Chapter 74: The Collapse of Chang Tai

“Chief Chang’s here!” Zhou Andong sauntered in with a smug grin. “Look, I kept all the complaint letters—I know all these complainants. I’ll take you to verify them. Honestly, I’m tired of living, utterly tired. Kill me if you want. If you kill me, I’ll thank your ancestors for eight generations…”

Chang Tai’s face turned green, as if he’d been forcibly fed a mouthful of shit, utterly nauseated.

Zhou Andong didn’t act like a guest. He picked up the teacup on the coffee table, then took some tea leaves from the desk, pinched a small amount, and carefully placed them in the cup. He lifted the thermos and poured water.

Hot steam rose as the boiling water poured in, swirling the tender green leaves along the inside of the cup—beautiful to watch.

“Chief Chang, we’re colleagues, really not strangers. You want to kill me? I don’t want to live either. This is a win-win. Why are you backing out now? You’re not acting like a man at all.”

“Slurp!” Zhou Andong lifted the teacup and took a sip: “Damn, it’s hot!” Then he plopped down on the sofa, crossed his legs. “Old Chang…”

The bastard had casually changed his address. “You were promoted by Zhang Deyou. You’ve been his lapdog for years. Don’t you know what your master wants? Anticipate his needs, fulfill his desires—get rid of me fast. Otherwise, you’re a lousy lapdog. Watch out—Zhang Deyou might break your legs.”

“Zhou Andong!” Chang Tai roared. Zhou Andong flinched, his teacup flying out of his hand like a precision-guided missile—straight into Chang Tai.

“Ow!”

Chang Tai screamed as scalding tea splashed all over him. A few drops landed on his face and neck, instantly raising blisters. Luckily, he was wearing thick winter clothes—otherwise, he’d have lost a layer of skin.

“Oh no!” Zhou Andong leapt up, rushed over, and started patting the tea stains off Chang Tai’s body—thump, thump—making Chang Tai roll his eyes.

“Enough!” Chang Tai trembled violently—whether from the burn or rage, no one could tell. He shoved Zhou Andong away. “What the hell do you want?!”

Zhou Andong looked wounded. “You wanted to ruin me. Now I’ve come willingly so you can ruin me—why are you mad?”

Zhou Andong smacked his lips. The words flowed easily—but why did they sound so twisted?

Chang Tai nearly cried. He stormed out of the office and slammed the door shut—only to turn around and see Zhou Andong holding a stack of complaint letters, right behind him.

“What the hell are you following me for?!” Chang Tai was on the verge of collapse, his voice a guttural roar like a wounded beast—utterly desperate.

Then, one by one, office doors on both sides opened, heads peeked out, saw Chang Tai and Zhou Andong, and quickly pulled back in, closing the doors again.

Zhou Andong shrugged, waving the complaint letters. “These are the complaint letters. I’ll take you to verify the complainants—so you can get rid of me.”

Chang Tai took a deep breath, climbed to the third floor, and entered Zhang Deyou’s office. He assumed Zhou Andong wouldn’t dare follow. But before the thought even faded, he realized his mistake—Zhou Andong was a shameless brute; there was nothing he wouldn’t do.

“Huh?” Zhang Deyou blinked at Chang Tai. When he saw Zhou Andong behind him, his face darkened. “What are you two doing in my office?”

Chang Tai snapped, “Zhou Andong has been following me, harassing me.”

Seeing Zhou Andong’s smug grin, Zhang Deyou’s eye twitched. He didn’t want trouble. Zhou Andong now was a walking plague—anyone who touched him got covered in shit, so nauseating you couldn’t eat or sleep, yet you couldn’t get rid of him.

“He’s harassing you, so why are you in my office?” Zhang Deyou barked. “Get out.”

Chang Tai shrank back, turned, and fled without hesitation.

Zhou Andong grinned at Zhang Deyou, then followed right behind Chang Tai.

In the following days, Zhou Andong became a shadow, trailing Chang Tai everywhere—he went to the office, Zhou Andong went; he went to the restroom, Zhou Andong followed.

Finally, on this day, Chang Tai completely broke down and took sick leave. Soon after, a rumor spread through the factory: on his last day, someone saw Chief Chang walking out in tears—so heartbroken, he nearly tumbled down the stairs.

January 27th, the 23rd day of the lunar month, Little New Year. Zhou Andong woke up, refreshed, stretched in the courtyard.

Since Chang Tai took sick leave, he’d had nothing to do. His boss wouldn’t be busy until after the New Year.

The factory had no major issues—the shop had been cleared out. Qin Qiu and An Jing, those two women, were nowhere to be seen, busy with something all day. He felt bored. Maybe he should buy some gifts and visit Chief Chang’s house.

Zhou Andong turned to go inside and saw Zhao Guifen peering nervously at the door. When she noticed him looking, she tossed her head, snorted, and walked off.

“Sigh,” Zhou Andong sighed, went to the coal shed, found a pitch-black burlap sack, and tossed it onto the snow pile by the gate.

Zhao Guifen entered the house, saw her two sons still asleep under thick quilts, flew into a rage, grabbed a broom, yanked off their quilts, and started beating them.

“I’ll let you sleep! I’ll let you sleep! Heartless brats!”

“Ow!”

“Ouch!”

“Mom… Mom, what are you doing?!”

“We didn’t even do anything this morning!”

Zhou Anbin and Zhou Anlei, in their underwear, jumped around the bed in pain.

Zhou Xiaode, tending the fire in the outer room, lifted the cotton curtain just enough to glance, then quickly dropped it and resumed burning the stove with full focus.

Zhao Guifen, exhausted, threw the broom onto the bed. “Did you two write the complaint letters?”

Zhou Anlei rubbed his red arm. “We wrote them. Didn’t you see me and my brother writing them that day?”

“Yeah!” Zhou Anbin rubbed his sore spot too. “I personally dropped them in the distillery’s mailbox.”

Zhao Guifen frowned. “That doesn’t make sense. If you dropped them in the mailbox, they should’ve been received by now—why hasn’t he been fired yet?”

Zhou Anlei grumbled, “Who knows? Maybe the distillery doesn’t care. Our complaint letters are useless.”

“You know nothing!” Zhao Guifen glared at Zhou Anlei. “Fine—we’ll file more. Get dressed, quick. Write more letters this time. I don’t believe we can’t get rid of him.”

“Again?!” Zhou Anbin complained. “I’m not writing. Let whoever wants to, write.”

Zhao Guifen grabbed the broom again. “Are you writing or not?”

“No!” Zhou Anbin stuck out his neck defiantly.

Zhao Guifen pointed the broom at Zhou Anbin. “If Zhou Andong gets fired, the girl he brought over will break up with him. Then he’ll have no choice but to become a son-in-law at the Liu family’s—then we’ll get a thousand yuan reward. That’ll cover your bride price. If you don’t write, you won’t have enough for your wedding. What’ll you do then?”

“I’ll write!” Hearing there was money—money for his bride price—Zhou Anbin instantly perked up.