Chapter 71: Money Moves the Heart

Watching Zhou Andong and the other three leave, Gu Bing sighed and said, “With great ability comes great responsibility—what can I do? I can only watch you go out and have fun.”

His tone was as mournful as a neglected wife, yet the smug expression on his face betrayed him.

Thinking of how Zhou Andong had told him they’d launch a new liquor after the New Year, he picked up the phone and called the Technical Department. They needed to start R&D as soon as possible—the sooner the product hit the market, the better for the brewery’s growth. The factory wasn’t short of money now; this was the perfect time to invest.

What boosted his morale even more was that during Zhou Andong’s absence, line after line of trucks came to pick up liquor, only to be told there was none—and they all refused to leave.

Eventually, they couldn’t hold out any longer; starting yesterday, people began to drift away, and today things had finally calmed down—only for Gao Qingkui and Zhang Deyou, those two old devils, to stir up trouble again. But this time, they’d grown smarter: they didn’t show their faces themselves, instead pushing out the fool Chang Tai.

Now Gu Bing was truly riding high, calling his shady friends every night to brag.

In Gao Qingkui’s office, the old man held a porcelain mug, standing by the window staring outside, eyes unblinking, lost in thought.

Zhang Deyou sat on the sofa, looking drained, whether from his injured arm or not, his face was pale and grim.

Chang Tai stood to one side; the silence in the office was suffocating, making it hard to breathe, yet he dared not utter a word.

After who knew how long, a sharp crack echoed—Zhang Deyou hurled his teacup to the floor, not caring this was Gao Qingkui’s office.

During this period, facing Zhou Andong, he’d been repeatedly humiliated—his body and spirit battered into rags. The power he once prided himself on had become useless.

He couldn’t even fire a lowly worker—how ironic. In short, he needed to vent, especially with the oppressive atmosphere just now, as if his chest would explode.

The teacup shattered. Chang Tai flinched, shrinking his neck. Gao Qingkui turned and gave him a cool glance, saying nothing. He too was seething inside, wanting to vent—but before Zhang Deyou and Chang Tai, he had to maintain his image.

Zhang Deyou exhaled deeply, the pressure in his chest finally easing: “That bastard—how the hell does he have such luck? He always escapes disaster.”

Gao Qingkui turned and sat down, sipping his tea slowly: “I’d like to see if he’s really God’s illegitimate son.”

Zhang Deyou snorted: “Good chances won’t come again.”

Gao Qingkui said: “He wants the sales bonus, right? Zuo Peiming said it’s too little? Fine—we’ll raise it.”

Zhang Deyou blinked: “Why?”

Gao Qingkui smiled: “Money stirs the heart. Eighty tons of liquor, one bonus—that’s eighty thousand. How many people will be envious?”

Zhang Deyou’s eyes lit up, giving a thumbs-up: “Brilliant. Truly brilliant.”

“Chang Tai!” Zhang Deyou said. “Understand? Go arrange it.”

Chang Tai looked utterly confused: “Boss… what do you mean?”

“Idiot!” If this fool weren’t so loyal, Zhang Deyou would’ve fired him long ago. “Go find Qu Hongqi—he knows what to do.”

Zhou Andong stepped out of the factory office and saw denunciation letters scattered on the ground. He bent down, picked one up, glanced at the signature—and made a surprised sound.

Jian Qiu asked: “What’s wrong?”

“The denouncer’s name matches someone from our village.” Zhou Andong smiled, shaking the paper in his hand, then bent to pick up another. His brow furrowed. He picked up over a dozen more—every name was familiar, all villagers from Tanghezi.

Same names are common, nothing strange—but one coincidence? Two? Could over a dozen be coincidences?

“Interesting. Very interesting.”

Jian Qiu leaned close to Zhou Andong, peering at the letters in his hand: “What’s the issue?”

Zhou Andong felt a soft body press against him, then a faint, pleasant fragrance drifted into his nose. Jian Qiu’s voice came beside his ear, her warm breath brushing his face—suddenly, in minus seventeen or eighteen degrees, his body grew hot.

“Gulou!”

Zhou Andong swallowed hard, wanting to pull away but afraid she’d notice his reaction. He forced himself to stay calm: “I know all these people—they’re all from our village.”

“Take a look at these too,” An Jing said, having picked up a few.

Zhou Andong took them: “All familiar.”

Jian Qiu said: “Dai Hongwei said these letters are in only two handwriting styles—he’s a professional, so he’s definitely right.”

An Jing added: “These two people who wrote the letters know your village so well—they must be from there too. Think hard—who have you offended lately?”

Zhou Andong narrowed his eyes: “Good. Very good.”

Jian Qiu asked: “You know who it is?”

Zhou Andong nodded: “Nine out of ten—it’s that family. No one else could pull this off.”

Jian Qiu suddenly grabbed Zhou Andong’s hand, squeezing it tightly, then let go—as if offering comfort.

“Knowing who it is is enough. Just stay alert from now on.”

Zhou Andong’s heart thudded hard, savoring the cool, smooth sensation of her touch. He stole a glance at Jian Qiu—she looked perfectly calm. That gesture must’ve been instinctive. He let it go.

Zhou Andong’s heart thudded hard; he savored the cool, slippery sensation just now, stole a glance at Jian Qiu, and saw the woman was perfectly calm—her motion must have been unconscious, so he let it go.

No sooner had he spoken than the door behind him opened. He turned—Chang Tai stepped out, clearly surprised to see Zhou Andong here.

No sooner had he finished speaking than the door behind him creaked open; he turned to see Chang Tai stepping out, the man never expecting to run into Zhou Andong here.

Zhou Andong chuckled: “Chang Kezhang, what a coincidence?”

Chang Tai snorted and walked off.

Zhou Andong quickened his pace to follow: “Chang Kezhang, look at these letters—the denouncers? I know them all. Let me take you to verify with them. With their testimony, I won’t be able to escape.”

Chang Tai’s face darkened. He walked faster. But Zhou Andong kept pace, babbling nonstop—Chang Tai wanted to kill him.

“Zhou Andong!” Chang Tai roared. “What the hell do you want?”

Zhou Andong blinked innocently: “I don’t want anything. You’re trying to take me down, right? Look—I’m so cooperative, I’m offering to take you straight to the denouncers so you can nail me. Why are you angry?”

Chang Tai, his belly jiggling with rage, glared at Zhou Andong with a venomous look—then suddenly turned and ran.

Chang Tai, with his large belly, shook with rage, his facial fat quivering as he shot Zhou Andong a dark glance before suddenly turning and running away.