On the banks of the Hutuo River, we have forged great achievements—let me share with you a story of dedication. Today, I’ll tell the tale of “the arduous efforts to establish a canning factory.”

In the early days of reform and opening-up, Zanhuang County in Hebei Province struck it rich by establishing a canning factory that relied on fruit production. This immediately ignited Li Ganpo’s ambition: “If Zanhuang can make it, so can Pingshan!” Without hesitation, he gathered Zhang Yonghai and a few others and headed straight for Zanhuang. There, he saw farmers transformed into workers, with clean, well-organized workshops and remarkably strong profits. That single glimpse sealed his resolve: “We’ll start a canning factory too, so our fellow villagers can get prosperous as well!”

But sheer determination wasn’t enough—how were they going to build a canning factory? What kind of equipment would they need? Li Ganpo and his team had no idea. Recalling the canned goods from the Shandong–Yantai canneries that were common at the time, they figured, “If we go there to learn, we’ll be on the right track,” and set off for Yantai with high hopes. Yet they were turned away with a simple request: “Get us an official letter of introduction.” Unwilling to give up, they approached another canning plant—but the response was cold: “You think you can start a canning factory with just one hundred thousand yuan? No way!” Just when they were about to lose hope, a retired veteran worker offered a single sentence: “No problem—there’s enough.” That one remark only strengthened their resolve to get the factory up and running.

The next challenge was “no money to buy equipment.” With a mere 20,000 yuan in start-up capital, a single sealing machine alone cost 3,000 yuan, and a stainless-steel pot ran another 4,500 yuan—altogether nearly half their total investment! What could they do? They gritted their teeth and said, “We’ll figure it out ourselves!” Hearing that some small canning factories in Baoding could design and build their own sealing machines, they went door-to-door, persuading and cajoling until they were allowed to visit. The first set of blueprints they drew based on those machines was so rudimentary it was practically unusable. With no other option, they even begged a technician from a machinery factory to accompany them on a field trip, finally producing proper, standardized drawings. In the end, they built a sealing machine that cost only 1,300 yuan—saving them a substantial sum.

Hearing that stainless steel pots could be swapped for aluminum ones, Li Ganpo set out to scour the globe for a suitable aluminum pot. In the end, he had to make his way to the Dongfeng Market in Beijing’s Wangfujing district before finally finding a large aluminum basin—1.6 meters in diameter and 0.6 meters deep. But once he’d bought it, the real challenge was getting it home. The bulky basin was awkward to carry in any direction, and reluctant to spend even a single yuan on rope, he picked up a tangle of frayed hemp rope from the construction site, lashing it crosswise to secure the pot tightly. Not willing to part with even a five‑fen bus fare, he hoisted the heavy basin onto his back and trudged step by step all the way to Beijing Railway Station.

The steam boiler formerly used at the canning factory is now on display at the Group’s History Exhibition Hall.
Finally making it to the train station, he ran into an even bigger hassle. At ticket inspection, the conductor spotted this contraption—wider than the door itself—and stopped him dead in his tracks: “Comrade, you can’t take that on board! You’ll have to check it as baggage!” Li Ganpo panicked; checking it meant paying extra, and he simply couldn’t afford it. With departure looming, a sudden idea struck him: if the pot looked huge from the front, why not try another angle? He hurried around to another car, carried the pot sideways, and sure enough, it fit.
“With money, a man is master; without it, he’s at the mercy of others.” Li Ganpo still felt deeply moved when he recalled those days. All along the way, he lived in constant fear and trepidation—only when the aluminum basin arrived safely in Shijiazhuang did his heart finally settle.
With the equipment finally assembled, Li Ganpo sold everything his family could spare—leaving even the three houses he had painstakingly built. He spent 8,800 yuan to purchase a plot of land, installed a transformer, and hung a sign reading “Hutuo River Canned Food Factory” along the banks of the Hutuo River.

                                                                            This was his first stop—and the starting point of his foray into the business world.

However, the path of entrepreneurship is never smooth sailing. Like the rushing waters of the Hutuo River, lies ahead a treacherous undercurrent—or a bright new dawn? Can Li Ganpo and his canning factory carve out a future for themselves? For now, it’s only just begun…

This is just the beginning of our story of dedication—there’s so much more to come, about perseverance and unwavering commitment. Stay tuned for the next installment—don’t miss it!