Chapter 195: First Arrival in Hong Kong

When Li Ye and Jin Peng met Hao Jian in Pengcheng, the man had taken the train south from Xiaocheng by himself.

On the way home, the tension in his chest had kept him from feeling tired, but once he relaxed, Hao Jian was filled with resistance at the thought of driving back to Pengcheng.

With road conditions in the 1980s, driving over a thousand kilometers alone was no easy task.

So he left his wife, children, and that Lada Wanyi behind in Xiaocheng, sent a telegram asking for a driver from Pengcheng's Seventh Factory to come north and pick them up, and took the train himself.

When Hao Jian arrived at Pengcheng's Seventh Factory, Jin Peng saw his radiant expression and immediately realized Li Ye had guessed right again.

He teased with a sly grin: "Hey, Old Hao, how could you leave that money-burning daughter behind in Xiaocheng? Don't let anyone bully her."

"What money-burning daughter?"

Hao Jian shook his head, beaming: "You don't know how much my daughter is loved—everyone adores her, Third Aunt!"

"Oh my!"

Jin Peng drawled: "I thought after you went home, you'd at least go head-to-head with your old man! I've heard you say ten times you'd make him admit his mistakes."

Hao Jian rolled his neck, smug: "Men can't be wrong. But I got him drunk three times—he didn't dare curse me once. Think about it."

"Pfft~"

"Hahahaha~"

"Yes yes yes, go home and drink with your dad whenever you can—make him truly understand his error."

Jin Peng and Li Ye both laughed, mocking Hao Jian's stubborn pride but also congratulating him on his harmonious father-son bond.

Fathers and sons don't hold grudges overnight.

After reuniting with Li Ye, Hao Jian met the ten demobilized soldiers Jiang Hong had brought.

According to Li Zhongfa's plan, half of these men would stay with Hao Jian to guard against possible dangers from Sanshui.

Hao Jian was overwhelmed, smiling: "Little Brother Ye, you've already provided me with drivers, bodyguards, and female secretaries—two of each. Am I becoming a capitalist?"

Li Ye smiled faintly: "Capitalists differ from one another. As long as you never forget your conscience, does it matter if you're called a capitalist?"

"You say that, but I'd lose anything before I'd lose my conscience."

Hearing Li Ye's warning, Hao Jian immediately showed displeasure—he felt Li Ye was belittling his character.

Li Ye just smiled and didn't argue—what heartless capitalist hadn't once been a kind-hearted boy?

Li Ye called Jiang Hong over and said: "Uncle Jiang, tell those comrades the Seventh Factory needs workers. If they're willing, each can recommend one relative to join. Hao Jian will explain the details."

Jiang Hong nodded and went to speak with the ten demobilized soldiers.

But their reactions surprised Li Ye.

"Uncle Jiang, the weather here is stifling and hot—I'm afraid my sister can't handle it. I suffered enough from the heat on the southern battlefield; women can't take it."

"Old Jiang, I trust you, but I've only got two daughters of suitable age. Sending girls four thousand li away to work as laborers? I'm uneasy."

"We send money home every month—why make a woman come out and work?"

These demobilized soldiers still held strong patriarchal views: men working outside was enough; sending a woman across half of Zhonghua to labor here was inappropriate.

But Hao Jian, experienced as he was, stepped forward and spoke two sentences.

"At Pengcheng's Seventh Factory, frontline workers get base pay plus piece-rate—monthly income never falls below eighty yuan; normally it ranges from one hundred twenty to two hundred, and some skilled workers earn over two hundred."

"."

"Factory Director Hao, can one person only recommend one relative? I've got two daughters—can you make an exception? We're both from Qingshui."

"Factory Director Hao, I've only got one sister—when can she come to work?"

"Factory Director Hao, does it have to be family? I've got a female classmate who'd fit well."

"."

Watching Hao Jian suddenly surrounded, Jiang Hong whispered to Li Ye: "Little Ye, these wages are too high—won't this violate discipline?"

