Chapter 984: Managing Ten Thousand Affairs Daily

Wei San Regiment

The effects of the last operation finally showed: a new batch of special operatives were training with rifles on the range.

Winter training is an old tradition; there’s no such thing as shutting down for half a year because it’s freezing.

Cold?

A five-kilometer loaded run will warm you up, or just sprint four hundred meters to get your blood flowing.

He’s gotten used to it—every time he comes to the garrison, Li Xuewu stands at the gate of the training ground and looks around.

He checks the equipment, the condition, and whether the cadre leading the training is responsible.

Sometimes the training cadre spots him and comes over to greet him; sometimes they don’t see him at all.

Mainly because he shows up randomly, never calls roll—no one knows when he’ll arrive.

Unless there’s a meeting or a superior officer is inspecting and he’s required to be present.

Leaders from the Garrison District have visited several times; after all, this is a newly integrated unit, reorganized and restructured.

What’s more, this unit has something special—at least compared to other units.

Originating from the field army, they can fight assault battles, defend positions, and have absorbed Dongcheng’s toughest public security battalion.

Now with the First Battalion’s special operations team, they’ve gained authority and execution power in urban emergency response.

Saying they “have something special” means Wei San Regiment doesn’t just have an outlying garrison—they also have an urban security post.

Normally, when troops are transferred into the garrison system, the garrison assigns their quarters and logistics; Wei San Regiment is different.

Its predecessor, the 816 Regiment, was in a temporary transfer status—neither family nor clan would take responsibility for it.

So, with no oversight, they found their own garrison and completed land reclamation construction themselves.

Even more impressive: Wei San Regiment has a huge courtyard inside the city as their security post.

It’s like a girl getting married—the in-laws thought she was poor, but turned out she was a little heiress.

Not only does she own property in the countryside, she has a big mansion in the city—and she’s also exceptionally tough.

In logistics, Wei San Regiment’s reclaimed land achieved a major grain harvest this year and a huge increase in vegetable production.

Beyond that, while creating economic value for the reclaimed land, they’ve fully utilized livestock, fisheries, and forestry resources.

Even in the coldest winter, they still guarantee vegetable and meat supplies.

Supplies allocated from above are distributed by headcount—every regiment gets the same.

But Wei San Regiment doesn’t just eat their fill—they also intensify training and enhance logistical applications.

In the Third Front Construction, they completed the storage cave project without much effort.

All three thousand men in the regiment are strong, healthy, and full of spirit; when superior officers visit, they see the soldiers’ rosy faces and know they eat well and train hard.

You might say Wei San Regiment benefits from having its own garrison, but in training and equipment, they’re far ahead of other units.

They’ve partnered with local steel mills to conduct team-based training, militia training, and training-for-trainees programs—not only does the profit feed back into logistics, but they’ve also found sales channels for their reclaimed land crops.

Even better, they continuously gather and update the latest training data to effectively adjust their current training syllabus.

Training data collected from local trainee units has effectively validated the practicality and necessity of their current training syllabus.

They’ve also gained rights to use and equip new gear through technical cooperation with the Light Infantry Institute.

Especially in maintaining local stability and supporting local security construction, Wei San Regiment has received multiple commendations from the city.

At the end of last year, all regiment-level units in the Garrison District held a major competition; the results were shocking.

Wei San Regiment led the entire garrison by a wide margin in individual skills, comprehensive ability, and command proficiency.

Other regiment commanders, who’d always assumed Wei San Regiment was a stepchild, were stunned—their faces turned red in front of superior officers.

Many regiment commanders came to visit and study Wei San Regiment, eager to see why they were so formidable.

Because their urban security post was close, many came here first.

In the urban garrison, Wei San Regiment primarily stationed its special operations team, guard company, and communications squad.

To see real training, only the special operations team’s drills are worth watching—and because of their new gear, their training is the most impressive.

From combat uniforms to full-body harnesses to weapons, everything is more comprehensive, superior, and combat-oriented.

