Chapter 416: Have You Forgotten What Our Foundation Is?

After the office door was pushed open, Wang Qianshan only managed to spit out half a sentence in anger before cold sweat broke out on his skin.

Because the person who walked in was someone Wang Qianshan normally had to smile and greet—and someone he had dreaded seeing these past days.

"Old Wang, you've got quite the temper!"

Wang's heart lurched; fine beads of sweat crept silently onto his forehead.

The man's expression was as cold as frost in the dead of winter, his words colder still—utterly unlike his usual warm and magnanimous demeanor.

Today was going to be trouble.

The man walked in without wasting time, sat down on the sofa, and immediately questioned Wang Qianshan in a icy tone.

"You assured me back then that profits would exceed fifty percent in two months and one hundred percent in three, and that the bank loan would be repaid in three years."

"But now it's barely been three months—you can't even pay salaries. Are you coming to me next month again to beg for funds to pay the workers in Changbei?"

"What method did you use to turn a thriving, profitable enterprise back into what it was two years ago—in just three months?"

"No, no regression. Leader, we haven't failed to pay salaries; it's just that the factory has a critical production task right now, so we're tightening the belt for the workers, ensuring delivery before…"

Wang Qianshan stood in the office, explaining quietly to the man—but the man clearly had no time to listen to his excuses.

"I stood up for you against the Hong Kong investors' protests—not so you could tighten the belt on workers. On the contrary, you promised me you'd make the workers' lives better, dramatically raise their wages and benefits, proving our own path was better than the other one."

Wang the factory director listened silently to the reprimand, his heart filled with bitterness, resentment, and frustration—but not a trace of shame.

Because he truly believed that, on his own, he could revive Changbei Machinery Factory to its former glory.

The factory was still the same factory, the workers still the same workers, and the products still sold to the same garment and clothing factories on the mainland.

Why must half the profits be handed over to outsiders, and why must we let them lead us by the nose?

If Li Ye were here, he'd understand Wang's feelings.

After all, crossing the river by feeling for stones takes time; not just in the early eighties, when arguments raged, but even into the nineties, there were still many like Wang.

They revered past glory, and were ill at ease with sudden change and violent shocks, distrusting it entirely.

Remember, in a certain year, a place called Mocun had become a sacred symbol in the hearts of men like Wang.

Strict collective rationing, every household had a Western-style villa, tuition and medical expenses—all free—ushering them into modest prosperity ahead of schedule.

Such villages weren't rare on the mainland.

One of Li Ye's elders once used this example to denounce all privatization reforms as exploitation, claiming that if we'd just stuck to the old path, we'd already be living in villas and driving cars.

He didn't know that Mocun had over twenty thousand temporary workers—who lived in no villas, received no free benefits, and whose surplus value funded the villas and the free services.

This was no different from certain developed countries, whose high welfare was built on technological plunder of other regions and groups.

Wang still didn't understand that Changbei Machinery Factory's turnaround wasn't just because Hong Kong capital provided funds—it also took away the mechanical technology, management philosophy, and other "free-to-take" values, just as it had taken the surplus value from temporary workers.

Wang still believed that without Hong Kong capital, as long as he had bank loans, he could still save the factory.

"Our factory is different now from two years ago—we've got warehouses full of new products, and plenty of raw materials that can be instantly turned into hard currency. We just need a little working capital. Could you please talk to the bank?"

"You want another loan? Ha, don't you know how many loans Changbei already owes the bank? Didn't you forget you haven't paid this month's interest?"

When Hong Kong capital first partnered with Changbei Machinery Factory, there was an agreement: they'd only take responsibility for part of the existing bank debt, and Wang's side would handle the rest.

But Changbei's loans had piled up for over a decade, and repayment was never smooth. In the past two months, Wang pushed hard for rapid production, and though it looked like a lot of cash came in, it suddenly dried up—he couldn't even pay the interest, let alone expect another loan?

"Ding-ding-ding."

The phone on the desk suddenly rang, rescuing Wang Qianshan from excruciating embarrassment.

Though the receiver was torn and battered from when Wang had thrown it earlier, it now served as a lifeline, a shield for his dignity.

Wang hoped this call would last a long time—ideally until lunchtime—then he'd summon the courage to beg for a reprieve.

"Hello, who's calling? Who are you looking for?"

"We're Zhongai Machinery Company of Pengcheng. We're looking for Factory Director Wang Qianshan."

"What do you want with me?"

"Director Wang, our third batch of mechanical parts has arrived at the port. Please transfer the agreed payment to our designated account. Once we receive it, we'll ship immediately."

Wang felt as if someone had stuffed a stinking sock into his mouth—he wanted to scream but couldn't, it was utterly nauseating.

For days now, he'd repeatedly informed Zhongai Machinery Company that a new industrial sewing machine, superior in performance and cheaper in price, had flooded the market, making his Changbei-branded machines unsellable.

But Zhongai gave no reply—instead, they kept demanding he fulfill the contract and buy the remaining core components.

If no one else were in the office, Wang would have cursed until the heavens cracked, pouring out his rage until they were left humiliated and speechless.

But someone's sitting right here! What can he possibly yell?

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