“The Leaders Haven’t Come; Don’t Sell Yet”

A Note Before We Begin

When I was writing the first draft in October 2024, every line was full of feeling. I did not understand how the company worked. I was angry; I was indignant. By the time I revised the draft this year, I had gone through a “baptism” at another state-owned enterprise, and looking back, those things at the time seemed fairly ordinary. The only thing that had not changed was this sense of “playing house”.

I had misgivings, worried that telling everything as it really happened would cause trouble, so I changed the names of the people, places, brands, and the e-commerce mini program involved. The story is true; I am sharing only one cross-section of it.

“Qingzhou” is a pseudonym. The names of the agricultural produce brands in this article are also pseudonyms.

In August 2022, I joined an agricultural produce company in the Qingzhou Development Zone to work in marketing. The marketing department had just been set up. This state-owned agricultural produce company had been established for more than a decade and had seen private capital come in. When I joined, it was in the middle of a mixed-ownership restructuring — all of our work consisted of running a mini programme called Qingzhou Weidao. At the time, the company was not really going all-in on e-commerce. It was simply running this project for the Qingzhou District Agricultural Committee, and if the mini programme performed well, the company could receive government subsidies.

This business logic, neither truly market-oriented nor truly aimed at public service, set the stage for all the chaos that followed.

◉ Qingzhou by day and dusk.

The Qingzhou Development Zone lies along the lower reaches of the Yangtze River. Its overall character seems little different from other small riverside towns in the Jiangsu and Zhejiang region. With its broad, fertile land, it has a natural advantage in agriculture. However, as a development zone under a certain city known for its economy, its GDP performance has not been impressive over the ten years since Qingzhou was upgraded from a county to a district. The district government has instead turned to developing “distinctive features” by building online trading platforms and extending the national profile of local agricultural produce; this can also count as a new initiative under the internet economy.

At first, it sounded like a good job, and I was excited. I had been an editor at a food video media company, making cooking tutorials and short food documentaries, and I had travelled to many places around the country to record local specialities. I had also done product promotion for a chain food brand. This time, I thought I could get to the source of agricultural produce, really complete the “from land to table” concept packaging, and give farmers real, tangible help. Besides, the mini program already had official backing, so I imagined there would be plenty of extra support, and the work would surely be easy to carry out.

However, a few months after I joined the company, my enthusiasm was doused. I gradually realized that this government-led mini program was not purely driven by e-commerce logic at all. It was mixed with government directives, the rules of a favour-based society, and shareholding struggles. How much agricultural produce could be sold was, in fact, the least important goal.

In the two years that followed, I felt as if I were taking part in a game of “playing house”, until I was finally forced to leave. Before long, the mini program “disappeared” as well.

Where the Produce Comes From

After I joined, my first important task in the marketing department was to take the existing group-buying business online.

I had assumed that doing e-commerce meant dealing directly with ordinary consumers, with everything coming down to planning marketing campaigns, creating social media content to drive traffic, and operating the mini programme. But to my surprise, the company also added a veteran salesperson, Lao Pu, to our marketing department. Lao Pu had been doing group-buying business at the company for more than ten years.

Lao Pu’s group-buying experience was mainly aimed at enterprises and public institutions: for many years, our company had mainly done B2B business. After buying agricultural produce in bulk, we sold part wholesale to shopping malls and supermarkets, and used part as welfare group-buying for enterprises and public institutions—every time there was a festival or holiday, enterprises and public institutions would release their welfare budgets in advance; if we won the bid, we would purchase local agricultural produce and deliver it to the employees. This kind of institutional holiday-welfare business operates on a completely different logic from the outside, fully competitive retail market.

Lao Pu is just over forty this year. When he joined, he did not take part in any online work; he simply added two steps to the old group-buying business with enterprises and public institutions: the agreed product bundles were listed online, and paper redemption vouchers were produced and sent to partner institutions. In practice, we were the ones who had to carry out these two steps for Lao Pu. If employees of partner institutions ran into problems redeeming them, we had to do double duty as customer service and answer their queries.

Lao Pu was used to coming and going on his own. He rarely stayed in the office, always saying he was out doing business. I never really became familiar with him. At first I did not understand why he had been placed in the marketing department, but after some time I noticed that on normal days our turnover was only a few dozen to a few hundred yuan, whereas before holidays it could spike to four or five thousand yuan. Then it struck me: our performance depended almost entirely on Lao Pu’s group-buying business. If we relied only on selling to individual consumers, the overall turnover would be unacceptably low, and at year-end we would certainly be unable to give a satisfactory account to those above.