Even the most basic equipment—the helmet—is different in Wei San Regiment.

The Light Infantry Institute redesigned new urban and field helmets based on the steel mill’s guard helmets, issuing them to the special operations team and garrison troops respectively.

The helmet’s exterior isn’t smooth paint—it’s camouflage fabric; inside, instead of crude steel nails and canvas straps, it’s lightweight foam padding plus a shock-absorbing canvas net.

At first, other regiment commanders immediately accused Wei San Regiment of cheating with superior gear.

They also complained that Wei San Regiment’s recruits were exceptionally high-quality—some were even high school students!

So what if they’re high school students?

Don’t ask, or you’ll want to cry!

They’re not just one or two—they’re hundreds, nearly three hundred, all top trainees, brutally good fighters.

Chief of Staff Zhang Chenggong explained: high school students aren’t special; what’s impressive are the twenty-odd female students from Huaqing University serving as political instructors.

Wow—the other regiment cadres were green with envy and immediately tried to poach them on the spot.

You’ve got over twenty college students, three hundred high schoolers, and over a thousand junior high students in one regiment—soon the entire garrison’s officers will come from you!

These students aren’t easy to handle or control; ordinary cadres avoid bothering them.

But these young people in Wei San Regiment are different—they were recruited early in the Great Learning campaign.

By the time they finished basic training in the mountains, the worst of the political storms had passed.

After reorganization, these urban recruits could learn from veterans as both teachers and students, greatly boosting their sense of involvement.

Crucially, they’re close to home—no need to go far away. Many parents who missed the recruitment window regretted it bitterly; such opportunities were incredibly rare.

When they have leave, they just take the shuttle bus home—no need to waste precious family visit time on travel.

Wei San Regiment’s model is unique; garrison leaders are baffled and rarely issue guidance on force construction.

Why?

Because they’re afraid of being embarrassed.

Field army regiments had formidable combat power—every soldier in this era was a warrior, the peak of individual combat capability.

Wei San Regiment now has food, vegetables, meat—they’re fed well and trained hard; how could their physical and combat readiness be low?

The entire regiment has six battalions, equipped with all the anti-air, anti-ground, and urban combat capabilities a standard infantry regiment should have.

Their mobility is fully motorized, not to mention their electronic air defense and efficient logistics support.

When the garrison conducted research, they originally questioned Wei San Regiment’s six-battalion structure—but after seeing the combat effectiveness of their elite troops, they dared not say a word.

They might dare to comment on training, equipment, and logistics—but what about political education?

They don’t dare say much either: Wei San Regiment has a Political Education Corps filled entirely with top graduates from Huaqing University, plus political elites absorbed from Dongcheng.

They have godlike insight into current affairs, local policy interpretation, and soldiers’ psychological states.

Policy documents from above are instantly distributed to the regiment headquarters.

You tell me—if even the garrison’s interpretation and understanding lag behind Wei San Regiment’s, how can they give guidance?

So in the months since reorganization, superior leaders have only come to research, rarely to issue orders.

When they do, it’s only encouragement and praise—especially after the big competition, they felt like they’d struck gold.

Veterans have courage, new recruits have talent, leaders are strong, political work is brilliant—all combined, they’ve achieved full utilization of equipment, rational deployment of talent, and complete command of the force.

Crucially, Wei San Regiment has money—they dare to adopt new gear, new training, new challenges.

Where does the money come from?

That brings us to Wei San Regiment’s mysterious, wealthy leader who never shows up for work—but when he does, he brings money.

First Deputy Political Commissar and Deputy Regiment Commander Li Xuewu—he’s enigmatic and wealthy.

Qi Yaowu says no one in Wei San Regiment can be absent—but Li Xuewu is the exception.

Li Xuewu doesn’t work here because he’s busy with local duties.

And while handling those local duties, he finds opportunities to help build Wei San Regiment.

