Chapter 508: All Sides Aid Sichuan

At 2:48 p. m. on May 12, 2008, Li Yaozong was holding a meeting on the selection of smart device screens.

The atmosphere in the conference room was lively; Liu Yang held two sample screens, one from Taiwan and one from South Korea, demonstrating color reproduction under a strong light.

On the projection screen, two pictures were side by side, the left one warm‑toned, the right one cool‑toned, and the debate had just begun.

The door was pushed open.

Xiao Lin stood at the doorway, his face pale, clutching his phone.

"President Li, something's happened."

The conference room fell silent.

"There's an earthquake in Sichuan. Magnitude 7.8."

Three minutes later, Li Yaozong's office was packed with people.

Chen Feng, Zhao Ming, Liu Yang, Wang Bo, Zhou Ye, Lin Jiawen… everyone who could make it had arrived.

Li Yaozong stood at his desk, and on the computer screen before him was the freshly loaded news page:

"A 7.8‑magnitude earthquake struck Wenchuan, and tremors were felt in many parts of the country."

There was no picture, only a brief sentence.

"The situation is still unclear," Li Yaozong said, his voice deeper than usual, "but an earthquake this large won't result in few casualties."

He looked around the room.

"Wanshang, as an influential group, cannot focus solely on profit; it must shoulder greater responsibility. We need to act—Sichuan people need support; when one side is in trouble, all sides must help."

"Let's divide this into several lines," Li Yaozong said, picking up a pen and writing a few words on the whiteboard.

Donations, supplies, communications, transportation.

"First line: donations," he underlined "donations" and added, "In the group's name, donate one hundred million. This money should come directly from the group account, bypassing bank approval, and be transferred today."

No one spoke.

"One hundred million."

But no one thought it was a lot.

"Second line: personal donations," Li Yaozong continued, "Group executives, donate as you can. Whether large or small, it's the sentiment that counts. My personal contribution is ten million."

He paused.

"My dad just called on the Telephone; he personally donates fifteen million."

A slight stir arose in the conference room.

"Third line: supplies," Li Yaozong wrote several items under "supplies": food, water, medicine, blankets, tents.

"Zhou Ye, you're in charge of contacting the Shenzhen Red Cross, asking what they need and what we can provide. Over at the Wanshang supermarket, Uncle Chen Jianghe may be retired, but the person now in charge is still there. Supplies should be drawn directly from the Wanshang supermarket warehouse—whatever we have, we dispatch."

Zhou Ye nodded.

"Fourth line: communications," Li Yaozong looked at Wang Bo, "Communications in the quake zone are certainly cut off. How many satellite phones do we have in reserve?"

Wang Bo thought for a moment.

"There are two hundred units in the warehouse, usually used for overseas projects."

"Deploy all of them. Then contact the satellite company to open a dedicated channel for the disaster area. No matter the cost, we must ensure the rescue teams can use them."

Wang Bo nodded.

"Fifth line: transportation," Li Yaozong looked at Lin Jiawen, "How many idle vehicles does the Wanshang Logistics fleet have right now?"

Lin Jiawen pulled out his phone to check.

"The South China region can dispatch eighty trucks. Nationwide, the total is about two hundred."

"All on standby," Li Yaozong said, "Whatever the Red Cross needs transported, we'll move. Fuel, tolls, driver subsidies—all covered by the group."

Li Yaozong set down his pen and looked at the people present.

"Everyone, today's meeting is not for discussion; it's for arrangement."

He walked to the window, then turned around.

"Wanshang's scale isn't for profit. It's so that one day, when the nation needs it, we can rise to the occasion."

He paused.

"Now is that time."

The conference room was quiet for a few seconds.

Chen Feng was the first to speak.

"President Li, my personal contribution is two million."

Zhao Ming followed.

"One point five million."

Liu Yang said.

"One million."

Wang Bo said.

"I also one million."

Zhou Ye said.

"Eight hundred thousand."

Lin Jiawen said.

"Two million."

A few others on the other end of the Telephone also reported their amounts in turn.

Li Yaozong listened, then nodded.

"Finance, compile all personal donations before the end of today's work. Tomorrow morning, post them on the information board and send them to the group chat."

He looked at Xiao Lin.

"Has the employee donation channel opened?"

Xiao Lin nodded.

"It's open. Both online and offline are open. A donation box was placed at the cafeteria entrance, and the intranet also posted a donation link."

Li Yaozong hummed.

"Employee participation is voluntary, not forced. But we must tell everyone the situation so they know what happened."

At 5 p. m., the Wanxiang Group intranet homepage switched to a new picture.

