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In the summer of 2008, Shanghai Academy of Fine Arts graduate Lin Wanqing's dream of a "design studio" was shattered by a phone call that "his father coughed up blood and collapsed in the workshop." In order to protect workers' wages, Lin Jinchuan mortgaged his old house. Jinyun Textile was being torn into pieces by the financial crisis: orders plummeted, banks pressed for loans, young workers changed jobs, and even his stepmother and professional managers wanted to "sell the factory to split the money." This pampered "small town princess" gritted her teeth and took over the mess, but in reality she suffered a lot of damage: her low-priced foreign trade orders were intercepted by Southeast Asian factories, she was cheated out of 500,000 yuan for trying e-commerce, and even the old workers scolded her for "losing Jinyun's soul." Until I dug out my mother's old notebook - 30 years of craft experience and customer notes. The last page read: "Tenacity is turning a slap into the wind that pushes you." She learned yarn count from the old workers and squatted in the dye vats to memorize color ratios. She negotiated orders using her mother's "customer memories" that had been hidden for thirty years, and converted the old workshop into an intangible cultural heritage workshop. She was "forced" by investment banking expert Lu Chen to introduce smart equipment and insisted on retaining 10% of the handmade threads. Over the past 15 years, she has used the temperature in the steam in the dye vat, the calluses on the hands of old workers, and the "national fashion horse-face skirt" designed by young people to weave the "factory that is about to collapse" into a legend of "industrial heritage + smart factory" double certification.