Even if there are no new income streams for one or two months, current partnerships on the mountain are enough to fuel Wei San Regiment’s rapid growth.

People used to joke that Li Xuewu could get planes for Wei San Regiment and form an airborne unit.

Now, that goal may be distant—but not impossible.

He has his own money; if the higher-ups won’t equip him, can’t he apply for external cooperation?

The Light Infantry Institute has it—so now does Wei San Regiment. Or if the steel mill gets it…

No!

Li Xuewu even got Li Huaidé a business car by leveraging connections with Ji Weidong—imagine if he tried to get planes…

He really would get planes!

Planes cost more than yachts—don’t let Old Li see them, or he’ll ask for one, and where would he even get them?

“Hey, how long has it been since we last saw each other?”

Zhao Zhenhua stepped out smiling as Li Xuewu entered the courtyard, warmly greeting him.

Li Xuewu took the cigarette he offered, smiled, and gestured toward his office: “I told you, let’s swap—your office’s dusty anyway.”

“No way!”

Zhao Zhenhua lit Li Xuewu’s cigarette and joked: “This is Wei San Regiment’s final stand of respect for the God of Wealth.”

“Gao! Look who’s here?!”

He called out to Li Xuewu’s orderly, then grinned at Li Xuewu: “I bet your office is spotless—no dust at all!”

“Comrade Leader!”

The orderly, Gao Guang, sprinted out, saluted Li Xuewu, then cheerfully took his bag.

"Did you see that?!"

Zhao Zhenhua nodded toward Gao Guang and said to Li Xuewu: "Our most clever soldier in the regiment."

"Yeah, I think so too."

Li Xuewu signaled to Gao Guang: "Learn more from Commissar Zhao—he has high hopes for you. If you make progress later, don’t hesitate to ask for his help."

"Sure!"

Zhao Zhenhua didn’t catch the hook in Li Xuewu’s words and said sincerely: "As long as Little Gao keeps studying, the future belongs to you."

"Understood?"

Li Xuewu smiled at Gao Guang: "Commissar Zhao means the future is yours—but right now, you’ve got to listen to him."

"Hahaha~"

Zhao Zhenhua and Gao Guang both laughed, exchanged a few pleasantries, and the group entered the office.

Just like last time, but the room was much warmer now.

Li Xuewu glanced at the radiator by the wall and knew the heating had been turned on.

As he ushered Li Xuewu into Qi Yaowu’s office, Zhao Zhenhua added: "We turned it on at the start of winter—it’s really warm, especially in the dorms."

"Oh my! Deputy Commissar Li!"

Qi Yaowu rose from behind his desk with a smile, warmly greeting: "I’ve missed you so much! Happy New Year!"

"Happy New Year."

Li Xuewu shook his hand and smiled: "I came back empty-handed—don’t be so formal."

"What kind of talk is that?"

Qi Yaowu invited them to sit, noticed Gao Guang passing by the door, and called him over to brew tea.

Once all three were seated, he looked at Li Xuewu and said: "I heard you were on a business trip—if I’d known, I’d have insisted you come back to celebrate."

"It’s not too late today!"

Zhao Zhenhua gestured toward the canteen: "I’ll ask the canteen to prepare something—we’ll get together, it’s the New Year."

"Then let’s get together?"

"Let’s get together—hahaha~"

……

After a few more pleasantries, Zhao Zhenhua went off to work, knowing Li Xuewu had returned for a reason—to speak with Qi Yaowu.

It was year-end, and though Li Xuewu wasn’t a guest, he was the kind of man who never showed up without a purpose.

The steel mill was busy, they all understood—but whenever he returned with something to say, they always prioritized his needs.

Qi Yaowu tapped ash from his cigarette into the ashtray and asked with a smile: "Something wrong?"

"Hehe~"

Li Xuewu first smiled, then his expression grew serious: "There is something, but I don’t know how to say it."

"You’re hesitating with me?"