◉ A hairy crab cooperative in Qingzhou.

The second important task in the marketing department was to build a regional public brand for agricultural produce.

Before our mini programme went live, the Qingzhou government had promoted a public agricultural brand called “Fengyue Haichuan” (a pseudonym). I had heard that originally they had wanted to register the two-character name “Qingzhou” directly, but because trademark law provided that place names could not be used directly as trademarks, they broke down the character forms, and this is how “Fengyue Haichuan” came to be. Many local farmers had used the brand’s packaging boxes, and local media had also carried quite a few reports on “Fengyue Haichuan”. However, when a new district leadership team took office, it named a new brand, “Qinghe San Xiongdi”, and said that in the future everything would start anew, with “Qinghe San Xiongdi” fully replacing “Fengyue Haichuan”.

The logo for “Qinghe San Xiongdi” was designed by us in the marketing department. The part-time graphic designer spent half a day making an icon. There was no brand story and no colour guidelines; in any case, the Agricultural Committee simply approved it. In February of the following year, the name soon appeared in the government work report: “Improve the public brand system for agricultural produce, launch a unified logo for ‘Qinghe San Xiongdi’, and build the ‘Qingzhou Weidao’ platform.”

The new brand was formally unveiled. At first glance, it was easy to feel that I was taking part in some grand event; with official backing, everything should have been smooth sailing. However, during the first six months after I joined, the biggest effort I put in was searching everywhere for suppliers and persuading them to sell on our mini programme, but they did not give this official platform much face.

◉ White-cut chicken at a Qingzhou restaurant, made from locally free-range chickens.

It was only after I joined that I gradually learned just how many kinds of local speciality produce Qingzhou had. When ordering at Jiangsu and Zhejiang restaurants, cold starters often included Qingzhou golden pumpkin shreds and Qingzhou lamb. Qingzhou-grown rice was also good, and Qingzhou rice wine made from it was commonly seen in restaurants. Qingzhou had hairy crabs, poultry such as chickens, ducks and pigeons, and a wide range of vegetables and fruit. Even saffron, which I had thought was grown only in Tibet, was also produced in Qingzhou.

With so many categories, and quite a number of individual growers and breeders, local small farmers generally produced and sold their own produce. For categories where production capacity was insufficient for cooperation, we began with cooperatives and enterprises already of a certain scale. Some of these enterprises had already made a name for themselves in the city, such as Chunhe-brand pork and Jinmu-brand lamb (pseudonyms); if they came on board, that alone would help our promotion.

The general manager and Lao Pu were Qingzhou locals with wide connections; they knew many suppliers and helped us set up WeChat groups one by one. We made an information-collection form inviting partners to provide their business licence, product descriptions, supply price and suggested retail price.

◉ In rural Qingzhou orchards, some poultry are often kept as well.

Once the form was sent into the groups, there was often no response at all. Our operations colleagues had to follow up every few days before receiving a form that was “short on details”, and even then they had to ask another two or three rounds of questions before the information was barely all collected. Some suppliers called directly: “I’ll quote you the price verbally, just note it down, alright? There are no photos; just download them online, they’re all pretty much the same.”

The delays were only the smallest difficulty; more often it was perfunctoriness. Hengda Stainless Steel (a pseudonym) was well known locally, was polite and friendly towards us, and replied very quickly. I guessed this was mainly because they did contract manufacturing for leading international brands and had experience dealing with external parties. This time, what they wanted to list was their factory’s own brand, “Youchu” stainless steel cookware. However, the prices they provided looked suspicious. I went to the Tmall flagship store to check sales volumes and found that, for several items, the cost prices they gave us were actually higher than the selling prices in the flagship store. We pointed this out in the group, and they quickly resubmitted more reasonable prices. The reason they had quoted supply prices at random was simply that they had already judged that our platform would not bring much sales volume.

Progress with the invitations was far too slow. The district Agricultural Committee specifically organized a mobilization meeting to ask each enterprise and cooperative whether it was willing to join “Qingzhou Weidao”. Our company sent Lao Pu to attend. When he came back, he reported: “Everyone did raise their hands, but whether they would actually manage to join is still hard to say.”

