Chapter 220: Who Doesn

Guo Donglun followed Hao Jian to the first workshop, and upon entering, he noticed it was different from the ninth workshop.

In the ninth workshop, workers moved swiftly, faces blank, silent, the assembly line flowing in perfect order.

In the first workshop, the workers were chaotic, like a classroom in a bottom-tier middle school—some focused, some anxious, some angry, some even crying.

Hao Jian said: "These are intern workers who just arrived from the southwest. They must master basic production skills here before being assigned to other workshops—you can think of it as a military recruit company."

"Recruit company?" Guo Donglun laughed. "Recruits are soldiers defending the nation; these are workers who work for you. Are you comparing yourself to the state now?"

Hao Jian fell silent for several seconds, then slowly said: "No country, no home. I'm not that noble or great—I just want to make their families' lives a little better."

"So you're a great benefactor, then? Making their lives better? Like that little girl who got punished for standing?"

Guo Donglun coldly pointed to a girl standing in the corner of the workshop, head bowed.

Hao Jian hadn't noticed her before; he was about to call over Old Yang, the workshop supervisor, when the nanny Xiao Liang had already wheeled the chair over.

The girl, head bowed, was quietly sniffing as she stood punishment—then she looked up in surprise at someone approaching.

Guo Donglun asked: "Little girl, why are you being punished with standing?"

The girl shook her head repeatedly, backing away several meters, timid as a frightened animal, looking utterly pitiful.

Guo Donglun frowned and nodded toward Xiao Liang; Xiao Liang walked over and asked gently: "Little sister, what did you do wrong to be punished like this?"

The girl shook her head again, trying to retreat further—but she was already in the corner, with no space left to move.

Xiao Liang sighed and said: "Are you missing home?"

But at that question, the girl frantically shook her head.

"I don't miss home, I'm not being punished, I don't miss home..."

The girl spoke with a heavy southwest accent; neither Xiao Liang nor Guo Donglun understood.

"She says she doesn't miss home, she's not being punished, she just wants to cry here alone."

Hao Jian walked over with a slightly older girl, who hurried to the little girl's side and spoke rapidly in dialect; the little girl burst into tears immediately.

Guo Donglun and Xiao Liang turned to Hao Jian; Hao Jian pointed at the older girl: "Ask her. You don't believe me anyway."

After a moment, the girl spoke haltingly in Mandarin: "Qiaomei says she took three days on the train to come here to earn money to build a house for her family."

"She hasn't earned anything yet, and she's afraid her mother will scold her if she goes back."

Guo Donglun slowly turned his head and looked at Hao Jian again.

Hao Jian handed him a piece of fabric.

The fabric had rows of stitching, clearly sewn by a sewing machine.

"She can't read, doesn't understand the difference between four millimeters and six millimeters, can't tell left from right, is terrified of the electric sewing machine—"

"Forget the four-millimeter stitching requirement—she can't even sew a straight line, and she's hurt her hands twice already."

Hao Jian sighed: "The factory gave her two months' internship pay and bought her a train ticket to go home, but she refuses to leave. You know how it is—managing workers is like leading soldiers. If one won't obey, none will."

Guo Donglun rubbed the fabric in his hands and said softly: "Not knowing how to operate a sewing machine doesn't mean she can't work. As factory director, can't you even solve this? Aren't you incompetent?"

Hao Jian waved his hand and led Guo Donglun aside: "When we hired, we required at least third-grade education."

"There are several like her—if we can't convince them to leave, we send them to the cafeteria to cook."

"But cooking in the cafeteria is a skill too—if the food tastes bad, the workers will curse."

Guo Donglun returned the fabric to Hao Jian and looked up at him: "You brought me here to stir my compassion, to make me not interfere with your affairs, right?"

"Then you've misunderstood me. I'm leaving you because I want nothing more to do with you—but how Pengcheng Seventh Factory develops from now on is up to you. I won't interfere."

"Same here," Hao Jian smiled. "We originally planned—if you wanted to reclaim Pengcheng Seventh Factory, we wouldn't stop you. We've known each other; it's fate. We don't have to be friends, but we won't be enemies."

Seeing Guo Donglun's face grow cold again, Hao Jian rushed to say: "Brother Guo, I've known you a long time—I'll say this honestly."

"I think you should get out, see the world, do something meaningful. Don't waste your prime years locked in that sunroom."

"Are you lecturing me?"

Guo Donglun stared coldly at Hao Jian, then after a long pause, said coldly: "Do you really think what you're doing now is meaningful?"

"I can't say for sure," Hao Jian pointed to the intern workers practicing in the first workshop. "But when I saw these girls arrive, some still wearing straw sandals, my heart ached."

"But once they start working, I usually see their smiles. When they earn a hundred yuan a month and send money home, I often see pride on their faces."

"Then I feel what I'm doing is meaningful."