Qi Yaowu studied Li Xuewu, leaned back on the sofa, and nodded slightly: "We’re family."

"Yes."

Li Xuewu took a drag of his cigarette, squinting slightly: "The wind’s turning wrong—I feel something’s about to happen."

"I heard."

Qi Yaowu gestured with his hand: "The Garrison also sent word—raise alertness, watch your safety."

He gestured toward the door—the direction Zhao Zhenhua had just left—adding: "I held a meeting with Old Zhao and the others, but we still don’t know how to handle or prepare for it."

"Yeah, that’s exactly what I’m worried about."

Li Xuewu leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, smoking as he spoke: "Big tree attracts wind."

"The timing’s just wrong."

Qi Yaowu looked out the window; the cold wind howled, making the bare branches sway.

"It’s still that case, right? Is someone behind it stoking the fire?"

"I don’t know."

Li Xuewu shook his head, looked up at Qi Yaowu, and said: "I was set up in Yingcheng—I barely made it back."

"Yingcheng?"

Qi Yaowu’s eyes narrowed, his body straightening as he stared into Li Xuewu’s: "They went after you directly?"

"A stab in the back kills."

Li Xuewu sat up straight too, briefly explained the Yingcheng incident, then warned: "I fear this will reach Jingcheng."

"Truly lawless."

Qi Yaowu didn’t say anything hollow—anyone bold enough to scheme against Li Xuewu must have serious power.

Did Qi Yaowu really not know Li Xuewu’s background?

Impossible—if he didn’t, why would he have insisted Li Xuewu stay in the Third Garrison?

In Qi Yaowu’s and Zhao Zhenhua’s minds, having Li Xuewu meant abundance; losing him meant heavy loss.

Not all connections are despised by these straightforward men—if used properly, they create mutual benefit.

Now that Li Xuewu had reported this to him, it meant the fire was coming their way.

"Tell me your thoughts."

Qi Yaowu took a drag and said to Li Xuewu: "I don’t know the case well, but I trust your judgment."

"The case is just surface cause and effect."

Li Xuewu flicked ash, gestured upward: "I think someone’s using us as a knife."

"You mean…"

Qi Yaowu narrowed his eyes, asking: "We’re the knife?"

"Not necessarily."

Li Xuewu exhaled smoke, eyes half-lidded: "Maybe half knife, half target."

"If what you say is true… big tree attracts wind."

Qi Yaowu frowned, thinking, then asked: "So how do we define the knife? And the target?"

"The knife isn’t ours—once used, it’s naturally…"

Li Xuewu crushed his cigarette butt into the ashtray; his meaning was clear.

Qi Yaowu nodded: "It’s you, right?"

"Right."

Li Xuewu nodded, brushed ash off his pants: "He probably thinks I’m young, impulsive, easy to manipulate."

"He’s blind as a bat."

Qi Yaowu tilted his chin: "What did you do to make him form such a delusion?"

"Hard to say."

Li Xuewu didn’t know how to answer Qi Yaowu now.

Was the man helping him—or mocking him?

"Maybe it’s my attitude toward the case. Hehe."

"Not fighting becomes a crime?"

Qi Yaowu studied Li Xuewu, lips curling: "You strike me as having ulterior motives—was that a… trap?"

"I didn’t dig it—it formed naturally."

Li Xuewu spread his hands seriously: "How was I supposed to know so many people would throw themselves into it?"

"So…"

Qi Yaowu recalled recent events and Li Xuewu’s account, then asked cautiously: "Will something else happen?"

"I’m just guessing."

Li Xuewu raised an eyebrow: "Maybe. Maybe not."

"I’ll believe your guess first!"

Qi Yaowu gave him a look of exasperation: "If I believe you, you’ll walk out calling me a fool!"

"We’re family."

Li Xuewu chuckled: "Family must trust each other."

"Trust is fine—but believing what you say…"

Qi Yaowu shook his head slightly: "Just tell me what you plan to do."

