“Alright, you go ahead and rest. You’ve had a tough few days.” Franklin Turner said.

Henry Sullivan’s bunk was the middle one. He took off his shoes, climbed up to his bunk, took off his jacket, lay down, and casually pulled his jacket over himself. It looked like he really intended to take a nap.

He really had been exhausted these past few days. Besides handing over and getting familiar with his future work, he also had to take care of things at home and say goodbye to some old friends and colleagues. It had been a long time since he’d had a proper night’s sleep.

Franklin Turner took a small bag down from the luggage rack, pulled out some food, and set it on the small table, getting ready to eat.

At that moment, a man of about forty, who was sleeping on the lower bunk beneath Henry Sullivan, poked his head over and said with a smile, “Young man, I have a roast chicken here—I bought it just now when we passed Shangdu Station. I can’t finish it by myself. How about we share it?”

Franklin Turner was taken aback for a moment, thinking to himself that this guy was certainly outgoing, striking up a conversation out of nowhere. He glanced at the bunk across from the man and understood.

On the opposite bunk lay a young woman, her makeup caked on half an inch thick, her expression cold and distant. The man was lying across from her, probably feeling a lot of pressure, which was why he came over to chat with Franklin Turner instead.

In those days, chatting with strangers on the train was an essential skill. Before the nationwide railway speed-up, any trip could take ten or twenty hours, and there were no cell phones or anything for entertainment. Chatting or playing cards with your seatmates was the only way to pass the time.

Earlier, Franklin Turner and Henry Sullivan had been discussing business, so the man probably didn’t want to interrupt. Now that Henry Sullivan had gone to bed and Franklin Turner was sitting alone eating, the man came over.

Franklin Turner didn’t mind the man’s attempt to make conversation. He smiled, pointed to the seat across from him, and said, “Brother, come sit over here. I’ve got some sausages—let’s eat together.”

The man was clearly a seasoned train traveler. Hearing Franklin Turner say this, he immediately left his own bunk and sat down. He took the plastic bag with the roast chicken, broke it in half with some effort, and handed one half to Franklin Turner, saying, “Come on, it’s fate that we meet—don’t be shy.”

Franklin Turner took half the roast chicken from the bag and put it in his lunchbox, then handed two sausages to the man. The man took them and put them in front of himself. After a bit of polite back-and-forth, the two of them started eating and chatting.

“Brother, where are you headed?” the man asked. He had called Franklin Turner “young man” earlier, but since Franklin Turner called him “brother” in return, he quickly switched to calling him “brother” too, making things feel more friendly.

“Linhe. How about you?”

“I’m going to Linhe too. Are you coming back from a business trip to the capital?” the man asked. It made sense—Franklin Turner was originally from Dongye Province and spoke with a bit of a Dongye accent, so the man assumed he worked in Linhe.

Franklin Turner shook his head. “I used to study in the capital. Now I’ve been assigned to work in Linhe.”

“Really?” the man asked. “What unit are you assigned to in Linhe?”

“Lin Yi Machine—you know it?”

“Lin Yi Machine?” The man looked surprised. “How did you end up getting assigned to Lin Yi Machine?”