Chapter 205: Gifting the Gear

Old Zhao’s so-called “gear” wasn’t all that advanced, really.

Any seasoned fisherman would know that fishing rods can be categorized based on how many segments they have: single-piece rods, multi-section rods, and plug-in rods.

Single-piece rods, also known as “one-piece rods,” are made from bamboo or other materials and consist of just one segment. They’re typically around four meters long, known for their durability, flexibility, and resistance to breaking. The downside? They’re not easy to carry around.

Multi-section rods, on the other hand, can have anywhere from two to twenty joints. They’re easy to transport but tend to break more easily at the joints.

Among multi-section rods, there are two main types: plug-in rods and telescopic rods.

Telescopic rods are easy to understand—just think of a collapsible umbrella. The rod body is hollow, and its segments retract into the base handle. To use it, you extend one section at a time; when done, you push them back in, also one by one. These are highly portable, but not as sturdy as plug-in rods.

Plug-in rods, meanwhile, are made by inserting progressively thicker segments into each other. Their joints fit tightly, giving the rod solid overall strength and a thinner profile.

In fact, plug-in rods like these have existed since the Republic of China era.

So, all things considered, Old Zhao’s gear wasn’t anything new or revolutionary.

Some might criticize Zhou Yimin for pulling out a rod with a reel, thinking it’s a modern invention that didn’t exist back then. Rods without reels are usually classified as hand rods.

But such concerns are entirely unnecessary.

In truth, the earliest known depiction of a rod with a reel in China dates back to the Song Dynasty.

In the painting Fishing Alone on a Cold River by the famous Song painter Ma Yuan, the fisherman is shown holding a rod equipped with a reel. It looks strikingly similar to modern spinning rods.

If we use that painting as the starting point for reel rods in China, then it’s safe to say that China has had rods with reels for at least 800 years.

Moreover, the Collected Illustrations of Ancient and Modern Times includes a Ming Dynasty woodblock print titled Fishing Cart, which shows an old fisherman holding a rod with a reel in his left hand, reeling in with his right. A soft-shelled turtle is being pulled from the water.

This suggests that reel rods were already quite widespread among common people during the Ming Dynasty.

That’s exactly why Zhou Yimin had no problem gifting such a set of fishing gear.

When Old Zhao asked about it, Zhou Yimin didn’t panic. He simply shook his head and said, “I’m not sure. A friend gave it to me. Might be foreign-made.”

So what if it was foreign?

Despite how closed-off China might seem, imported goods weren’t exactly rare. Watches, for instance—many of the popular brands were from overseas.

Especially in Friendship Stores, which were overflowing with foreign products.

As everyone knew, Friendship Stores were different from regular department stores. Originally, they were only open to foreign guests and dignitaries.

They sold things that couldn’t be found on the open market, often items considered “special supply” at the time.

Canned goods from Meilin in Shanghai, Western pastries from Qishilin in Tianjin, double-sided embroidery from Suzhou, brocade from Hangzhou, cashmere sweaters from Snow Lotus in Beijing, and hot-ticket items like bicycles and watches for which the Chinese people yearned…

Then there were imported home appliances, whiskey, Marlboro cigarettes—Friendship Store exclusives.

Nowadays, the Friendship Store even had a slogan: “If it’s on the market, we’ve got the best. If it’s missing from the market, we’ve got it. If it’s trending overseas, we’ve got it too!”

So even if Zhou Yimin admitted the gear was foreign-made, it wasn’t a big deal.

Old Zhao didn’t care if it was foreign either. He was clearly delighted with the fishing gear and couldn’t stop admiring it.

“Yimin, you’ve been very thoughtful.”

If it had been something else, he might not have accepted it. But such fine fishing gear—he truly couldn’t refuse.

He was counting on this set to help him regain some face and dominate at the fishing grounds! He was already picturing the scene in his head: fish after fish being reeled in, all eyes on him.

He could barely stop himself from heading out right away to cast a few lines.

But of course, Old Zhao wouldn’t accept such a generous gift without returning the favor.

And the return gift would certainly be just as significant—just maybe not today.

After some chatting, Zhou Yimin learned that Director Ding’s brother-in-law was named Zhao Jiadong. He worked in the Propaganda Department—and held a fairly high-ranking position.

The Zhao family didn’t lack food either. With pork and mutton on hand, Master He was free to flex his culinary skills, whipping up six dishes that looked and smelled amazing.

And that made sense—just Director Ding alone had access to the vast logistics resources of a steel factory. Getting good food for his family was practically effortless.

In this world, no matter how tough life was for most, there would always be a group of people who never worried about their next meal.

As Old Zhao put it: he’d fought half his life on the battlefield, faced death time and again—couldn’t he enjoy himself a bit now? What was wrong with eating well?

He was an old Red*Army soldier. He’d fought against the Japanese, fought in the Civil War, and even wandered around Seoul a few years ago—without a passport, mind you.

He’d only stepped down in the past two or three years.

To Zhou Yimin, it all sounded fair.

Just like in the modern day, when the children of martyrs are granted extra points on their entrance exams—those who bled and made contributions for the country deserve a bit of compensation, right?

“Dad, don’t drink so much, the doctor—”

The old man wasn’t having it.

He’d fought half his life. What was wrong with drinking a bit more?

“To hell with doctors. I know my own limits. Don’t you go lecturing me.”

Since when does a son lecture his father?

Doctors this, doctors that—Old Zhao scoffed at the idea.

He’d taken more than a few bullets in his life. One time, he was even told by a doctor he didn’t have long to live! And yet, here he was, perfectly fine, still downing two or three bowls of white rice with ease.

Zhao Jiadong and the others were speechless.

“You know your own limits, huh?”

Despite Zhou Yimin being an “outsider,” the atmosphere around the table was warm and lively as the food and drinks flowed.

Zhou Yimin finally let go of his last bit of caution. It was clear that Old Zhao was an endearing old man—straightforward and genuine, not the scheming type.

Honestly, he had been a little wary coming into this meal. You can never be too careful when dealing with people, after all.

As they say, alcohol reveals one’s true nature. After a few drinks, Old Zhao’s face turned slightly red, but he was still just as blunt and forthright, which made Zhou Yimin completely drop his guard and join in the laughter and conversation.

“Yimin! Just be careful what you say when you’re out in public,” Zhao Jiadong reminded him.

Working in the Propaganda Department, he was particularly sensitive to language and phrasing.

Some of the things Zhou Yimin had said during their chat had, let’s just say, gone a bit beyond the standard vocabulary.

If the wrong person heard and decided to make trouble, it could cause some problems.

Old Zhao, however, chuckled and said, “You guys shouldn’t talk like that. Yimin saying a little is fine.”

He didn’t elaborate on why.

Zhao Jiadong and Ding Shengtai were both taken aback and couldn’t help but wonder: Who exactly is this guy?

Zhou Yimin smiled and said, “Uncle Zhao, don’t worry. There’s no one else here anyway!”

He’d said it on purpose.

Seeing how kind and well-meaning Zhao Jiadong and the others were in reminding him, he felt even more at ease about future interactions.

(End of Chapter)