"I want to play a big game."

Li Xuewu smiled with narrowed eyes: "The Discipline Inspection and the Branch have already taken over the case—they’ve got three months to dig."

"Once they latch onto his tail, he might panic, slip up—even go desperate."

"Look back at it:"

Li Xuewu stared into Qi Yaowu’s eyes: "When Shanghai goes down, the first two departments affected—you guess which?"

"Do I even need to guess?!"

Qi Yaowu raised an eyebrow: "Has the Branch prepared?"

"Gao Zhen and Zheng Fuhua aren’t fools."

Li Xuewu shook his head slightly: "The wind in the powerful departments never stopped—this time it’s just stronger."

“The rest is us.”

Qi Yaowu’s face showed neither tension nor distress—just a stillness like an ancient well.

“You want to move against him directly from our side?”

“No, we’re family.”

Li Xuewu said seriously: “I hold the high ground, with heaven’s timing, earth’s advantage, and human harmony—why should I match him move for move?”

“So… you’re going to?”

Qi Yaowu involuntarily straightened his neck and asked cautiously: “What rumors have you heard?”

“I guessed~”

Li Xuewu brushed him off with that same line again, yet Qi Yaowu couldn’t help but believe him.

“He tries to fan the flames—I’ll ride the wind and steer the boat, add fuel to the fire… When the fire breaks out, who gets burned first?”

“…”

After hearing Li Xuewu’s plan, Qi Yaowu thought for a long while, then nodded: “You’re really… really clever.”

He nearly blurted out his true thought, but his turn was too slow—Li Xuewu had already caught the meaning behind his words.

The two exchanged a glance, a silent understanding passing between them.

Calculating one person is despicable.

Calculating a group is wisdom.

What do you call it when you rally several factions to conspire against another group?

The next day after returning from the Third Guard Regiment—January 3rd, Saturday.

After completing financial budget reviews, personnel planning reviews, production planning reviews, and holding organizational talks with several cadres adjusting positions in the Security Team.

Because the Beijing Daily, Workers’ Daily, and other media reported that the Rolling Mill Plant’s Yingcheng Shipyard had signed a subcontracting agreement with foreign merchants, phones at the factory rang nonstop these past few days.

Superiors above mostly called Li Huaide directly or other plant leaders; business leaders from related and cooperating units called him.

They all asked how contact was made with foreign merchants, how negotiations were conducted, and how the foreign trade agreement was finally reached.

Don’t think they’re ignorant, or that this is strange.

It’s just signing a cooperation agreement with a foreign merchant—why so many units and leaders calling to “learn the method”?

It really is hard to explain!

In this era, few dared directly engage with foreign merchants—and even fewer succeeded in reaching cooperation.

Usually, the Import-Export Trade Corporation or similar specialized firms like the Jinmen Seafood Corporation acted as intermediaries, signing the agreements themselves.

Such agreements naturally handed over negotiation rights and foreign exchange control to the Import-Export Trade Corporation; factories only handled production.

Even basic pricing and production planning had to follow their orders—how absurd is that?

The Rolling Mill Plant had struck a name for itself among enterprises, and this agreement was reached under the supervision of the Waishi Force, Foreign Economic Affairs, and the Ministry of Industry.

Just on that basis alone, countless people wanted to figure out the Rolling Mill Plant’s secrets so they could sell their own factory’s goods to foreign merchants.

Do you think people back then were all narrow-minded?

Even if their thinking was rigid, their production capacity outdated, their horizons limited—everyone understood that foreign exchange was valuable.

Earning foreign exchange meant earning merit; at the time, earning foreign exchange wasn’t yet a criterion for evaluating individual or corporate management ability.

But!

In an environment where economic growth was slowing, industrial equipment updates were weakening, and ideological turbulence created instability—money meant power. Even dogs knew that.

If you searched every policy line by line, tore through every newspaper, combed through every document—you’d find no regulation issued to restrict enterprise economic development.

