Chapter 992: You Did Well

“Mm, good, I’ll do it myself.”

At the workshop entrance, Gu Litong took the cigarette Li Xuewu offered but lit it himself.

Li Xuewu didn’t mind and lit one for himself with his lighter.

After the cold wind scattered the first puff of “immortal smoke,” they locked eyes and nodded.

“I’ve heard it already—the rolling mill factory launched a big satellite.”

Gu Litong studied Li Xuewu, his face brimming with curiosity, and said, “I never expected you to be this young.”

“Me?”

Li Xuewu raised an eyebrow in surprise, then smiled slightly and asked, “Do you know me?”

“Heh, your name’s legendary.”

Gu Litong chuckled, glancing aside as he explained, “Your factory’s recent exhibition was quite fashionable.”

“Sorry, back then…”

Li Xuewu pondered the memory of that day—he didn’t recall seeing this man.

Or perhaps there were too many guests, and he hadn’t noticed him, so he ventured a question.

But Gu Litong waved his hand. “No, I didn’t go. Our deputy factory director attended—he spoke highly of you.”

He glanced at his cigarette butt, then swept his gaze over the winter-weary factory grounds. “Starting a business is hard; good generals are hard to find.”

Li Xuewu gave him a curious look, then stood beside him, both staring at the factory grounds in silence.

It wasn’t that he was weighed down by reputation or feared gossip—he wasn’t so easily flattered that two compliments would make him dizzy.

After smoking half the cigarette, Gu Litong turned to Li Xuewu and asked, “Do you know anything about our factory?”

“I mean…”

He hesitated, waved his hand, and raised his brow. “About production.”

“Sorry, I only know about the Satellite taxi.”

Li Xuewu smiled apologetically and explained, “I only heard about it as a kid, back when it was a spectacle—later… hmm.”

“Heh, that’s nearly ten years ago.”

Gu Litong chuckled, scratching his head. “I still remember the task we got in ’58—to solve the problem of rickshaw passenger transport.”

He took a drag, squinting as he recalled. “Our factory’s roots go back to a 1952 auto repair shop.”

“You probably don’t know—long ago, I was just starting out.”

Gu Litong exhaled smoke. “It was formed from four entities: Jianzhong Auto, Lihua Trading’s repair department, Yongmao Industry’s auto shop, and Xiecheng Iron Works.”

We were Branch Two, originally located in Erli Gou, primarily repairing diesel trucks.

“I think I’ve heard of it.”

Li Xuewu frowned slightly. “Your repair operation was huge—we looked into it when we were doing auto preparation.”

“The largest in all of North China.”

Gu Litong grinned proudly. “Otherwise, we wouldn’t have had the guts or strength to build cars, right?”

“Though we failed, hahaha~”

He was refreshingly candid—proud of his factory, unashamed of its past failures.

Li Xuewu saw his sincerity and nodded with a smile. “At least you trained your team and gathered experience.”

“Yes, indeed.”

Gu Litong nodded. “The deeper the lesson, the more firmly it’s remembered—and the braver you become.”

After his reflection, he shook his head with regret. “We poured all our hopes and effort into it—never imagined…”

He left the sentence unfinished; the helplessness hung unspoken.

Li Xuewu remembered this incident—he was in middle school, summer of ’60, outside Beijing Children’s Hospital, where those cute little taxis had been.

In this city of forty-nine, where was there ever a spectacle without young people like us?

Of course, those dozens of cars parked out front were just for looking at—we couldn’t afford to ride them.

Whether passenger or freight transport, insufficient capacity had long plagued the city’s development.

Even today, unemployed youths whose families could spare a little cash would buy a tricycle, lay down wooden planks, and haul people or goods for transport companies—it was a way to survive.

In the future, too, when Beijing’s youth had no other options, they’d get a car and drive for hire, working hard to feed their families.

Later, taxis became common, no longer novel—but in ’60, they were the height of fashion.

But the glory didn’t last. Those dozens of taxis gradually broke down on the streets, caused trouble, and soon vanished.

Old Biao once speculated they’d been sabotaged by rickshaw pullers, jealous of the competition.

Of course, back then it sounded like a joke—but today, it’s clearly the sorrow of industrial backwardness.

Gu Litong felt this deeply. He took his last drag, tossed the cigarette butt, and turned to Li Xuewu. “I heard your factory’s prototype is still undergoing road tests?”

Before Li Xuewu could answer, he nodded seriously. “That’s right—quality is always the fundamental issue.”

“It seems you know more about our factory than I do about Second Auto.”

Li Xuewu smiled and studied him. “So now, Branch Two…?”

To Li Xuewu, the Satellite micro-taxi had a novel design—resembling the later QQ car, even with convertible versions.

