Chapter 133: Borrowing a Chicken to Lay Eggs? No, He

Jin Peng didn’t send for Li Dayong because the people in his dorm said he’d gone again to Beijing Aviation Academy to look for classmates.

Li Ye muttered strangely: “Going to find classmates again? So he’s been more than once? Why hasn’t that guy come to see me?”

Jin Peng chuckled. “Why wouldn’t he come to you? You’ve got a rich girl on your arm—can’t he find himself a partner?”

Li Ye immediately stiffened his face. “Brother Jin, don’t joke like that!”

“Pfft~”

Jin Peng gave Li Ye a look of disdain and didn’t press further on his brother’s false propriety.

They were all men—who didn’t know who? Thinking of his own wife back home, Jin Peng felt a pang of longing.

With Li Dayong absent, another shareholder was missing from this meeting—but luckily, that bear had no interest in business anyway; as long as his money was safe, it didn’t matter.

Seeing Jin Peng, Hao Jian, and Wang Qiang called into the main room and the door shut for the meeting, Tan Min couldn’t help sneering.

He sneered at Wei Jiaxian: “See that? The old man you rushed to join up with doesn’t even have the right to attend meetings—what’s the point of you clinging to him?”

Wei Jiaxian stayed silent, but Lao Song scowled: “We just joined. We haven’t earned a single merit—why should we expect the same treatment as those who drank blood and swore brotherhood?”

“If you want them to take you seriously, you’ve got to show your skill, get something done. Look at Ma Qianshan—he joined even earlier than us, and he’s still sitting outside.”

Ma Qianshan seemed to catch the noise, glanced over at Lao Song, then turned away with disdain, calmly smoking.

You think you can compare with me? I smoke Peony cigarettes—what’s your rank, smoking dry tobacco?

But soon, the main room door opened.

“Lao Song, come in.”

Lao Song hurried inside, instinctively squatting by the wall.

Li Ye said: “Come sit down. I’ve got something to tell you.”

Lao Song’s heart leapt—he quickly sat down.

He knew: this was serious business.

Li Ye told Lao Song: “Tomorrow, Hao Jian will give you fifty thousand yuan as capital. How you run it’s your business—but can you do accounts?”

Lao Song replied at once: “I can. I’ve handled accounts for over ten years—I can count with both hands.”

Li Ye nodded. “Good. Keep the books clear. Know what you should and shouldn’t take.”

Lao Song smiled. “I understand the rules. Break them, and it’s three knives, six holes. But I brought two men with me—how should I assign them?”

“Your three together get five hundred yuan base salary—I don’t care how you split it,” Li Ye said. “I’ll review the books once a quarter. Do well, and bonuses start at a thousand. Do poorly? Don’t even think about it.”

Lao Song beamed. “Absolutely right—wages are wages, bonuses are bonuses. The top scholar is truly generous.”

“Then that’s it for today!”

Li Ye stood up. “Jin Peng, Hao Jian—do as I said. Get the phones, cars, and houses sorted fast. If anything comes up, come find me at the school.”

Jin Peng and Hao Jian quickly agreed, especially Hao Jian.

Just now, Hao Jian had raised his difficulties—this was the most important agenda item of the shareholder meeting.

Guo Donglun had arranged Hao Jian’s affiliation under the Seventh Branch Factory of Pengcheng Garment Company, but he’d only solved the official seal, material planning, and land approval.

The official seal was just a paper shell—and right now, no one in Pengcheng wanted land. What Hao Jian truly lacked was workers, but no one cared.

Hao Jian still hadn’t hired a single worker!

Even if he hired them, training would be a problem—everyone learns from experienced workers, one batch guiding the next—but Hao Jian’s factory had no seasoned workers. Who would train the new ones?

Everything’s hard at the start—Hao Jian finally understood how tough it was to be a factory boss.

Planned raw materials kept arriving nonstop, funds kept flowing out nonstop. Even with three heads and six arms, Hao Jian could only produce a few samples first—he couldn’t possibly afford full-scale production yet.

But Li Ye had just given him a new perspective—he thought it was quite feasible.

