The expeditionary force began to dominate Southeast Asia by recruiting defeated soldiers

Ke Liu wasn't very good at writing, so he vaguely pressed his fingerprint as required and received a job offer confirmation slip.

Stepping out of the crowd, he felt his steps become lighter.

There's hope! Someone is willing to give him a job, and it sounds like such a great job.

A few people were chatting nearby, and their words drifted into Ke Liu's ears:

"Coca-Cola, I drank a bottle when my family was well-off. It was ridiculously expensive, but the fizz and the sweetness were just amazing!"

"I heard this factory is a joint venture. The American guy provides the brand and the secret syrup base, while we from Southeast Asia provide the land, people, factory buildings, and machinery for bottling and selling. The American guy takes the lion's share of the profits, and we only earn the money from the hard work of bottling and local sales."

"That's not bad either, it's better than nothing. Let's learn how to manage a modern factory first, and then we can make our own soft drinks and other things. Look at car factories and radio factories, didn't they all start by cooperating with others and gradually figure things out on their own?"

Ke Liu didn't understand much, but he roughly understood that this good job was jointly run by the big bosses of Nanyang and Baiying, and Nanyang would get some of the benefits.

This gave him a strange sense of belonging to Southeast Asia—our own Chinese community, doing business with foreign big bosses.

The next day, Ke Liu arrived at the meeting point early.

Several tarpaulin-covered trucks carrying dozens of young men like him left the dock area and headed towards a new industrial zone on the eastern outskirts of Yangon.

The scene before him once again shocked Ke Liu.

On both sides of the wide cement road are neatly planned factory areas. The red brick or cement factory buildings are tall and spacious, with smoke billowing from the chimneys and the faint roar of machines.

The truck stopped at the entrance of a brand-new factory with a bilingual "Coca-Cola" sign.

The factory area is very large, with excellent greenery, and the ground is so clean you can see your reflection in it.

Led by management personnel, they visited the bottling workshop, which was about to go into production.

Huge glass bottles lined up on a conveyor belt, automatically cleaned by machines, filled with brown soda, capped, labeled, and then boxed.

The entire process was so smooth it was dazzling; workers only needed to monitor and move the boxes at key stages.

"This...this is the factory?" Ke Liu felt like he had entered a mythical place.

After the tour, there were simple interviews and group assignments.

The interviewer asked some simple questions, looked at Ke Liu's hands to confirm that he had no disabilities, and heard that he was able to sit still and was meticulous, so he assigned him to the labeling quality inspection assistant position, which is a relatively meticulous job.

"Ke Liu, right?" the employee handing out his name tag and a simple manual said to him. "From now on, you're a member of the Nanyang Coca-Cola Company. Do a good job."

The dormitory is located behind the factory area; it's an eight-person room with a fan.

The training will begin tomorrow and will last for a week.

Remember to follow the factory's rules and regulations, especially those concerning hygiene and safety.

The syrup recipe is a top secret at White Eagle headquarters. We're only responsible for diluting it with water and bottling it. The production area is strictly controlled. Don't ask questions you shouldn't ask, and don't go where you shouldn't go. Understand?

Ke Liu nodded vigorously.

confidential?

He neither understands nor cares.

All he knew was that there were clean dormitories, a stable supply of food, and good jobs where he could learn a skill and earn money. He knew that hard work would pay off, and that was more important than anything else.

After the training began, Ke Liu studied with exceptional diligence.

Although he didn't know many characters, his master taught him step by step, and he quickly memorized the simple operating procedures and precautions.

He discovered that there were many new immigrants like him in the factory who had just arrived from the Republic of China era. Everyone had different accents, but they helped each other and the managers were patient.

During breaks, the experienced workers would tell everyone about the latest happenings in Southeast Asia, such as where new factories had opened, where bridges were being built, and what policies benefiting the people that President Zhang Chi had announced.

A week later, the production line began trial operation.

Wearing brand-new light blue overalls, Ke Liu stood by his workstation, watching the first bottle of Coca-Cola labeled "Made in Nanyang" smoothly roll off the production line and be packed into a cardboard box with the trademark printed on it. He felt an unprecedented sense of security and a slight sense of pride.

This place, Southeast Asia, truly is a new world.

And he, Ke Liu, a Tanka man who drifted on the water, finally found a piece of land here where he could stand steadily, earn a living by his own strength, and see a future.

The air seemed to be filled with a strange, bubbly sweet scent, the taste of Coca-Cola that I had tasted once before, the taste of hope, and the taste of a new life.

He carefully sent part of his first month's salary back to his hometown to repay the fellow villager who had lent him the money for the boat ticket, using a brand-new Nanyang Postal Money Order.

With the help of his fellow workers, he also sent a letter he wrote himself, telling his parents that everything was fine and calling on his fellow villagers to put down their fishing nets and come to the new world of Southeast Asia.

-----

"Ding!"

The glass bottles clinked together, and the brown liquid sloshed around.

"Cheers! To our Coca-Cola made in Southeast Asia!"

This is the base of the Second Flight School of the Nanyang Air Force, located on the outskirts of Yangon.

Inside the pilots' lounge, several young pilots, dressed in flight jackets and covered in sweat, sat around a table, each holding a glass bottle that was emitting cold air.

A pilot with thick eyebrows and big eyes tilted his head back and took a big gulp, exhaling a satisfied breath of cool air. "Great, that's the taste. I think our homemade stuff is just as good as the imported, ridiculously expensive American stuff."

Chen Siyuan, another pilot standing next to him who appeared somewhat refined, adjusted his sunglasses and said slowly and deliberately:

"Strictly speaking, the recipe and base are from the Atlanta headquarters, so theoretically the taste should be consistent globally."

However, the quality of the water used for bottling, the saturation of locally added carbonation, and even subtle differences in the transportation and storage of the syrup can all affect the final taste.

Zhixiang, when you say "it's not bad," it actually means your palate isn't that picky.

Gao Zhixiang rolled his eyes: "You think you know everything! Why bother with water quality and carbonation when you're just drinking soda? If it quenches your thirst, is sweet, and has fizz, it's good stuff! We in Southeast Asia can even bottle the world's number one soda ourselves now, isn't that awesome?"

“Awesome, of course it’s awesome,” another dark-skinned pilot chuckled, trying to smooth things over.

He twirled the bottle in his hand, looking at the label that read "Nanyang Coca-Cola Co., Ltd.", and remarked with emotion:

"Just a few years ago, this stuff was only affordable for foreign tycoons and a few wealthy people in Bago. Now you can buy it at our base's convenience store, and it's even chilled. Life is definitely different now."

During their casual conversation, the topic quickly shifted from soft drinks to what they had been dreaming about lately—airplanes.

"Stop talking about soda." Gao Zhixiang put down the bottle, lowered his voice, and showed a look of excitement mixed with trouble on his face. "Hey guys, how's that new thing you guys are flying?"

The relaxed atmosphere suddenly became more serious.

Chen Siyuan gave a wry smile and rubbed his temples:

"Don't even mention it. It's a completely different story compared to the P-40s or even the 'Corsairs' we used to fly. With a piston engine, you can roughly judge the power and status just by listening to the sound and feeling the vibration. Although the throttle response is a bit delayed, it's linear and predictable."

But this jet engine…