The director is very bad, she was spoiled at the beginning of the film. Through the opening sentence "birds have nests, spiders have webs, and humans have affection", the audience knows the theme of the film (this is a story about friendship). Then two bones appeared, letting the audience know the ending of the protagonist (the two died together). Then she began to tell the story.
A story about me---a Chinese in America.
My name is Lu Jin. I was born in northern China. I came to Guangzhou when I was 9 years old. Then I went to London with a group of British businessmen. When I left China, the Emperor Jiaqing of the Qing Dynasty was reigning. Soon after I arrived in London, I cut my braids. There is an old Chinese saying that when you go to the countryside, I just dress and act in the manner of foreigners, and I also learned to speak foreign languages. After a few years in the UK, I went to Africa and then the Americas. A few Russians and I came to Oregon looking for opportunities to make a fortune. One day the Russians suspected that one of my companions had stolen something from him. They mutilated him. I shot one of the Russians and ran away. The Russians have been chasing me, I took off my clothes, hid in a tree hole, and threw the gun into the lake. Tired and hungry, I was too hungry to run, hiding in the bushes, just like that, the cook found me embarrassed.
The cook is a good man. He let me live in his tent overnight and covered me with his blanket. I woke up at dawn the next day and continued to flee. After a while, in the only tavern in town, I met the cook again. I was sitting in a pub playing chess with people, and won some money by the way. A few boring guys started to find faults and fight, and the shopkeeper locked the money box and went out to watch the fun. The cook was alone on the bar watching a little baby for the fight. I called him and he turned his head. Recognized me.
According to our Chinese, the cook is my savior. I invited him to sit in my wooden house and have a drink. On the way home, I saw that a prey was caught in the small organ I set up in the morning. I don't know what kind of animal it is, between a rabbit and a field mouse. The American continent is a rich land. There are many things that I have never seen before, and things that have not yet been named. This land needs to be cultivated. I hope that this time I will come early enough that newcomers can make their own decisions on this land. rule.
When I got home, I started chopping wood and burning the fire to prepare for cooking. I let the cook sit and rest, but he refused to stay idle. He picked up the broom and started cleaning the room for me. When I finished chopping the wood and entering the house, the cook put a bunch of wild flowers in an empty bottle. Remember what I said, he is a good man. Not much, shy, kind-hearted, like a big girl. I knew it at first glance.
After dinner, the cook and I went to the river, he washed and rinsed in the river, and I continued to make my straw mat. We two began to talk about our plans. The cook said he wanted to open a hotel, plus a bakery, and he could make cakes and biscuits. I also have my plan. Many people hunt beavers in Oregon in order to sell beaver fur to Paris to make hats for ladies. But there is still another financial route they haven't seen, only I saw it, it is beaver oil, this thing can be used as medicine, and it can sell for a lot of money in China. Unfortunately, I have no one in Guangzhou, so how to transport is also a problem. This is the problem faced by poor people like me, with nothing, how to start? It takes capital to do business, it takes a miracle, and perhaps a crime.
In the evening, we both smoked and talked, and the cook and I seemed to be able to talk very well. The cook said that in the afternoon he went out to pick wild fruits again while I was taking a nap, and he saw the cow in chief. He said that he was tired of the cakes made with water and flour and wanted to squeeze some milk to make cakes. His words suddenly inspired me. On this muddy land, he is definitely not the only one who wants to eat cake. I asked him what ingredients are needed to make cakes? Among the few ingredients the chef said, except for milk, I can get other ingredients. I asked him if he could milk the cow at night and would he be heard? The cook understood what I meant, and he shook his head. But we went anyway.
I climbed the tree to look out for the cook, and the cook started milking. He was really interesting. He was milking and chatting with the cow, comforting the family who died on the way to the cow, as if the cow could understand him. The cook is a reliable friend, who is so good to cows, and certainly not bad to people.
The next morning, I finished washing outside the house, and then went to feed the pheasant I raised. When I was about to enter the house, I saw a freshly baked cake on the window sill. The cook was standing aside shy. laugh. The cook's craftsmanship is really good. I wondered how much it would cost to sell this cake in town. The cook said he didn't dare to sell it, after all, he used stolen milk. I told him that I can't bear the children, and I can't catch the wolves. So we both went to the town square.
We only had 6 cakes, which were sold out in an instant. In order to fight for the last piece of cake, those greedy ghosts would rather increase the price. Some people asked us what the cake was made of, and I said it was a secret, a secret recipe from ancient China. Thanks to the French enlightenment writers, in their writings, the far east China is an all-out mystery. The Chinese can create miracles. I feel that now I am catching up with the right time and place, and it will definitely be possible.
