William Bolton took a few photos of Robert Bolton, then went into the pigsty to take some close-ups of the pigs. He also had Robert Bolton hold a piglet for a few more shots, using a wide aperture to blur out Robert Bolton’s ugly face—let’s see if your dog-like mug still comes out blurry enough.

He was confident in his photography skills. In the past, he often took artistic photos for actresses. When he was young, he liked to collect and take photos, and by chance, he developed a real talent for it—any random shot turned out to be an art photo.

William Bolton also did a quick interview with Robert Bolton. It was his first time interviewing someone, and Robert Bolton’s first time being interviewed. This guy could really brag—he talked up everything from breeding to selection, from feeding to selling, making it sound like he did it all himself, with great emotion and detail.

Matthew Miller had prepared the interview topics in advance, and William Bolton covered them all. Then he added one more question: “Does your pig feed contain ractopamine?”

Robert Bolton was stumped: “What? What racto…?” The name was too long; with his less-than-elementary education, he couldn’t even repeat it.

“Ractopamine! Lean meat powder!” William Bolton remembered that in China, the production and sale of ractopamine was strictly banned in 2011. Now it was 2011, though this was a parallel world, so he didn’t know if the same ban would apply.

Robert Bolton suddenly understood: “Lean meat powder, huh? Who doesn’t use that stuff these days? Pigs love it, they have more lean meat when sold, taste better, and sell well. It’s not like before—life’s better now, nobody needs fatty meat for rendering oil, everyone wants lean meat.”

He paused, then looked at William Bolton with a sly grin: “Go home and ask your grandpa—he definitely knows.”

William Bolton really couldn’t stand this nouveau riche’s attitude. Damn it, always taking advantage of me, showing off—let’s see how long you can keep it up. He put away his recorder and asked to take a few photos in Robert Bolton’s feed storage. The Chun Guang brand pig feed had “ractopamine” boldly printed in the ingredients list.

Robert Bolton thought it was all for his own publicity, so he agreed to everything William Bolton asked. He didn’t respect this young reporter at all—while William Bolton was busy running around, he didn’t even offer him a glass of water. He certainly wouldn’t invite him to lunch. When the interview was over, Robert Bolton reminded him to write a good article and make the photos of him and the pigs look nice.

William Bolton nodded repeatedly—he’d definitely make the pigs look better than him.

William Bolton also didn’t forget the task Emily Scott gave him. He rode his motorcycle to Kele Village. Because most of the young adults had gone out to work, there were a lot of left-behind children in the village, which led to a series of related issues.

The theme of Emily Scott’s report was caring for left-behind children, which was a very common social phenomenon in rural Pengcheng at the time.

Arriving at the gate of Kele Village Primary School, he found that since it was summer vacation, there were no classes, but the school gate was open and a few kids were happily playing on the dirt playground.

William Bolton noticed a short-haired little girl with bright, shiny black eyes and was instantly inspired. He remembered a famous “big-eyed girl” photo from Project Hope, so he searched online. In this parallel world, there was no Project Hope, nor that soul-stirring photo.

This little girl looked a lot like the one in the photo. William Bolton went over to talk to them, gave each child a bottle of green tea, and gave two extra packs of Haoduoyu snacks to successfully persuade the girl named Little Daisy to pose for some photos.

With a successful case to follow, there was no need for too much creativity. William Bolton found a classroom, had Little Daisy lean on a broken desk by the window, holding a pencil, and took several photos of her. Little Daisy was shy at first, but under his guidance, she quickly found the most comfortable and natural state.

William Bolton spent only half an hour to get the ideal shots. Looking at the previews, he felt like a photography master—he even admired himself.

Half an hour before the end of the workday, he returned to the newspaper office. William Bolton first went to report to Matthew Miller, who was playing FreeCell on the computer and absentmindedly said, “Just leave it there, I’ll sort it out when I come in tomorrow.”

“Mr. Zhou, there’s something I’d like to report to you about the Fugui Pig Farm.”

Matthew Miller was engrossed in his game and a bit impatient: “Talk to me later. Go get me a glass of water.”

If it were before, an employee with this kind of attitude would have been fired by William Bolton long ago. Public institutions and private companies really are different.

William Bolton had no choice but to go report to Emily Scott first. When Emily Scott saw the photos he’d taken, she immediately sensed this young man’s extraordinary skill and couldn’t help but give him another look. “Nice shots! Did you major in photography?”

“No, I studied broadcasting. Photography is just a hobby.”

“What do you like to shoot?”

“Nudes!” William Bolton blurted out.

Emily Scott glanced at him, feeling like his words had a hint of harassment. She was in her early thirties, still charming and attractive, and even the editor-in-chief praised her figure. Was this kid having improper thoughts about her?

William Bolton realized he’d said the wrong thing and quickly changed the subject: “Ms. Han, what do you think of these photos I took?”

“They’re good. Thanks for your hard work. Go ahead and get busy—if I need anything, I’ll let you know.”