Chunhe pork was a major local brand. I had seen its dedicated pork counter in both markets and supermarkets. In earlier communications in the group, they pointed out that if it was only sporadic orders, and each order had to be sent by courier separately, it would not be cost-effective. They never clearly refused at any point, but they also kept delaying filling in the form. After the Agricultural Committee’s mobilization meeting, operations thought things should finally move forward. When they communicated again, they found that nothing seemed to have changed, and both sides were still at a standstill.

After a while more, with no one pressing any further, Chunhe suddenly filled in the form one day and sent it back to us on its own initiative. Two or three other pork brands also joined actively.

Later we figured out that this was not the result of competition among peers, but that they had heard the government had made a statement: if Chunhe did not join “Qingzhou Weidao”, then in future, when official promotion introduced Qingzhou’s representative pork brands, it would no longer mention Chunhe.

This kind of order naturally left no written record. The “invisible hand” completed the transmission of the message in complete silence. Enterprises chose to join not because they were optimistic about this e-commerce platform, but only to guard against any possible next move by the official side.

Our e-commerce platform became, in this way, a beneficiary of this semi-high-pressure mechanism. Over the half year, thirty to forty cooperatives and enterprises joined “Qingzhou Weidao” one after another. The number of products on sale exceeded one hundred, so that scrolling two or three screens on a phone would not reach the bottom. The mini programme finally had something of the look of a proper e-commerce platform.

Striving for Greater Professionalism

As the product range on the platform gradually expanded, we received fresh instructions to remove any traces of the “Fengyue Haichuan” logo from the pages.

This was a legacy issue. “Fengyue Haichuan” had been the regional public brand in operation for many years previously. The Agricultural Committee had designed packaging for several pillar categories, such as vegetables, white goats, hairy crabs, Cuiguan pears and rice. In many of the product photos submitted by suppliers, the “Fengyue Haichuan” logo could still be clearly seen, and our operations colleagues had to remove the logos from the images one by one.

But the physical packaging was hard to “root out”: far too much of it had already been printed, and no company was willing to simply throw it away and stop using it. We could still see traces of “Fengyue Haichuan” in the occasional consumer order-sharing photos.

We would gently remind suppliers to try to avoid using the old packaging any longer, but we never went beyond a reminder: Everyone turned a blind eye to it—no one knew whether, a few years later, after a change in government leadership, policies would change again; perhaps “Qinghe San Xiongdi”, being pushed so hard today, would also become a new legacy issue in a few years’ time.

The brand guidelines did not work out. As for marketing strategy, we still tried to stay as close to proper practice as possible.

Sister Kong, our department head, is a former colleague of mine. It was she who invited me to join the company I now work for. She is a Qingzhou local, and she met the company’s general manager, who was also a Qingzhou local, in an MBA class. At the time, the general manager was preparing to set up a marketing department. And it was also the general manager’s personal background that enabled the company to become the district Agricultural Committee’s operator, and it was this that led to the string of stories that followed.

◉ The operations team and I taking photos of products in the park outside the office.

Sister Kong had spent more than ten years in a marketing role and had a methodology learned from large companies. She believed that promotion first and foremost required a “marketing calendar”, which divided the year into different promotional periods. 618, Double 11 and the New Year Shopping Festival are major sales events that almost every industry takes part in; beyond these, one also has to “create shopping festivals” according to the characteristics of one’s own products, so that, all year round, the mini programme always has different events rolling out in turn.

So we first produced an annual plan, then broke that plan down into a large Excel spreadsheet for promotional-period marketing. The sheet had to clearly itemise, for each period, its theme, start and end dates, featured products, marketing tactics, promotional methods, membership benefits, promotion plan and performance targets.

I used to be responsible only for promotion. Once the marketing team had completed the initial planning, I would then align content and external placements with the plan. But here, planning, promotion and execution all had to be handled by me.

I dug out the large promotional-period marketing spreadsheet that Sister Kong and I had used at the previous company, and, following its broad framework little by little, first put the foundations in place for the first half.

Like all e-commerce businesses, we set up promotions such as spend-and-save discounts, limited-time discounts, flash sales and a 5-yuan coupon with no minimum spend given on registration, then, following the seasonal cycle of agricultural produce, we forced one “major sale” after another into existence. In almost every period, a new marketing theme was created on the mini programme.