"What's meaningful about that?" Guo Donglun laughed bitterly. "It's just an excuse to exploit their labor."

Hao Jian fell silent, struck dumb by Guo Donglun's words.

Had he exploited them?

If he hadn't, where did his money come from? How was his daughter's illness cured?

Finally, Hao Jian said slowly: "I heard someone say—if you become rich but stop caring for the poor, you've forgotten your original heart."

"But if you're not rich yet and preach pity and compassion to the poor, you're just daydreaming—wasting time."

Hao Jian said seriously: "Brother Guo, you have money, you have time, and you don't know how to spend either. Go to the southwest—there's plenty of 'meaningful work' waiting for us there."

But Guo Donglun said: "I've been to the southwest. I know it's poor. A hundred yuan a month can indeed lift a family out of poverty—but I'm more interested in the person you just mentioned."

"I want to meet him. If he can convince me, I'll give you a legitimate Crown sedan. But if he can't..."

Guo Donglun smiled: "I've already protected you several times. You're only a deputy factory director."

Hao Jian paused, then nodded: "Wait a moment—I'll try to contact him."

After a moment, Hao Jian returned and said to Guo Donglun: "Let's eat first. He's hard to reach—he might not reply until afternoon or even evening."

Guo Donglun raised an eyebrow: "What do you mean, 'hard to reach'?"

Hao Jian smirked but didn't answer—he couldn't say his boss was still in school.

Pengcheng Seventh Factory's hospitality was indeed "practical"—Hao Jian took Guo Donglun straight to the cafeteria.

At the cafeteria entrance, Guo Donglun heard a cacophony like a flock of birds—everywhere, dialects chattered. Even Hao Jian's presence as factory director couldn't quiet the workers' excited chatter.

Used to silence, Guo Donglun frowned: "Your dining order needs improvement. Too noisy—it hurts efficiency."

"This isn't a real recruit company. Can't manage everything so tightly."

Hao Jian smiled: "Besides, someone said—if Pengcheng Seventh Factory's workers eat without smiles, exhausted and numb like bonded laborers, I should be shipped off to a capitalist country to exploit others."

Guo Donglun thought for a moment, then nodded silently.

On the surface, Pengcheng Seventh Factory's workers were at least happy, and their average wages far exceeded those of major units in Yangcheng.

If making them happy while earning money—and bringing smiles to their families—isn't meaningful, then what is?

But Guo Donglun still hesitated whether to take the risk.

He'd helped Hao Jian and the others originally out of boredom—Hao Jian followed the rules, but getting raw materials through connections still invited criticism. If this brought trouble to his family, it wouldn't be worth it.

After eating, Guo Donglun watched the workers return to their dorms for a nap—each dorm had electric fans, better than most factories in Yangcheng.

Pengcheng Seventh Factory enforced mandatory afternoon naps—otherwise, these piece-rate workers would become machines.

At one p. ., a call finally came from Beijing.

After speaking with the caller, Hao Jian came over, slightly embarrassed.

"Brother Guo, he says if you can wait, he'll come see you during summer vacation. But if you want to meet now, you'll have to go to Beijing."

"Make me go to Beijing? He's got quite the ego."

Guo Donglun chuckled, then asked: "If he has summer vacation, he must be a schoolteacher?"

Hao Jian shook his head: "No—he's still a student."

Guo Donglun finally showed surprise. If he hadn't known Hao Jian so well, he'd have thought he was joking.

"Then I'm even more interested in him."

The 212 Jeep pulled out of Pengcheng Seventh Factory; Guo Donglun sat in the back, eyes closed, resting.

Xiao Liang, driving ahead, glanced in the rearview mirror, wanting to say something but feeling it inappropriate.

Guo Donglun spoke: "Are you wondering whether to tell your family about my plans?"

Xiao Liang stayed silent—her silence was confirmation.

Guo Donglun smiled: "Do you believe if your older siblings knew I was willing to go out and see the world, how happy they'd be?"

Xiao Liang couldn't help saying: "So you knew? Then why..."

"Because I couldn't let go."

Guo Donglun gave a bitter smile: "Who hasn't had a time when they got stuck in a rut? Haven't you?"

Xiao Liang pressed her lips shut, refusing to answer.

But her avoiding gaze shimmered faintly with quiet joy.

Today, Lao Feng squeezed in a little time—he originally planned to fulfill his three-chapter promise by month-end—but something urgent came up, so he can only apologize again.

Lao Feng isn't a deadbeat—he's already on subscription, and every extra chapter means a little more income.

At month-end, let's restate the debt—Lao Feng remembers every bit.

Owes two chapters to patron hansohee, two chapters to other patrons like Fengwu Jiutian, and one chapter for the unfulfilled three-chapter promise—five chapters total, all will be repaid.

Thank you to readers for your support, especially to reader "Already a Middle-Aged Man."

(End of Chapter)