Li Ye slowly shook his head: "In Pengcheng, even higher wages will soon appear. Effort deserves reward."

"In the future, the people you lead won't earn less than this. Tell them: earn your pay with skill, work honestly, no need to worry."

The first to try something new always bears great risk.

But in 1983, Pengcheng created the era-defining "Pengcheng Speed"—frontline workers building three floors in three days earned up to six hundred yuan monthly, over three times what site engineers made.

So the pay system Li Ye had Hao Jian implement wasn't new, and wouldn't get anyone bitten by the crab.

Jiang Hong looked at the demobilized soldiers he'd brought and silently nodded.

After discharge, they'd returned home to till the soil, their skills rusting from disuse. Now they had a place to apply them—they ought to realize their worth.

The next day, when Jiang Hong dropped Li Ye and the others at Luohu Port, the security level drew stares from everyone nearby—they thought some high-ranking official was inspecting.

In the early 1980s, Luohu Port often suffered seasonal congestion.

Especially around Chinese New Year, many mainlanders living in Hong Kong returned home with large quantities of "scarce goods," then rushed back to Hong Kong after the holiday.

Li Ye, Jin Peng, and the others crossed at precisely this time—when people were returning to Hong Kong—and the queue stretched endlessly, forcing them to inch forward foot to foot.

Hao Jian's Cantonese was decent, and he was skilled at conversation; as they moved, he chatted with those around him and learned some details.

In that special era, each person was allowed to carry "ten meters of cloth, three jin of oil, thirty-six items" across the border.

To modern eyes, these items seemed insignificant, but back then they were vital "relief goods"—some even wore four or five layers of clothing in 20–30 degree heat to smuggle in extra garments, bundled like pandas.

From the tone of those chatting with Hao Jian, it was clear they took pride in working in Hong Kong, speaking with obvious superiority over mainlanders.

Only because Li Ye and the others dressed well did they get any attention—otherwise, Hao Jian's slightly flawed Cantonese might have earned him silence.

In the end, Li Ye and the others spent four full hours in line before reaching the Hong Kong side.

Hao Jian and Jin Peng were clearly excited, laughing at Li Ye: "So we've truly crossed the national border?"

"Don't make such a basic mistake," Li Ye said seriously: "Hong Kong is an inseparable part of us—we're just moving from one province to another."

"Alright alright, I'm wrong, I'm wrong—you college kids love nitpicking," Jin Peng laughed: "But if you keep dawdling, we'll miss the train."

After crossing Luohu, to reach Hong Kong's bustling districts, one had to take the Luohu Line train—a sea of people surged onto it, as packed as mainland Spring Festival travel.

Li Ye waved his hand: "We don't need to squeeze onto the train. Pei Wencong will pick us up."

As he spoke, the three saw Pei Wencong and A Min hurrying toward them.

Hao Jian and Jin Peng instantly straightened their backs, strictly following Li Zhongfa's repeated instructions: display the dignity befitting citizens of a great nation.

Eyes forward, neither humble nor arrogant, imposing but not harsh—absolutely no sign of being unsophisticated.

"Oh, sorry, so sorry, Mr. Li! I've been waiting here since morning, couldn't spot you, so I went for lunch…"

Pei Wencong rushed over, extending his hand, profusely apologizing—sweat on his forehead made his sincerity seem genuine.

Li Ye shook his hand warmly: "How could you be blamed? Communication between the two sides is still too cumbersome. Blame the British colonial authorities."

"."

Pei Wencong paused, then smiled: "Yes yes, we should strengthen exchanges. I've been following the situation closely, but with the Prime Minister's hardline stance, it may take many more years…"

From Pei Wencong's tone, Li Ye sensed he still harbored illusions about Britain's strength.

The Sino-British negotiations began in 1982 and hadn't finished their first round by early 1983.

Though the Iron Lady had fallen on the steps in Beijing last September, Britain had just won the 1982 Falklands War, masking its decline.

So ordinary people like Pei Wencong couldn't see the unstoppable momentum of history's wheel already rolling forward.

(End of Chapter)