However, the results of these campaigns remained limited throughout.

A large part of the problem lay in promotion. We were the marketing department in name only, but we had no discretionary budget at all, not to mention advertising. Even the most basic product swaps—such as asking bloggers to post on WeChat Moments or Xiaohongshu—were not permitted.

The only channels on which we could really be heard were the “Qingzhou Weidao” official account and WeChat Channels account. Our official account had been carried over from the “Fengyue Haichuan” era, and it had twenty thousand followers, but the views per article barely reached five or six hundred. Later, Sister Kong shared the articles in her own WeChat Moments, and the views went up by one or two hundred. To be honest, this may have been our most effective form of promotion.

It was not until April 2023 that I finally had my first offline event with a budget.

That was a “benefits for the community” market hosted by the Agricultural Committee. Besides setting up a stall, we also had to run a simultaneous online event, live-streaming on the “Qingzhou Weidao” WeChat Channels account.

◉ Sister Kong live-streaming, me handling floor control.

We had done live-streaming before, in the office, with Sister Kong as the host and the rest of us handling floor control; each session had only a dozen or so viewers online. This time the production value was much higher. We specifically hired an advertising agency, and it came with external recording equipment, and even brought two experienced hosts. To make the final reported figures look good, the company also allowed us to run paid traffic.

Problems soon arose. Using external live-streaming equipment and running paid traffic on WeChat Channels both required the account to reach a certain number of followers. The few hundred followers we had accumulated in the past with our “genuine and heartfelt” content were far from enough, so we first had to “hand-pollinate”.

This was the first sum of money I had spent on marketing at this company: 150 yuan, buying 300 followers for the WeChat Channels account.

As soon as the people from the advertising agency arrived, they began organising another matter. They judged that the live stream could not simply show raw ingredients; it also needed finished dishes. The host could eat a few bites, and the live stream could be stretched a little longer. So we went upstairs to find a restaurant that could do contract cooking, and after asking several one after another, one was finally willing to take the job. It cooked seven or eight small dishes, and the labour fee came to 600 yuan in total.

After the live stream began, the host’s verbal pitches and guest interviews alternated. Each time a category was introduced, a guest from the corresponding industry was invited on camera for a 15-minute conversation.

When it came to the goat meat, I had invited in advance General Manager Li, whom I had only just met. Earlier, during the May Day holiday, I had worked with the Agricultural Committee on a series of reports on new farmers, and at the time I had described him as “a veteran of the entire white-goat industry chain”. While our acquaintance was still fresh, I went to see him, and he agreed readily.

Before he went on, I went through the live-stream talking points with General Manager Li. He suddenly became coy, repeatedly recommending that other people should go on instead. I only took it as nerves before going on, or his usual politeness, so I did my best to show support, saying the segment could not go ahead without him. General Manager Li hesitantly took the piece of paper all the same, and I thought that was that.

When the goat meat segment was about to begin, I found that General Manager Li had already gone, and I could only grab a member of staff from another goat-meat cooperative at the stall to save the situation.

This was truly very much a Qingzhou speciality — a casual remark in a society run on personal connections, not to be taken entirely seriously. General Manager Li’s timing in slipping away was also very apt, for it was precisely after the leaders who had attended the event had left.

◉ The goat pen at General Manager Li’s place.

Returning to the market: in name it was “benefits for the community”, but whether the residents could sell anything was not the point at all.

At eight or nine in the morning, exactly the time when residents were buying groceries, the stalls were already set up and the goods ready, but we could not start selling early. Because once some of the stock had been sold, the displays would become smaller, and it would not look good enough when the leaders came to inspect.

By the time we were finally able to sell, it was already the afternoon. The ice packs had melted, and the remaining meat and poultry had been left out for most of the day, gradually seeping blood and water. It was not yet spoiled, but, naturally, no one showed interest.

The Agricultural Committee staff we were liaising with wanted only “enough” — enough quantity, enough grandeur; how much would be wasted was outside the scope of consideration.

My loathing of image projects reached its peak that day. Strangely, just a few days before the event, I lost my voice. For a whole day, I could only speak in a whisper while dealing with work, and by the end I could not speak at all.

Silence was my last defence, and the only mental self-defence I could hold on to.

“The Professionals” Vs “The Self-Taught”

◉ The rice fields of Qingzhou.

Not everyone who works with the land can count on help from “above”. More often, people rely on their own means of getting by.

