Women seem to have a natural talent in this area, and she was instantly inspired, enthusiastically joining in the design. In the end, with input from both of them, a simple and elegant new ladies’ shoulder bag was freshly created.

Auntie Ford held it in her hands and looked it over, quite pleased. “I think it’s a bit plain. Can we add some flowers or plants or something?”

“Sure, I’ll give you a pattern.”

Brian Clark’s pocket was like Doraemon’s—he pulled out five more pieces of paper. Aside from one that looked like a hat, the rest were neither round nor square, all sorts of odd shapes.

“Practice with paper first, then cut the fabric. I’ve numbered them: use white for 1, 3, and 5; gray for 2 and 4.”

Auntie Ford didn’t really understand, but she was obedient. After fiddling for a while, she finally added the pattern. The effect was obvious—enough to make the two women jump for joy, their eyes sparkling.

“Auntie, by this standard, how long does it take to make one bag?”

“About two hours.”

“Two hours…”

Brian Clark calculated the cost and said, “How about fifty cents per bag? Make six first—three shoulder bags, three handbags.”

“Fifty cents?”

Auntie Ford was stunned—not because it was too cheap, but because it was too generous to her.

Fifty cents didn’t sound like much, but if she made six a day, that was three yuan. If business was good and the volume increased, that would be ninety yuan a month—higher than many people’s salaries.

Thinking of this, the woman actually became a bit worried. “You won’t get in trouble for doing this, will you?”

“What trouble could there be? I’m so clever.”

After much persuasion, the woman nervously agreed to cooperate. Some people are just used to being cautious—even if a pie falls from the sky, they have to think twice about whether to pick it up or walk around it.

After that, Brian Clark left a few patterns with Auntie Ford, agreed to pick up the goods tomorrow, and then left the house with Andrew Brooks.

As the two walked down the road, the girl craned her neck, glancing around again.

“I read about all this in books. I thought it over for a long time before deciding to give it a try.”

He confessed before she could even ask, “I think people in the city have a bit of money now—there should be someone who likes this. Don’t worry, I’ll go sell them myself tomorrow. If anything happens, it has nothing to do with you.”

“Pfft!”

Andrew Brooks spat, scoffing, “Is that what you think of me? Where are you planning to sell them?”

“At Ansteel.”

“Oh, that’s actually a good place.”

The girl nodded, then emphasized again, “Remember to call me tomorrow—don’t act on your own!”

Brian Clark was actually surprised and asked, “Aren’t you usually annoyed by this kind of thing? Why are you so eager now?”

“I’m annoyed by boring things. This is interesting—why wouldn’t I join in?”

“Alright then.”

He neither agreed nor disagreed.

As evening approached, it was rush hour. The street was filled with white shirts and bicycles, pushing through the still-high sun, rolling over the dust of this era, lively and bustling.

Neither of them spoke. Andrew Brooks walked with her head down, lost in thought.

Brian Clark was even more absent-minded. Here he was, strolling with a sharp-tongued yet delicate girl, but what flashed through his mind was the gentle figure from his previous life—a DIY sewing enthusiast, almost his bride.

There was no going back.

……

Brian Clark had never imagined that one day he’d be riding a bicycle, with Andrew Brooks sitting on the back, off to do some speculative business.

Both families found it odd—the kids had suddenly become inseparable, sneaking around all day, who knew what they were up to?—but no one dared to ask!

The girl sat sideways on the back seat, holding a big bundle in her arms, her other hand hesitating, unsure whether to hold on or not. In the end, she played it safe, gripping the seat all the way to their destination.

Beneath their feet was a city with clear boundaries, neatly divided by a long railway. East of the tracks was the Ansteel family housing area, west was the workers’ and civilians’ district, north was the main Ansteel factory, and only to the south was the city proper.

Brian Clark picked a spot in the northeast corner, found a place under a tree, spread out the big bundle, and laid out the six bags clearly.

Not far away was a huge factory gate, with streets and buses inside, stretching as far as the eye could see. On the other side were densely packed residences, and there was even a hospital nearby.

“This is Ansteel!” the girl said enviously.

“Yeah, Ansteel!”

Brian Clark’s tone was complicated, his feelings even deeper.

From the Liberation to the early 1990s, just how important was Ansteel? At one point, the core idea of a central five-year plan was to concentrate national resources and go all out to build Ansteel.

At the time, over 500 county-level and above officials were transferred from all over the country, and more than 500 highly educated engineering and management personnel were recruited from Central and South China, just to fill the gaps.

A writer from the Northeast once described: “Back then, a large number of factories sprang up on the vast, empty black soil, and only then did cities appear. These factories were the backbone of the city.”

The 1980s were still Ansteel’s golden age—over 100,000 employees, more than 500 affiliated units, with everything from hospitals, kindergartens, primary and secondary schools, even funeral homes, fire brigades, farms, and barbershops.

Truly, it was the lifeblood supporting this city.

“Ring ring ring!”

“Ring ring ring!”