Chapter 121: No Turning Back

"Comrades, comrades, after work tonight, gather at the Cultural Palace for a meeting. It concerns the brewery’s reform and share distribution—directly tied to your own interests. Everyone must attend; don’t miss this opportunity."

In every workshop, everyone’s faces lit up with smiles.

"Finally, some news—I was losing all hope."

"The city leadership announced it themselves—how could there be any accident?"

"I bet the factory has been studying this these past few days."

"Do you really think Zhou Andong can get us all into apartment buildings?"

"I believe in him. Honestly, since he became factory director, I fully support him—with both hands and feet."

"Me too. If it weren’t for Director Zhou, my family would’ve been starving by now."

"Exactly. The one who cursed loudest back then was Chai Guangde—his wife was in confinement, couldn’t even get a bowl of fish soup, had no milk, and the baby screamed from hunger. They had no money for formula, borrowing from neighbor to neighbor. If Director Zhou hadn’t sold the liquor and raised our wages, that child would’ve starved to death."

"Pfft, Chai Guangde’s the most heartless, ungrateful bastard."

Zhang Deyou stood before the office window, staring at the factory gate for a long time without moving. He truly couldn’t accept it—but the situation had reached this point, there was nothing he could do, only to accept the outcome.

Liu Jian, head of the Finance Department, stood beside Zhang Deyou, listening to the broadcast. His already uneasy heart grew increasingly agitated. How did we lose? The factory director, deputy directors, and all of us mid-level cadres—how could we be toppled by a mere worker? We were thrown into chaos and still couldn’t figure out how we’d fallen.

Could Zhou Andong really be God’s illegitimate son? Otherwise, why every time we seemed about to crush him, he always rose again?

After a long silence, Zhang Deyou spoke: "Are you ready?"

Liu Jian nodded, but hesitated: "Are you sure we should do this?"

Zhang Deyou’s face twisted grimly: "Do you think Zhou Andong won’t audit the books?"

Liu Jian fell silent. Zhang Deyou continued: "If we don’t do this, neither I, the old factory director, nor you will escape unscathed."

Liu Jian suddenly felt fear—but then he thought of how much worse it would be if the accounting fraud were exposed. He had no choice but to press forward, no turning back.

"Shall we go to the meeting?"

"Yes!" Zhang Deyou said. "To avoid arousing suspicion, I’ll go with the old factory director."

All afternoon, no worker could focus on their tasks—everyone was thinking about the evening assembly. For the first time, a meeting held after work hours was met with genuine excitement.

"Ding…"

The dismissal bell rang. Workers laughed and chattered as they headed toward the Cultural Palace.

The factory administration buzzed with activity. Staff from every department stepped out of their offices—some with hopeful smiles, looking forward to the future; others uneasy, uncertain what tomorrow held.

Slowly, the administration quieted. Liu Jian was the last to leave the Finance Department. He stood at the door, glanced back once, then turned and locked up, hurrying away.

Gao Qingkui stepped out of his office, holding his enamel teacup. At that moment, Zhang Deyou emerged. The two exchanged a glance, then walked toward the stairs—one ahead, one behind.

Suddenly, Gu Bing’s office door opened. Zhou Andong stepped out, saw Gao Qingkui and Zhang Deyou, and cheerfully said: "Oh! Old factory director, Deputy Director Zhang—what a coincidence! Let’s walk together."

Gu Bing, Jian Qiu, and Qian Zhen followed behind, warmly greeting the two. The absence of their former hostility left Gao Qingkui and Zhang Deyou suspicious and uneasy—suddenly, their hearts grew restless.

Inside the Cultural Palace, the crowd was noisy. When Zhou Andong and the others entered, silence fell instantly. Seeing Zhou Andong, Gu Bing, Gao Qingkui, and Zhang Deyou walking together, chatting and laughing, everyone stared in disbelief.

What happened? Just yesterday they were fighting to the death, wanting to devour each other alive—how could they have changed overnight, now acting like lifelong friends?

No one could figure it out, so they stopped trying—and turned their gaze instead to Jian Qiu, walking beside Zhou Andong. Especially the women, all envious and admiring.

Women must have good taste. Look—Zhou Andong’s ex-wife, just divorced a few days ago, and now he’s got an 80,000-yuan bonus, become factory director, and holds twelve percent management shares.

That woman clearly wasn’t meant for fortune. But look at Director Jian—always cold to every man, yet she chose Zhou Andong, a divorced man, quietly, without a word. Now she’s the factory director’s wife. What vision! None of the girls in the factory can match her. No wonder she’s director—it’s also a kind of strength.

On stage, Zhou Andong guided Gao Qingkui to the center seat: "Old factory director, you’re respected by all. This seat belongs to you."

Throughout the walk, Zhou Andong’s flattery and this display of respect now felt like forcing him to swallow dog shit—he was nauseated. But he couldn’t refuse. If he stood up to sit elsewhere, the workers below would think: Even Zhou Andong forgave your past deeds, yet you still hold a grudge—and they’d surely curse him behind his back, in ways far worse than he could imagine.

A faint, almost imperceptible smile curled at Zhou Andong’s lips as he sat beside Gao Qingkui: "Old factory director, why don’t you say a few words?"

No matter how repulsed he felt inside, Gao Qingkui still smiled: "No, you speak first."

Zhou Andong turned to Zhang Deyou: "Deputy Director Zhang, would you like to say something?"

Zhang Deyou smiled and shook his head: "I don’t know much about the brewery reform or shares. Nothing worth saying."

"Alright then!" Zhou Andong picked up the microphone and tested the sound: "Comrades, are you all impatient?"

"Yes!" A thunderous roar came from below.

Zhou Andong laughed heartily: "Good! That proves you’re not stupid."

A ripple of light laughter rose from the crowd—though a few discordant sounds were drowned out.

Zhou Andong dawdled, dragging out time, tossing in harmless jokes that made the men roar with laughter and the women blush yet couldn’t hide their smiles. Their eyes on Zhou Andong shimmered with something unspoken.

Jian Qiu sat below, rolling her eyes at Zhou Andong constantly—but the upward curve of her lips betrayed her true mood.

The entire hall became Zhou Andong’s solo stand-up show. The workers felt nothing amiss—on the contrary, the atmosphere was joyful. But Gao Qingkui and Zhang Deyou grew increasingly uneasy, sensing something was off—but couldn’t say what.