Black background, white large characters:

"When one side is in difficulty, all directions provide assistance—Wanxiang Group Earthquake Relief Special Operation."

Below are several pinned messages:

"The group donated 100 million yuan, already transferred to the China Red Cross Society headquarters."

"Chairman Li Yaozong personally donated 10 million yuan."

"Former Chairman Mr. Li Ping'an personally donated 15 million yuan."

"Executive personal donation details (as of 17:00): Chen Feng 2 million yuan, Lin Jiawen 2 million yuan, Zhao Ming 1.5 million yuan, Liu Yang 1 million yuan, Wang Bo 1 million yuan, Zhou Ye 800,000 yuan …"

"The employee donation channel is now open; scan the QR code or go to the donation boxes in each plant."

Ten minutes after the message was sent, the comment section was flooded with hundreds of posts.

"The group is mighty!"

"I'll donate a month's salary!"

"I've already scanned and donated 500."

"There are many people lining up to donate at the cafeteria entrance."

At 6 p. m., in the cafeterias of Wanxiang's various plants, all televisions were set to the news channel.

On the screen were images of the earthquake disaster zone: collapsed houses, broken roads, rescuers searching the rubble. The announcer's voice was deep and urgent.

Inside the cafeteria, thousands of workers held their trays, yet only a few lifted their chopsticks.

The scene switched to Chengdu, where an ambulance blared its siren as it passed the camera.

A young female worker lowered her head and wiped the corner of her eye with her sleeve.

The older sister beside her patted her shoulder.

"Don't cry. If we donate, they'll be saved."

The worker nodded, set down her chopsticks, took out her wallet from her pocket, and counted 500 yuan.

"There's a donation box at the cafeteria entrance; I'm going to donate."

She stood up and walked out of the cafeteria.

Behind her, more and more people stood up and followed.

At 7 o'clock, a long queue formed in front of the donation box.

Some held cash, others raised their phones ready to scan. The line stretched from the cafeteria entrance along the plant avenue, turned a corner, and kept extending.

A young man in a blue work uniform stood at the tail of the line, clutching a crumpled bankbook in his hand.

Someone beside him asked, "Can a bankbook be donated?"

The young man shook his head.

"I just withdrew it. This month's salary is 2,300. I keep 300 for myself, the remaining 2,000 I donate all."

A senior woman ahead turned back to look at him.

"Young man, you just started working, right?"

"Yes, I came last year."

"Two thousand isn't little; keep some for yourself."

The young man shook his head.

"My hometown is Beichuan," his voice was low, "I just tried calling home, couldn't get through."

The senior woman was stunned.

The line fell silent.

Someone handed him a bottle of water, and someone patted his shoulder.

He stood, silent, his eyes fixed ahead.

At 8 p. m., Zhou Ye returned from the Red Cross.

He pushed open Li Yaozong's office door and plopped onto the sofa.

"Director Li, the supplies list is ready."

He handed over a sheet of paper.

Li Yaozong took it and looked.

Mineral water: 50,000 boxes.

Instant noodles: 30,000 boxes.

Bread: 20,000 boxes.

Quilt: 20,000 pieces.

Tents: 5,000 units.

Common medicines: several.

"The Red Cross said these supplies are the most needed right now. The roads aren't open yet, but as long as we can get them in, they can save lives."

Li Yaozong nodded.

"What about the convoy?"

"Lin Jiawen has already arranged it. The first batch is twenty trucks, loading tonight, departing early tomorrow. Afterwards we'll watch the road conditions; we'll send as many as can get through as possible."

Li Yaozong looked at the list and was silent for a few seconds.

"Tell the drivers to prioritize safety. If they encounter danger on the road, protecting the people comes first."

Zhou Ye nodded.

"Also," Li Yaozong said, "keep an eye on the satellite telephone. If communications are cut off, nothing can be done."

"It's already being handled," Zhou Ye said. "Two hundred phones will be activated tonight and shipped with the first batch of supplies tomorrow. We've also reached an agreement with the satellite company to open a dedicated channel for the disaster zone, with 24‑hour support."

At eleven p. m., Li Yaozong was still in the office.

The mobile phone on the desk vibrated.

It was a message from Wang Bo:

"Director Li, creators over there have started donating voluntarily. Several top creators posted videos urging fans to donate money and goods; the videos have already amassed over ten million views."

Li Yaozong opened Phoenix Chat and scrolled through.

On the homepage, everywhere was content titled "Pray for Wenchuan."

Some posted videos, some posted images and text, some started donation chains. In the comment section, everywhere were messages like "Go Sichuan" and "China, go."