As long as profits weren’t pocketed personally, enterprises had relatively high freedom in how they developed, produced, and traded.

Especially for large enterprises like the Rolling Mill Plant, gradually moving toward groupization.

What’s the hallmark of groupization?

For the Rolling Mill Plant, currently under dual management by Beijing and the Ministry of Industry, the burden was still too heavy.

Local finances had to support it, ministry policies had to be implemented—if it achieved groupization, broke free from Beijing’s industrial circle, and established direct ties with the ministry, it would truly form an independent operating environment.

Factory 17 was the goal Li Xuewu set before Li Huaide—he knew exactly what rank its top leader held.

In just one year, the Rolling Mill Plant had evolved from a heavy industry subsidiary into a large enterprise integrating light and heavy industry with diversified operations.

Especially in foreign trade and management, it was worth studying and reflecting upon.

Whether from the perspective of enterprise management or enterprise development itself, everyone wanted to replicate this success.

But the Rolling Mill Plant’s success involved multiple factors—it couldn’t be copied with a single phone call or a few wise words.

First and foremost, they lacked the critical condition: unified thinking, stable environment, and full security.

Look at what happened in Shanghai—many cities responded in succession, undergoing changes.

But factories like the Rolling Mill Plant, which had already completed ideological transformation and implemented large-scale learning activities, were exceptionally rare.

Many factories this year aimed to walk the same reform path the Rolling Mill Plant took last year—how many could land it smoothly without major losses?

Every time Li Huaide hung up the phone, he wondered: if there had been no early planning, no support from Li Xuewu and Dong Wenhua, no early stabilization of the Rolling Mill Plant—would there be a Rolling Mill Plant today?

The full impact of Shanghai’s upheaval was still unclear on the macro level.

But from concrete circumstances, this incident was a watershed.

Enterprises and units that had truly completed the great-learning ideological transformation had already risen a level above others; going forward, as environmental and resource disparities grew, this gap would widen further.

Isn’t precisely this gap the true standard for judging an enterprise’s competitiveness and potential?

These past few days’ calls left the Rolling Mill Plant’s leadership both proud and troubled.

At the office meeting, Jing Yunong complained his phone calls outnumbered those of the switchboard operators.

Everyone smiled bitterly—who wasn’t the same? Even when they got home last night, calls kept coming.

Money stirs the heart~

Li Huaide told everyone: calls could come in, but they couldn’t interfere with work—same for everyone; the secretary must take responsibility.

Screening calls—that was a skill for secretaries or office staff.

He also emphasized that when introducing the Rolling Mill Plant’s development experience, they must remain humble, balanced, neither arrogant nor impatient—say what could be said, don’t say what couldn’t.

Everyone knew what could and couldn’t be said.

Cheng Kaiyuan understood this too—he opposed the Rolling Mill Plant’s current direction, not the economic situation itself.

Making money was good, but he wanted to see this principle applied to the rolling steel industry.

Of course, Li Huaide and Li Xuewu had spent all of last year building the Rolling Mill Plant’s light and heavy industry downstream enterprises—and they hadn’t forgotten its backbone.

Since the start of 1967, Li Huaide had formally proposed a five-year plan for updating and replacing rolling steel equipment and technology at the office meeting.

Over the next five years, the Rolling Mill Plant would continuously update production equipment, rebuild production zones, and re-plan and expand investment in rolling steel production scale.

Currently, the Hongxing Rolling Mill Plant was among the top rolling steel enterprises in Beijing and even North China.

But after their visit to Yangcheng, Li Huaide and Li Xuewu had seen how China’s once-proud heavy industry machinery looked awkward before foreign merchants.

The industrial system built under Soviet guidance naturally suffered from clumsiness and bulk, and bore the distinct style of the north.

This wasn’t necessarily inferior—but context and economic direction mattered.

When setting up the metalworking factory, Li Xuewu repeatedly stressed: product design must align with aesthetic standards and prioritize practicality.