The first sale was very successful. I told the cook that we must continue. If we make some money, we can go to California to open his dream hotel. So our cake business officially started.
The general also heard about our cakes. After tasting them, he was full of praise and said that he had the taste of London. He wanted the cook to make a French cake for him and a visiting colonel. I stood uneasy beside me, but the cook agreed. When I got home, I told the cook that we have to stop for a while. Those rough people eating cakes are like Zhu Bajie eating ginseng fruit, but the chief has a very sensitive taste, so he won't be unable to eat the cake with milk. The cook said slowly, maybe he wouldn't think about it, some people are just so confident that they didn't think they would be stolen.
The French cake made by the chef made me have to admit that it was the case even when I met a school in the world. The chief is very satisfied. They drank Chinese black tea and French cakes and chatted about the beaver skin business and the fashion trends in Paris. The world they describe is too far away from me. These people pretend to be superior, and even the cattle they brought from France seem to be more noble than my blood. When I got home with the cook, the cook said that the colonel might have noticed that he and the cow were a bit tricky. He dared not steal milk anymore. I told him that we can't stop. People like us can only rely on ourselves, and we must seize opportunities when we have opportunities. We haven’t saved enough money to gain a foothold in San Francisco. We have to earn a little more and earn a little more. The injustice of fate and the desire for success made me give up my usual caution.
We were found the last time we stole milk. The cook and I ran all the way, and then we ran away. The next day, I found an Indian to ferry me back downstream. I had to go back to my cabin, where my money and the cook were still hidden. When I got close to my residence, I saw the cook. Thankfully, he is still there, and our money is also there. There is a wound on the cook's head. I told him that we will leave here first, and then I will help you deal with the wound. We didn’t know how far we were. The cook seemed to be unable to walk anymore. He lay down straight under a tree. I looked at him who was asleep immediately. I thought, then I’ll take a break, too. I put the money bag under me. We never woke up again.
I don't blame the boy who killed us. He works for the chief, not to mention that we still carry the bag of money. If I were him, I would do the same if I didn't keep it right. As I said, people like us who have nothing must seize the opportunity. In this world, there are both good people like cooks and bad guys like boys in green clothes. Everyone lives by his own way. Whatever you encounter is fate.
Do I have any regrets? Of course, I want to open a hotel in San Francisco with the cook. With his craftsmanship and my shrewdness, we must be able to do well. But now, you also see the ending. But having said that, I actually have no regrets. When I lay down next to the cook, I looked at this world for the last time. Do you know what I saw? The most abundant American continent, all kinds of trees, flowers, and animals are all by my side. I set foot on this land empty-handed, eating and drinking are all given to me by this land. This land has never failed me. I can imagine what it can give me if I live. I take it, and I will make a new one for it, and the new thing I made up, it may be processed and transformed into something that it doesn't have. I can imagine that in this infinite cycle of life, this piece of land supports me, and I also support it, steadfastly. This is how I felt at the last moment, the earth is so rich, it belongs to me, I belong to it, and I feel at ease in my heart.
Later, a female director made the story of me and the cook into a movie, and the people who watched it concluded that it was a story about capitalism. I'm a bit unsure, whether the audience is complimenting me or scolding me. Because two years before my death, a child was born in Germany. He later became a great thinker. What happened in the next two centuries was influenced by his thoughts. He has a famous saying that is also the starting point of all his thoughts: since the day capitalism was born, blood and dirty things have dripped from every pore. I think that according to this sentence, the audience is scolding me when they read my story. So I died in the end. I deserved it. The spectators should be very happy. I don’t know how to say it. According to the economic theory of later generations, the cook said he wanted to eat cake. I saw business opportunities in his words. I discovered the existence of supply and demand. I provided the cook with production tools. The cook paid the labor. We The cake price was determined, we completed the transaction in the market, and the sales revenue gave us the ability to reproduce. Neither the cook nor I felt exploited, nor did anyone buy our cakes. The cook and I are satisfied, and the diners are also very satisfied. Even if I don’t praise my shrewdness, what I do can’t be more natural. Of course, there is an undeniable problem that the milk was stolen, but isn’t this the first cow in Oregon? The only cow, the only milk. If there are more cows and milk can be sold, the chef and I are not willing Risking the risk of being shot to steal milk, isn't it? In any case, let that German kid come to Oregon like me, don't bring that little friend who provides him with free food and drink for a lifetime, what will he do? I don’t understand capitalism, but someone wrote a particularly interesting article to retell the story of me and the cook in capitalist terms. Those who are interested can go and have a look.
https://medium.com/the-innovation/first-cow-economics-optimal-output-expected-value-and-risk-appetite-beb3d0883337
View more about First Cow reviews