Lao Song groveled his way out with Li Ye, then turned back proudly to tell Tan Min and Wei Jiaxian about their wages.

Wei Jiaxian got two hundred yuan a month; Tan Min got one hundred.

At this wage level, you couldn’t find a handful even in the whole Qingshui County—let alone in the provincial capital.

“I’m telling you, what we’re doing here is big business—cars, phones, all of it will be provided.”

“Why do I only get a hundred?”

“What?”

Proud and smug, Lao Song stared at Tan Min, confused why the kid suddenly had red eyes.

Tan Min grabbed Lao Song’s collar, furious: “You two bastards get two hundred each—why do I get only a hundred? Is that fair? I’m even a Party member!”

“Damn it~! You little brat think I’m easy to mess with?”

Lao Song was a group leader now—he couldn’t let a subordinate show him up.

So he kicked out at Tan Min—but Tan Min had just come off the battlefield, and he wasn’t ordinary. They grabbed and wrestled, locked in a stalemate.

Quiet Wei Jiaxian murmured: “I’ll give you my two hundred—save it for your sister.”

Tan Min instantly let go of Lao Song, glaring at Wei Jiaxian: “I’ll leave you twenty for pocket money—but if you pick up any of this old bastard’s bad habits, don’t blame me for being rough. Drinking brothel wine? Pfft.”

A rich man turns bad—that’s what Tan Min’s sister had warned him.

Eight a.m., Yuejin Garment Factory.

Factory Director Wang Dali held his teacup, staring out the office window.

Outside the window was the factory’s only gate—any worker late or leaving early couldn’t escape his eyes.

For half an hour, Wang Dali didn’t move a step—only the water in his teacup was drained.

“Thirty-seven. Last week it was twenty-one. I’ve got to figure something out.”

Wang Dali sat back at his desk, face heavy with worry.

Yuejin Garment Factory sounded grand, but it was a street factory launched during special times, made up of workers’ families and laboring women, later absorbing some unemployed youth into a small collective enterprise.

After Wang Dali joined, Yuejin had once thrived—but as times changed, more workers joined while production quotas shrank.

With this imbalance, the factory’s performance naturally declined. Wages hadn’t risen in years; even medical reimbursements were in trouble—surviving only on loans.

Originally, the factory was collective, the loans were collective—patching one wall with another, Director Wang could manage.

But since the New Year, loans stopped being approved—Yuejin Garment Factory plunged into crisis.

Wang Dali exhausted every connection, begging above for plans, for funds—but now, factories in trouble weren’t just his. Everyone was hungry.

There were far bigger, stronger factories with bigger mouths, eating more and taking more. Who cared about a small factory like Yuejin, with only a hundred or two hundred workers?

Helpless, Wang Dali began selling off the factory’s assets—today clearing inventory, tomorrow selling scrap, barely clinging to life day by day.

But once conditions worsened, workers became harder to manage—more absences, more truancy, more slipping away.

After all, the factory wasn’t running full-time—why should they all sit around listening to Director Wang’s empty speeches?

In just six months, the factory’s morale had sunk so low Wang Dali couldn’t sleep.

Even if the factory collapsed, it had nothing to do with Wang Dali—he could always find another seat somewhere else. No one would punish a man of his rank.

But Yuejin Garment Factory held decades of Wang Dali’s heart and soul—he truly grieved for it.

“Ding ding ding~”

The phone rang. Wang Dali picked it up—it was the gatekeeper.

“Director, Director, some southerners are here saying they want to discuss business. Should I let them in?”

“Discuss business?” Wang Dali frowned. “Are they scammers? What business could we possibly have?”

“Ahem,” the voice lowered. “Director, this guy doesn’t look ordinary—he came with money. I saw it when he pulled out his cigarettes—several stacks in his bag.”

“Let them in right away. Also, go find Director Yang—he hasn’t shown up for work today!”

“Yes, I’ll go now.”

The gatekeeper hung up, tucked away two packs of cigarettes with foreign brand names, and told Hao Jian and the others: “Go in. The second floor of that small building is the director’s office.”

Hao Jian then led Zhou Lijuan and Ma Qianshan into the factory.