Why use rolled steel to make a sleek, lightweight toolbox when a big black iron box would do?

Because its main customers weren’t inland China or the Soviets—they were capitalist nations.

The new Rolling Mill Plant in Gangcheng had already begun site selection and groundwork; design blueprints had been finalized by the Engineering Office, including workshops, offices, living quarters, and more.

Returning from the main office building, Yu Decai continued discussing this work with Li Xuewu.

This year, the Rolling Mill Plant would open over a dozen construction sites; the Trade Management Center also had new office development plans, and the Security Department was already stretched thin.

“And!”

Yu Decai looked at Li Xuewu and emphasized: “As construction sites gradually become factory and living zones, demand for security forces will further increase.”

“What’s your idea?”

Li Xuewu crushed his cigarette butt, glanced at Yu Decai, and said: “Expand?”

“We have no choice.”

Yu Decai nodded: “Expansion is step one; updating management systems is step two; afterward, the security mechanism may need constant adjustment.”

“Mm, understood. Normal.”

Li Xuewu nodded, tossed his cigarette butt into a passing trash bin, and agreed: “Got a plan?”

“I was just about to report to you.”

Yu Decai walked as he spoke: “I reviewed this year’s personnel system—though there are many factory entry quotas, they’re all allocated to production units.”

“So…”

He hesitated, glanced at Li Xuewu, and asked: “Could we make use of personnel turnover?”

“You want to pick from among workers eliminated by position restructuring?”

Li Xuewu raised an eyebrow slightly, thought for a moment, gestured toward the building entrance, and said: “Go on. Interesting.”

“Mainly to establish a tiered security system, free up young talent, and fully utilize existing resources.”

Yu Decai followed Li Xuewu into the Security Building and explained: “If we use production personnel quotas, we’ll burden the plant further.”

“But if we select outstanding personnel from among those eliminated by position restructuring to fill basic duty posts,”

he turned slightly toward Li Xuewu and said seriously: “It not only eases pressure on the plant—it’s also a move to boost morale and liberate thinking.”

“Mm, explain the tiered security system.”

Li Xuewu found Yu Decai’s suggestion interesting—tiering was the most common management tool, offering both constraint and incentive.

The Rolling Mill Plant’s Security Team currently consisted mainly of management and enforcement layers.

The management level consists of organizational units from the department level and above; the execution level comprises operational and duty forces at the squad level and below.

The hierarchical allocation of the management level is naturally determined by rank and position.

But in the execution level, apart from clearly designated team leaders or squad leaders, squad-level leaders exist but are not formal ranks.

For example, in the Security Department’s Public Order Squad, only the squad chief holds a formal rank; all other public order officers have no hierarchical distinction.

Older officers are expected to manage younger public order officers based on age or experience.

But this applies only to small units with low mobility.

Starting this year, the steel mill will build three major industrial zones, two new worker housing communities, and other offices and recuperation areas over the next five years.

According to Li Xuewu’s definition of security team management, all security personnel must be hired and assigned from the main plant to ensure mobility.

Traditional master-apprentice relationships and senior-junior mentoring will weaken management effectiveness under high-intensity duty and mobility conditions.

Without systems, management becomes chaotic, errors occur, and crises arise.

Yu Decai possesses keen observational skills in internal affairs management; after returning to the security team, he began researching current management needs.

Today, he presented his ideas at the plant’s administrative meeting and gained Li Xuewu’s approval.

He said: “All frontline duty positions shall be assigned ranks based on ability, seniority, and existing authority levels.”

“Including squad-level management posts, administrative execution posts, and fire duty posts, establish the ranks of Clerk, Level One Security, Level Two Security, and Level Three Security.”

Yu Decai walked beside Li Xuewu, gesturing as he explained his ideas.

On the third floor, Peng Xiao stood waiting at the stairwell. He first offered a apologetic smile to Deputy Group Leader Yu, then whispered: “Comrade Yu Dagru from the Confidentiality Department has arrived.”

