Chapter 119

“What’s his name?” Zhou Andong tossed a cigarette to Qian Zhen and handed him a lighter.

Gu Bing said, “Cheng Dadan.”

Zhou Andong blinked and smiled. “That’s actually fitting.”

Gu Bing said, “He looks like an old-school scholar, but when he loses his temper, he’s fearless. During those ten years, he dared to drink from big bowls and eat big chunks of meat. When Lao Weihong came after him, he picked up a triple-edged spear and chased over twenty of them all over town.”

“When reform and opening-up were proposed in ’78, he was a secretary in a small southern town. In ’79 and ’80, under his support, over thirty private enterprises sprang up in that town—though they were all family-run workshops, back then he was walking a tightrope.”

Zhou Andong took a drag. “His nerve is certainly big.”

Gu Bing said, “So giving you shares? To him, it’s no big deal. But the condition is you deliver on your promise—if you fail, he won’t be spared, and your ass will definitely get beaten.”

Zhou Andong clicked his tongue. “So serious? Then I’d better think it over—being factory director is too dangerous.”

Gu Bing chuckled maliciously. “Who told you to brag about hitting two hundred million in sales in three years? I’d like to see how you pull that off.”

Zhou Andong sighed. It was the early nineties—achieving two hundred million in sales within three years was no small feat. He’d originally planned to pave the way for Gu Bing and then step back, but now he was forcibly pinned as factory director, stuck to answer for his own big talk.

“Uncle Qian!”

Qian Zhen quickly waved his hand. “You’re the factory director—don’t call me Uncle Qian.”

Zhou Andong laughed. “Even if I’m the director, I still have to call you Uncle.”

Qian Zhen was about to say more, but Zhou Andong shook his head to stop him. “Enough—it’s just a title. We’ve acquired the Jinli County Distillery, and I’m putting you in charge there.”

“Fine!” Qian Zhen agreed without hesitation, then asked, “What about Du Chun? He’s not bad.”

In truth, Qian Zhen staying behind would give Zhou Andong the greatest advantage, but there was no choice—there simply weren’t enough people, and the merger was too critical to entrust to anyone else.

“I’ll transfer Du Chun to the main factory. From now on, the county distillery will handle only production, no sales rights—some departments will be cut. Tomorrow, talk to Du Chun: who’s usable, who isn’t. Fire the useless ones. I’ll keep some usable staff for you; the rest will come over with Du Chun.”

Saying this, Zhou Andong crushed his cigarette underfoot. “Also, pick a few reliable people from the factory to take with you.”

Gu Bing asked, “Things are going to get busy.”

Zhou Andong flipped open the reform plan. The first proposal was to sell twenty percent of the enterprise’s full ownership to employees, with the city retaining control. The second proposal was to sell all assets to employees, with the city contributing land as equity.

Zhou Andong frowned, then handed the reform plan to Gu Bing and Qian Zhen. Both glanced at it.

Gu Bing said, “I think the second proposal matches what you said the other day.”

Qian Zhen nodded. “I agree—the second proposal is better.”

Jian Qiu took it, glanced at it, then looked at Zhou Andong. “I know what you’re thinking—you want the government to fully exit the enterprise. But for now, that’s unrealistic.”

Zhou Andong sighed again. “Looks like we’re stuck with the second proposal.”

Jian Qiu said, “The main factory and county distillery are valued at thirty-two million. The land is appraised at six point four million—the city holds six point four million shares, twenty percent. Add your twelve percent—three point eight four million shares. The remaining sixty-eight percent—twenty-one point seven six million shares—goes to the employees.”

Zhou Andong smiled. “Our Jiangzhou land is still valuable.”

Jian Qiu smiled too. “Be grateful—it didn’t appraise at twenty million. Just holding control is a win.”

Zhou Andong said, “You two should also save up some cash—once this chance passes, it won’t come again.”

“Enough!” Zhou Andong stood up. “Let’s go eat—our stomachs are empty.”

The next day, Zhou Andong got swamped. First, he sent a long list to Zuo Peiming, then designed the trademark for Jiang Xiaobai—yes, he was too lazy to think of another name; it would just be Jiang Xiaobai.

Then came the marketing plan. Since he’d bragged, he had to deliver. The old marketing plan was outdated—he rewrote it entirely.

On February 27, Zhou Andong went to the distillery and headed straight to Jian Qiu’s office, handing her a sheet covered in lyrics and sheet music.

“Can you sing it?”

Jian Qiu took it, hummed along, and her eyes lit up. “Who wrote this?”

Zhou Andong said, “Besides me, who else could write such a beautiful song?”

Jian Qiu didn’t believe him. “Fine, don’t tell me.”

Zhou Andong got flustered. “You still don’t believe me? I really wrote it!”

Seeing him upset, Jian Qiu asked skeptically, “Really?”

“Of course!” Zhou Andong slapped his chest. “Your man would lie to anyone but his woman.”

Jian Qiu burst out laughing. “Alright, I believe you.”

“What kind of attitude!” Zhou Andong grumbled. “Believe it or not—why are you laughing?”

Jian Qiu ignored him. “Is this song specifically for promoting Jiang Xiaobai?”

“Yes!” Zhou Andong said. “Launch the song in April to introduce Jiang Xiaobai, then hit the graduation season in June.”

Jian Qiu nodded, looking at the song sheet with quiet excitement. “An Jing is professional—she can sing it.”

“Fine!” Zhou Andong agreed. “Give it to her tonight. Let her practice, then record it fast.”

Jian Qiu said, “To record, we’ll need to go to Beijing.”

“Figure it out,” Zhou Andong waved, turning to leave.

Jian Qiu asked, “Where are you going?”

Zhou Andong said, “I’m going to see Gao Qingkui. He retires the day after tomorrow. Don’t come in tomorrow—stay home. It’s freezing, the roads are icy, his old bones and joints might break if he slips coming in.”

Since the all-staff meeting, Gao Qingkui had been punctual—arriving and leaving on time every day, something he hadn’t done in decades.

Zhang Deyou was the same—stuck in his office all day, even skipping lunch. Only at quitting time would you see him emerge.

Zhou Andong didn’t know what those two old bastards were up to, but he was sure they weren’t doing anything good.

At Gao Qingkui’s office door, Zhou Andong knocked.

No response. He knocked again.

This time, a voice answered: “Come in.”

Zhou Andong pushed the door open. “Old Factory Director, you’re still working hard for the distillery even on your last day—makes this junior feel ashamed.”