A Tale of Two Cities Supporting Xinjiang

When Guzalinur opened the door to her home, her heart was still beating a little fast from the excitement of the competition and the fatigue of the journey.

She held the second-prize certificate, carefully protected in a hard-cover folder, thinking about how to share this hard-won recognition with her father.

Before my feet had even fully stepped across the threshold, my father's voice was like a bucket of cold water, poured over my head.

"So you finally decided to come back?"

"Dad, I..."

"Don't call me Dad! Guzalinur! Do you even care about this family anymore? Huh?"

Don't you know what the situation is like at home? Your brother isn't married yet, and the family doesn't have any savings.

You, on the other hand, have grown up and, without saying a word, have run off to participate in some competition.

So it doesn't cost money?

Travel expenses, accommodation, food—all of these cost money.

Did that money come from a storm?

Guzalinur wanted to explain that the school provided subsidies for the competition, and she only paid a small portion of it, which was money she had saved from her previous part-time jobs.

But looking at his father's sunken eyes, a result of overwork and illness, all the words stuck in his throat.

"You talk about dreams, culture, and hometown all day long!"

Can dreams fill an empty stomach? Can culture be taken as medicine? We're just an ordinary family; we can't afford this kind of torment!

"Can't you be like other people's daughters, find a stable job, and live a peaceful life?"

Guzalinur ultimately said nothing, but simply lowered her head and gently placed the certificate on the shoe cabinet by the door.

She turned and went into her room, closed the door, and then slid down to sit on the floor against the door, tears silently rolling down her cheeks.

The turning point came on an ordinary evening.

Xinjiang News Channel is broadcasting the week's top news.

"...The following is a brief news report: The National Vocational Skills Competition held in Hangzhou recently concluded successfully. Our province's team performed exceptionally well, winning one first prize, two second prizes, and several third prizes, showcasing the fruitful achievements of vocational education in our province..."

Guzalinur's heart skipped a beat, and she subconsciously glanced at the television.

The news footage then cut to the awards ceremony.

The camera panned across the podium, and although it was quick, Guzalinur spotted herself immediately.

"Guzalinur, that's you."

That's you on TV.

Oh my, my daughter is on TV!

Guzalinur lowered her head and softly hummed in agreement.

Gu Fu didn't speak, and slowly put down his chopsticks.

"That competition...was it quite large?"

Guzalinur nodded: "Yes, it's nationwide, many provinces participated."

"oh."

Father Gu responded, paused, and then, as if casually inquiring, asked, "Well... a trip like that must be quite expensive, right? Did the school cover everything?"

Guzalinur knew what her father wanted to ask, so she took a brown paper envelope from her bag and pushed it in front of her father.

"The school subsidized most of it. This... is the prize money from the competition."

Second prize, five thousand yuan. I just went to collect it, in cash.

"Five thousand?" Gu Fu exclaimed in surprise.

He slowly pushed the envelope back to Guzalinur, his voice lower and more gentle: "You...you keep it. You have many expenses over there."

Then, as if he had accomplished something very difficult, he picked up his chopsticks, took a bite of food, and put it in Guzalinur's bowl. "The competition... went well. Keep the certificate safe too."

Guzalinur returned to school with her second-prize certificate and 5,000 yuan bonus from the National Vocational Skills Competition, and the news spread like wildfire.

Before she could catch her breath, visitors from all walks of life came knocking on her door.

The first to arrive was the cultural and tourism department staff member who had wanted to integrate the IP into the tourism souvenir system last time; this time, however, a more amiable leader had arrived.

"Congratulations, Guzalinur! You've brought honor to Xinjiang!"

The visitor smiled broadly and said, "Look, your abilities and talents have already gained national recognition."

Our department is currently planning an upgrade for the Xinjiang gift brand, and we need young talents like you who have ideas and skills.

If you agree, we can specially recruit you, give you a formal position, and put you in charge of core product line design. We can also acquire your Cotton Field Silk Road brand at a reasonable price and operate it as a sub-brand.

This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity—stable, secure, and it allows you to utilize your expertise.

Soon after, capital also caught wind of this.

It wasn't the same place as before; it had a different name, but their sales pitch seemed familiar.

"Gu, we are the New Cultural Power Investment Fund, which specializes in investing in promising young entrepreneurs like you."

We appreciate the professionalism and brand awareness you demonstrated during the competition.

Your project has a unique cultural core, but what it lacks is scalability and commercial operation.

We will invest three million, taking a 40% stake. We will not interfere with the specific design; we will only help you build a professional business and channel team to grow the brand and expand it nationwide.

It's much faster and more stable than if you were to go it alone.

When Chang Peng conveyed the purpose of these people's visit to Guzalinur, she remained silent for a long time.

"Teacher, what do you think?" she asked.

Chang Peng looked at her and asked, "I'll just ask you, what do you want most right now?"

Is it a secure job, a quick buck, or something else?

Guzalinur saw flashes of her grandmother Aysham's focused profile as she wove, her father's complex yet relaxed expression as he held the 5,000 yuan prize envelope, and the amazing works that blended tradition and modernity during the competition.

"I want..."

She took a deep breath. "I want to try and see if I can use what I've learned to find a way to make a living in our own place."

A path that allows artisans like Grandma Aysham to live with dignity through their skills without leaving their hometown; a path that allows more Xinjiang children like me to see that learning a skill can bring hope back home.

Chang Peng nodded and said nothing more.

Therefore, Guzalinur declined the special offer from the cultural and tourism department and also turned down the olive branch offered by investors.

During graduation season, while many classmates were scrambling for a government job or a job offer from a big company, she took her 5,000 yuan bonus, plus some money she had saved from part-time jobs and competitions, and persuaded her closest friends, including Azgul and Reyina, to rent a small corner in the entrepreneurship park of her alma mater. The Cotton Field Silk Road Cultural and Creative Studio was officially established.

Her plan is clear and simple: the core design will be handled by the team, while the handcrafted parts will be done in cooperation with rural cooperatives or artisan families, with profits shared.

What she needs to do is not simply make purchases, but to establish a sustainable and mutually beneficial model.

When Guzalinur returned to those familiar villages with the cooperation agreement and samples that had been revised countless times, she was greeted not with curiosity and enthusiasm, but with more vigilance and hesitation.

Grandma Aisham pulled her aside, looking worried: "Child, it's not that Grandma doesn't believe in you."

But the whole village is talking about how the things you did before caused you a lot of trouble, and you almost lost everything.

Those of us who make a living with our skills are most afraid of setbacks. Your cooperative is good, but what if…

If anything happens to your studio again, who are we, who have delivered the goods and are waiting for our share of the profits, going to turn to?

Another older sister, who was skilled in embroidery, put it more directly: "Gu Zaili, we know you are educated and kind-hearted."

But in business, being shrewd isn't enough.

Look at yourself, didn't you almost not make it through last time too?

You're just a little girl, you can barely stand on your own, how can you lead our whole family forward?

We'll stick to taking odd jobs; the pay is less, but it's safer.

Guzalinur pleaded until her lips were sore, presented her competition certificates, and even promised to prepay part of the material costs, but to little avail. Very few were willing to give it a try.

The studio hit a deadlock right from the start.