He kept scrolling and saw a familiar ID.

It was that middle‑aged uncle who cooks.

He posted a video titled "Not cooking tonight, want to say a few words." In the video, he wore an apron, stood in the kitchen, and his eyes were slightly red.

"Friends, the Sichuan earthquake has struck; many brothers and sisters are still beneath the rubble. We can't help in other ways, but we can donate money and share the rescue messages. There's a donation link on Phoenix Chat; I've placed it in the comments. Contribute as you can—every cent is love."

The video's view count has already exceeded eight million.

Li Yaozong watched it for a long time.

Then he sent Wang Bo a reply:

"Have the tech department monitor it so the servers don't crash."

At eight a. m. the next morning, the information wall in the lobby of Wanxiang Dasha displayed the latest donation statistics.

Group donations: 100 million yuan.

Individual donations total: 123 million yuan.

Among them:

Li Ping'an: 15 million yuan

Li Yaozong: 10 million yuan

Lin Jiawen: 2 million yuan

Chen Feng: 2 million yuan

Zhao Ming: 1.5 million yuan

Liu Yang: 1 million yuan

Wang Bo: 1 million yuan

Zhou Ye: 800,000 yuan

…

Employee donations: as of 8:00 on May 13, about 8.7 million yuan had been received, with 23,000 participants.

A crowd gathered in front of the information wall.

Some took photos, some discussed, some silently stared at the numbers.

A middle‑aged man in a security uniform stood at the front, staring at the figures, his eyes slightly red.

Someone beside him asked, "Master, have you donated?"

He nodded.

"I did. One month's salary."

"That's over two thousand; can you afford it?"

He was silent for a few seconds.

"My hometown is Mianyang," he said softly. "I got through on the phone last night; everyone at home is okay. The house collapsed, but the people are still alive."

He paused.

"People are still alive, which is stronger than anything."

At ten a. m., the first convoy of supplies departed from Shenzhen.

Twenty large trucks, loaded with water, instant noodles, tents, and medicine, bore a red banner that read:

"Wanxiang Group Earthquake Relief Supplies"

"When one region is in trouble, eight regions lend support"

Li Yaozong stood among the crowd at the departure ceremony, watching the convoy slowly roll out of the plant.

Zhou Ye stood beside him.

"Director Li, a colleague from Chengdu called; the roads aren't fully cleared yet, but they're trying to coordinate."

Li Yaozong nodded.

"Tell the drivers, safety first. If they can get in, go in; if not, wait in a safe spot."

Zhou Ye replied, turned, and made a call.

The last truck of the convoy vanished from view.

At three p. m., Lin Jiawen called from Hong Kong.

"Director Li, staff at the Hong Kong branch have also donated voluntarily. In one day they contributed over four million Hong Kong dollars."

Li Yaozong hummed.

"Also," Lin Jiawen said, "people from the Hong Kong Red Cross have contacted us, saying they are preparing to send a medical team to the disaster area and want to ask whether we can provide communication equipment."

"Do we still have satellite Telephone?"

"There are fifty units in reserve."

"Give them to them," Li Yaozong said. "Tell the Red Cross people that Wanshang will cooperate fully."

At seven p. m., the cafeteria was filled with people again.

The television was still broadcasting earthquake news. In the footage, rescuers lifted a child from the rubble, covered in ash but still alive. A round of cheers erupted on the scene.

In the cafeteria, someone started clapping.

The applause grew louder and more numerous, eventually merging into one.

A young female worker held a tray, clapping while tears fell.

The older sister beside her patted her.

"Don't cry; being alive is enough."

The worker nodded and wiped away her tears with her sleeve.

"I'll donate again tomorrow."

That night, Li Yaozong refreshed the donation statistics for the last time.

Group donations: 100 million

Executives' personal donations total: 123 million

Employee donations total: 15.62 million

Grand total: 238 million

He stared at it for a long time.

Then he shut down the computer, stood up, and walked to the window.

Outside the window, Shenzhen's night was deep. In the distance, the lights of the Nanshan R&D Center resembled a field of stars.

He recalled a message he had received that afternoon.

It was sent by that Beichuan youngster.

"President Li, we just managed to get through the home Telephone. Mom and dad are alive, the house is gone, they are in a tent. Thank you, thank Wanshang."

He looked at that message and remained silent for a long time.

Outside, the night wind blew.

In the distance, the lights remained unchanged.

He knew that tomorrow more people would donate, more supplies would set out, and more rescue teams would arrive.

This is China.

This is Wanshang.