Sister Wei was exactly that kind of person.

At first, Sister Wei was a pastry supplier on “Qingzhou Weidao”. Everyone in the office was impressed by her, because she was extremely active and always online on her phone. Whether it was new product listings, after-sales support, or all kinds of last-minute notices, Sister Wei always responded actively in the group. Many times we did not even see other suppliers speak, and the whole WeChat group seemed as though only she was responding.

A colleague would often send me a short video, saying it could be re-edited and used as promotional material. There was no need to guess the source; it was always from Sister Wei’s WeChat Moments.

After adding her on WeChat, I had a more direct sense of her posting frequency. She posted at least 8 to 10 items to WeChat Moments every day: close-ups of products, paired with a nine-image grid of Kuaituantuan sales pages, or short videos of around 15 seconds. The categories were not confined to pastries either; the vegetables, goat meat, free-range chickens and ducks, and hairy crabs that we had on “Qingzhou Weidao” were all available through her channels too.

The tool Sister Wei used was a certain group-buying mini-program. The merchant supplied the goods and set the price and commission, while the group leader managed their own private customer base and shared the links. Once a sale was made, they received the commission. This channel tested not the platform’s traffic, but the group leader’s ability to select products and personal influence. It was from that point that Sister Wei’s farm produce business began.

In fact, Sister Wei had always been an excellent salesperson.

Before selling farm produce, she had run a maternity-and-baby products lifestyle store in Qingzhou for more than twenty years, and she had been among the first to open a store on Taobao. From 2016 onwards, the maternity-and-baby business was not very easy to run, but Sister Wei’s store did not close; she herself joined Amway, went to unfamiliar cities such as Shenzhen to develop customers, and her performance was also quite good.

Sister Wei truly had a natural sales disposition. She was full of energy, and her speech was so fast that she could talk endlessly. On the contrary, her slightly hoarse voice and intonation with a slight Jiangsu-Zhejiang accent did not easily put consumers off.

The real starting point of her switch into the farm produce business was the region-wide static management under the 2022 coronavirus prevention and control measures. Everyone was trapped at home, unable to buy food. Sister Wei, however, suddenly realised that she was surrounded by supply sources: her older male cousin had a 100-mu plant nursery, with free-range chickens raised under the trees; her younger female cousin grew pears and peaches; her younger male cousin made Qingzhou cakes… These relatives all became her suppliers.

In one go, Sister Wei added some 50 local WeChat groups and simply posted the group-buying mini-program links inside them, covering more than 40 residential neighbourhoods around her small town. To this day, she “knows where each neighbourhood is with her eyes closed”, because she had personally delivered goods to them.

It was in these WeChat groups that Sister Wei met our salesperson Lao Pu, and subsequently became a supplier for “Qingzhou Weidao”. Pastries, fruit and vegetables, goat meat — Sister Wei gradually listed the local farm produce she was selling on “Qingzhou Weidao”. She estimated that the income the platform brought her accounted for only about 5% of her total revenue. Though small, as an excellent salesperson, she did not pass up a single channel.

This “natural-born salesperson” also displayed an exceptional product sense.

◉ When I went to visit Sister Wei, she showed me “imperfect crabs”.

For example, when selling hairy crabs, in addition to the high-ticket gift boxes, Sister Wei created a separate “imperfect crabs” SKU on her own mini-program — crabs with one broken leg, which could not go into gift boxes, but were cheaper and better suited to eating at home. The official e-commerce platform has to think about refinement and appearance, whereas Sister Wei’s channel was instead more nimble.

From our point of view, Sister Wei was not exactly the most ideal supplier; after all, she was already a “middleman”; her supply prices were not low, and the quality was difficult to trace back to the source. But her strength lay in how quickly she reacted. When many products had just come into season, she could always spot them before we did. That Excel new-product form — she was the one who filled it in most diligently — and so the partnership simply went on.

It was not until a year later, when I visited her in person, that I truly realised how large Sister Wei’s business had become.

Sister Wei’s WeChat already had close to 9,000 friends and eight of her own WeChat customer groups. The large groups had three to four hundred people, and the smaller ones had more than a hundred. In addition, Sister Wei had recruited 181 downline group leaders. Relying on the group-buying mini-program’s “one-click reselling” model, these downline group leaders did not need to ship goods; they only had to manage their own WeChat Moments and could earn commission directly.