Li Xuewu paused, raised an eyebrow, scanned Peng Xiao, then looked toward the end of the corridor.

Yu Decai fell silent, waiting for his reaction.

He was aware of the matter concerning Yu Dagru and knew this was Li Xuewu’s external arrangement; he dared not speak further.

“Continue.”

Li Xuewu had no intention of making him wait or dropping the subject.

“Ranking is necessary. The plant is expanding this year; the security department cannot stand still.”

“Understood.”

Yu Decai responded first, glanced down the corridor, and realized he had to be brief.

“Warehouse posts, gate posts, and duty security positions can be assigned Level Three, based on existing security personnel.”

He said: “Select a group of workers from those eliminated in position competitions—those with strong execution ability but unsuited for production work—train them, and combine them with current security personnel to form the Level Three Security structure.”

“Mobilize the most capable security personnel and young forces from branch plants and offices to form Level Two Security, responsible for escort, protection, and patrol duties.”

“Assign outstanding intelligence and defense personnel to form Level One Security, responsible for public order, surveillance, inspections, and confidentiality work.”

By this point, the three had reached Yu Decai’s office door.

He stopped and said: “Promote top-performing personnel at each level to Clerk positions to build a core management force and stabilize the grassroots execution structure of the security team…”

“Li Deputy Director.”

As Yu Decai was speaking, Yu Dagru stepped out of Li Xuewu’s office and greeted them.

Li Xuewu merely nodded to him, then turned back to Yu Decai.

“I agree with this proposal. First, organize the research materials, then submit a concrete implementation plan together.”

“Oh, by the way.”

Just as he was about to step away, he turned back and pointed at Yu Decai: “All functional execution forces—surveillance, inspections, confidentiality, training, fire control—must be included in this reform.”

“Understood.”

Yu Decai glanced at Yu Dagru, who seemed anxious, then asked Li Xuewu: “Should we revise the benefits too?”

“Of course we must!”

Li Xuewu said seriously: “Assign positions, assign ranks, assign benefits. Whether he was a Level Three or Level Four worker in the workshop, in the security department, he must follow the new system.”

Rank-based management doesn’t just divide authority—it divides salary and benefits. When transferring from the workshop to the security department, original wage grades must change.

Unless you choose retirement.

“Enforce it strictly; otherwise, we won’t be able to proceed later.”

Li Xuewu gave Yu Decai a nod, then walked toward Yu Dagru’s office.

“Li Deputy Director, I apologize for the intrusion…”

Yu Dagru now felt somewhat intimidated by Li Xuewu, but with a knife at his throat, he had no choice but to come.

But before he could finish his polite words, Li Xuewu waved his hand and interrupted: “Get to the point. Don’t waste time with formalities.”

“...”

Yu Dagru was left speechless. He no longer had the calmness and ease he once had when visiting here.

The steel mill had truly halted the Confidentiality Department’s trade train and sent a notice of takeover to the Confidentiality Department.

But who in the Confidentiality Department would dare accept that notice? Accepting it would mean admitting they had illegally brought the train back.

Not accept it?

Whether they accepted it or not, the steel mill had stopped paying the Confidentiality Department since last month.

Yu Dagru saw no invitation to sit, no courtesy in Li Xuewu’s tone—only an implication to finish quickly and leave. He felt utterly humiliated.

“Li Deputy Director, today is Saturday.”

He forced a smile: “Would you have time tonight? Our leadership would like to invite you to a simple dinner.”

“No.”

Li Xuewu answered bluntly. As Yu Dagru’s smile froze, he pointed to the documents on the desk: “Really no time. I’m behind on travel duties and must work overtime today.”

“O…overtime?”

Yu Dagru wanted to ask Li Xuewu: even if you want to humiliate me, why use such a pathetic excuse?

Do you really think you’re some tireless model worker, rising before dawn and working until late at night?