“Hao Ge, are Beijing people really this high-and-mighty? A gatekeeper held us up for ages—we’re here to bring them money!”

Ma Qianshan shifted his shoulders, still uncomfortable in his suit.

Hao Jian was annoyed too: “I’ve told you a hundred times—in private you can call me Ge, but outside, call me Factory Director. If you forget again, I’ll send you back to Qingshui County.”

“I… fine.”

Zhou Lijuan followed behind, shaking her head—she felt like they were total con artists.

Wang Dali came downstairs himself to greet them, led them upstairs, sat them down, and began warm small talk, probing their background.

Soon, Wang Dali grew suspicious—Hao Factory Director didn’t sound like a Yangcheng native. Though he claimed to have been transferred from Dongshan, something felt off.

But that Zhou accountant? She looked the part.

Over the years, when Wang Dali begged for funds, he dealt with people just like her—the smell was too familiar.

“Director Hao, you mentioned wanting to discuss business with our factory—what exactly?”

Hao Jian smiled. “Our factory has recently expanded sales in the north, with good prospects. Since Yangcheng is so far, we’re looking for nearby sister units for subcontracted processing.”

“Subcontracted processing? We’ve done that before,” Wang Dali hesitated.

Yuejin Garment Factory had previously cooperated with a few familiar small collectives—but those were arranged by higher-ups. He’d never handled unplanned work.

If something went wrong, he’d be held responsible.

“Director Wang, first take a look at our product requirements and the pricing sheet. If it fits, we’ll talk. We’re also going to visit Chunhua Garment Factory.”

Ma Qianshan immediately pulled out several samples, and Zhou Lijuan handed over a subcontracting price list.

“Chunhua Garment Factory? Why are you going there?”

Wang Dali was startled, losing his composure.

He knew Chunhua Garment Factory well—it was even worse off than Yuejin.

That old hag, Factory Director Zheng Xiaoli, had green eyes for money—she’d grab any cash she could. If Hao Jian went there, would there be anything left for Wang Dali?

Looking at the stylish clothing samples and the seemingly reasonable price list, Wang Dali was truly tempted.

An hour later, Wang Dali took a thousand yuan deposit from Hao Jian and signed a contract for contract processing with the newly arrived workshop director, Lao Yang.

Zhou Lijuan watched Hao Jian’s actions in silence, worried for this factory director Wang.

Because she clearly understood Hao Jian’s intent—it wasn’t about “borrowing a hen to lay eggs,” but about taking the hen itself.

Hao Jian had already instructed Ma Qianshan to pay attention to skilled technical backbone staff who were young, strong, and “unappreciated” while overseeing outsourced processing at the clothing factory; anyone willing to go to Pengcheng would start at triple salary.

A small collective factory barely clinging to life—once it loses its technical backbone, sigh.

Who could blame small factories for failing to retain people?

Yet Zhou Lijuan couldn’t understand why that young man had such an enormous appetite.

Through a man named Lao Qiu, Hao Jian obtained a list of small collective enterprises from the relevant authorities—not just Chunhua Clothing Factory, but all the other clothing factories too were on his radar.

And why was he so eager to establish real industry?

Isn’t contract processing good enough?

No need to build factories, no need to manage workers, profits aren’t low at all, and according to Li Ye’s requirements, taxes are paid in full, contributions are made thoroughly—who could possibly find fault?

Why go out of your way to create trouble?

Truly incomprehensible.

“Director Hao, you should stay at the guesthouse near us! I’ll arrange it for you.”

“No no no, we’ll stay in the city—we have some relationships to cultivate tonight.”

Wang Dali treated Hao Jian well, then urged him to send the raw materials as soon as possible.

Once the factory starts production, worker morale will inevitably rise, and it’ll be easier for him as factory director.

Hao Jian readily agreed—he was even more eager than Wang Dali.

So Wang Dali arranged for the factory’s car to take Hao Jian and his group.

In the car, Hao Jian used two packs of cigarettes to extract more details about Yuejin Clothing Factory from the driver.

“Hey, driver, are you selling this car?”

“Of course we are—if you pay enough, even the factory director will sell his sister.”

“.”

(End of Chapter)