Sister Wei did the work of a whole marketing department almost single-handedly: finding products, creating content, managing customers, running communities, and handling after-sales support.

By comparison, the membership numbers and the community size of “Qingzhou Weidao” were far smaller than hers. Or, to put it more directly, “Qingzhou Weidao” was actually one of Sister Wei’s “downlines”. The way I had originally assumed power was defined between the platform and the supplier was perhaps fundamentally reversed.

Looking back at Sister Wei, for the first time I strongly realised that, over the past two years, many of the things I had been involved in were like “playing house”.

We paid close attention to the marketing calendar, designed a membership system, planned scheduled promotional campaigns, and were pleased when the official account’s read count went up by a hundred or two. But the people who actually sell farm produce do not rely on these systems. They build their business bit by bit through their own supply sources, personal networks, WeChat groups, and WeChat Moments.

We thought we were building a platform; in fact, we were only drawing on sales networks that others had already established.

Two years into my role, the company’s equity structure changed. The general manager, who had been hoping to raise funding, was ultimately ousted by the investors, and his managerial responsibilities were stripped away as well. The marketing department he had set up was also required to relocate to the holding parent company.

Before long, Sister Kong left the company, and afterwards Lao Pu also left.

My two operations colleagues and I had almost nothing to do: one post for the official account each week, one adjustment to the mini-program’s promotional campaign every two weeks, and we sat in the new office like three invisible people.

But it was also during that period that I began to notice subtle changes.

The district government report in January that year proposed strengthening the development of the “Qinghe San Xiongdi” regional public brand for agricultural products, but did not, as in previous years, also call for strengthening the development of the mini-program platform “Qingzhou Weidao” — the name of our platform had disappeared from the official plan.

Did the company ultimately receive a government subsidy that year? I am not sure. After the key figure was ousted, would the district agricultural commission continue to give “Qingzhou Weidao” more support? I would guess not. The parent company clearly realised this too, and naturally would not continue to add personnel to the project.

Half a year later, the three of us also left one after another.

To this day, “Qingzhou Weidao” has not been taken offline. The official account profile still reads “the official designated sales platform for the Qingzhou agricultural products regional public brand”; it is only that the hidden connection that once underpinned its operation no longer exists.

While writing this article, I also searched for and found a new district government work report.

One year after we left, the report mentioned: “Step up the building and promotion of regional public brands, and continue to expand sales and exhibition channels for agricultural products.”

The report two years after we left had again shifted to: “Deepen the development of the ‘Qingzhou Xianpin’ brand and platform.”

A familiar scene unfolded once more. You see, there is always a new generation emerging.

– This is Foodthink’s original article No. 825 –

Foodthink

Author

Frankie

Struggling through life, writing occasionally.

About the Lianhe Creative Programme

To understand the current state of food and agriculture, and to support more people in exploring the complexities behind food and agricultural issues, Foodthink, together with multiple public-interest and media partners, jointly launched the Lianhe Creative Programme in 2024 and 2025 to support media creators and researchers in conducting research in the food and agriculture sector and to fund the production of public-facing content.

After several rounds of interviews with the jury, the Lianhe Creative Programme supported 18 creative projects in 2024 and supported 20 creative projects in 2025. Currently, some of the supported works have been completed and publicly published:

“Cleaner A Mei Wants a Proper Meal | Workers’ Table”

“In Malaysia, Chinese Merchants Want Only Grade-A Durians”

“‘Fake Meat’ Drives Out Real Meat: Herders, the Dinner Table, Amazon”

“Watermelons Guaranteed Sweet, Growing Watermelons Guaranteed Bitter”

“From the Guoshan Yao to the ‘Chosen Mushroom Foragers’: A Jizong Mushroom Sparks a Mushroom-Foraging Frenzy”

“Ma Lan in Shenzhen Has No Meal Companion”

“Why Has the Sweetness of Childhood Disappeared?”

“Why Guizhou Can’t Do Without Sour Soup, and Sour Soup Can’t Do Without Guizhou?”

“Who Drove Out the Wet Market?”

“Will Fresh-Food E-commerce Make Wet Markets Disappear?”

“When Drones Become New Farm Tools: Who Is Defining ‘Scientific Farming’?”

“The Braised Goose in Overseas Chinese Remittance Letters: 100,000 Yuan a Head”