Chapter 101

Deputy Secretary Lin Zhimin said: “Using the distillery as a pilot is fine, but moving too fast on shareholding reform—isn’t that a bit too bold? And Zhou Andong is too young; making him factory director won’t win people’s respect, let alone giving him a high salary and shares.”

Zuo Peiming said: “If we don’t take bold steps, when will we catch up with and surpass Britain and America? If we’re going to reform, we must dare to break new ground, dare to experiment, and dare to use people.”

Reform and opening up means aligning with the international community—why can’t we give him a high salary, high benefits, and shares? Only by offering sufficient incentives can we retain talent like Zhou Andong and let him serve the enterprise, the workers, and the country wholeheartedly. Times have changed; our generation has already given all we could—now we can’t demand more sacrifice from others.”

If Zhou Andong knew that Zuo Peiming was backing him so strongly, he wouldn’t know whether to be moved, to cry, or to laugh.

Cheng Zhanjun glanced at the others: “If you have thoughts, speak up.”

Dai Hongwei said: “From what I know, many cadres at the distillery are unfit for their positions—some can’t even read or write—and yet they hold leadership roles. If we don’t carry out sweeping reforms and purge these deep-rooted problems, the distillery will eventually slip back to its old ways.”

Cheng Zhanjun said: “Those unfit for their posts? Let them step down. Those occupying seats without doing a thing? Kick them all out. Let capable people take their place—especially the young. They have energy, courage, and drive. Why shouldn’t we give them a chance? Just because they’re young, lack seniority, and have no so-called prestige?”

Nonsense. Those clinging to seniority and holding positions are all useless, idle drones. All they do is rely on their age to boss people around and abuse their old credentials. When work needs doing, they vanish—but when it comes to dragging people down, they’re always there.”

Deng Zhangli thought for a moment and said: “Shareholding reform isn’t impossible, but how we implement it needs careful study. Appointing Zhou Andong as factory director, giving him a high salary and shares—fine. But once we give him what he wants, can he deliver what we expect?”

Cheng Zhanjun said: “He gave me a written guarantee: within three years, he’ll raise sales to two hundred million and make our distillery the largest in the country, and ensure every worker lives in an apartment and eats meat every day.”

“Whoa!” A sharp intake of breath echoed—two hundred million in sales within three years? This Zhou Andong really dares to talk big.

“Hahaha!” Deng Zhangli burst out laughing: “Bold words! Fine—I’ll give him three years. If he doesn’t deliver a report I’m satisfied with, I’ll spank his ass.”

Zhou Andong didn’t know that Zuo Peiming had taken his boasts seriously. He couldn’t have imagined that the demands he’d blurted out that day had already been approved.

The distillery was approved as a reform pilot, unanimously. Zuo Peiming looked even happier than Cheng Zhanjun.

After the meeting, Zuo Peiming returned to the municipal government and saw Gu Bing sitting outside their office door.

“When did you get here?”

Gu Bing said: “I got here at nine. They said you were in a meeting and would be back by noon, so I’ve been waiting.”

“Come inside and talk.” Zuo Peiming opened the door and stepped in. “Sit down!”

Gu Bing didn’t bother with politeness—he plopped onto the sofa. The secretary poured him tea.

“What do you want?” Zuo Peiming sipped his tea.

Gu Bing said: “The distillery is launching a new liquor, but production can’t keep up. I’m planning to merge and restructure the Jinli County Distillery.”

At this moment, Zhou Andong had already returned to the factory. He wandered through the workshops with nothing to do. When he walked through the factory office entrance, he ran straight into Wang Ruomei.

They exchanged glances. Wang Ruomei nodded expressionlessly and walked past him.

Zhou Andong sighed, then suddenly remembered—after all this time since work resumed, where were Liu Zhiguang and Qian Wei? Hadn’t those two shown up for work at all? And Wang Ruomei’s husband wasn’t exactly a forgiving man—why was he completely silent?

Before the New Year, Yao Qixin had been loitering daily at the distillery gate, though Zhou Andong hadn’t known. But after the New Year, he hadn’t shown up once.

For no reason, Zhou Andong felt a bad premonition—as if something was about to happen.

“What are you standing here for?” Jian Qiu appeared at the stairwell and walked over quickly.

Zhou Andong snapped back: “Where are you going?”

Jian Qiu asked: “Have you had lunch?”

Zhou Andong shook his head: “No.”

“Come on!” Jian Qiu reached for Zhou Andong’s hand, but someone entered from outside—she pulled her hand back.

They ate dumplings at the opposite lamb soup shop. By the time they finished, it was past one.

Jian Qiu said: “The lightbulb in my kitchen is broken again.”

Zhou Andong said: “Didn’t you just replace it the day before yesterday?”

Jian Qiu looked innocent: “The bulb’s quality is terrible. Last night, when I flipped the switch, it just—pop!—shattered. Scared me half to death.”

Zhou Andong sighed: “I’ll buy one later. I’ll come over tonight and replace it.”

Jian Qiu’s lips curled into a smug smile: “Why wait till tonight? Let’s buy one now and replace it right away.”

Zhou Andong said: “It’s just a lightbulb—why rush?”

Jian Qiu ignored his objections, grabbed his arm, and pulled him out. They bought a bulb, then flagged down a yellow minivan.

“Driver, to the Procuratorate’s staff housing complex.”

Jian Qiu said, then wrapped her arm around Zhou Andong’s, rested her head on his shoulder, and slowly closed her eyes, savoring the rare quiet.

The driver, young, kept glancing in the rearview mirror, openly envious of Zhou Andong. What a shame—this guy behind me isn’t even as good-looking as me, yet how come I can’t find a girlfriend like that?

The driver pulled up at the destination. Jian Qiu paid, and they got out.

Upstairs, inside the apartment, Jian Qiu said: “Replace the bulb first. I’ll change clothes, then head back to the factory.”

“Alright.” Zhou Andong carried a stool into the kitchen, looked up—the bulb was shattered. He rummaged for ages before finding pliers, then carefully unscrewed the broken socket piece by piece from the fitting.

“Done yet?” Jian Qiu appeared at the kitchen doorway.

“Done!” Zhou Andong screwed in the new bulb, looked down—and saw Jian Qiu. His eyes widened.

Jian Qiu wore a tight skirt, black stockings, high heels, and a white blouse with a deep V-neck. Around her neck hung a thin chain with a heart-shaped pendant resting in the hollow just above her collarbone.

“Holy shit!” Zhou Andong lost his balance and crashed to the floor with a thud.

“Ah!” Jian Qiu screamed, rushing over. “Are you hurt? Where did you fall?”