But due to technical limits of the time, its internal power system wasn’t solidly built; it was delivered without road testing—back then, they were just reckless.

As they say: the bolder the people, the greater the yield.

Rushing ahead, they prototyped in ’59, launched the project in ’60, and delivered immediately—how blind the policy was.

The rolling mill factory’s auto project was equally bold, echoing that earlier frenzy.

They planned in May last year, had a prototype by November, and aimed for production by next May—unbelievably ambitious.

But unlike Second Auto’s Satellite micro-taxi project, the Rolling Mill’s Red Star Antelope was a redesign based on the Willys chassis.

The Rolling Mill had long mastered the Willys power system and applied it to their auto preparation project.

As for other key components, they didn’t manufacture anything themselves—everything was procured, making car production a collaborative effort.

Li Xuewu couldn’t judge these pioneers from a future perspective, nor could he underestimate these labor pioneers.

So after Gu Litong described Second Auto’s history and development, he asked his purpose.

“Last year in July, our factory received a task.”

Gu Litong paused. “To solve the problems caused by horse-drawn carts entering the city for transport.”

He glanced at Li Xuewu; seeing he understood, he continued: “And to meet growing freight demands, the city decided to produce light-duty cargo vehicles.”

“130?”

Li Xuewu caught on, raised his brow, then nodded knowingly. “That’s a good project.”

He understood Gu Litong’s pause.

He’d wandered every corner of this city—he hadn’t been to official strongholds, but he knew the people’s lives well.

What problems did horse-drawn carts cause?

Simply put: environmental issues. When this new society was built from scratch, Beijing’s appearance represented its advancement and status.

Because the country was vast, many foreigners came to visit, even to film.

If you banned filming, they’d call you stingy, afraid to face reality.

But if you allowed it, the streets full of oxen and horses, their dung everywhere—looked terrible.

You could control what the animals ate and drank—but not what they excreted.

Even though each horse had a bag tied to its rear when entering the city, they still dropped dung everywhere.

It damaged Beijing’s image and disrupted daily travel.

So replacing horse carts with cars was inevitable.

Don’t think Paris a century ago was clean—its streets were full of sewage, and people dumped waste out windows.

Young women in puffy skirts, when they needed to urinate, had servants hold a bucket under them—worse than livestock today.

Yet they proudly called themselves civilized, condemning other cities as backward and filthy.

We care about our dignity. If they said it, we had to fix it.

After all, it was the 1960s—if the whole nation couldn’t solve transport, at least Beijing’s problem had to be solved.

So the city assigned the task of producing light-duty cargo vehicles.

In this era, factories couldn’t just do whatever they wanted—they depended entirely on state funding.

Second Auto’s projects came from “policy”—under planned economy, factories produced only what policy demanded.

The advantage was security—even if the micro-taxi project failed, there was no real loss.

But the downside was obvious: heavily influenced by policy, with strong local interference, products bore the rigid, biased thinking of the era.

Gu Litong deeply admired and respected the Rolling Mill’s boldness in independently researching and producing cars—without a plan, once the car was made, they had to solve sales themselves.

Of course, if the vehicle was high-quality and gained recognition, it might eventually be absorbed into the plan.

This was like the 66-6 sniper rifle produced by the arms factory—no plan, entirely developed under Li Xuewu’s encouragement.

If it became famous, buyers came; if not, it sat idle in warehouses—no matter how good the quality.

Speaking of the 66-6 sniper rifle, it’s recently gained some traction, thanks to Director Lai Shanchuan’s personal experience and endorsement.

The details of that night are known to those who were there—everyone now has a basic understanding of this highly accurate night-time sniper rifle.

Of course, expecting instant mass procurement or huge orders was impossible—there were too few endorsers.

But Li Xuewu wasn’t in a hurry or discouraged—just like the Red Star Antelope, he’d gather more endorsers, extend testing time—nothing lost.

If, as Gu Litong described, the old Satellite micro-taxi was now a painful memory, he certainly didn’t want that.

“I heard this was a Beijing Auto Factory project?”

Li Xuewu glanced at Gu Litong and said, “What difference does it make?”

“No difference—they didn’t take them.”

Gu Litong casually added, “Last April, our factory successfully prototype two BJ130s.”

“Mm, I know.”

Li Xuewu nodded. “When you did the test drives, one of your engineers mentioned it to me.”

They went to Badaling to test the braking system, and quite a few people showed up to watch.

Seeing Li Xuewu knew, Gu Litong went on: “After fully learning from last time’s lessons, we’ve been doing constant road tests and extreme-condition trials.”

“Sounds a bit obsessive, right?”

Seeing Li Xuewu’s surprised expression, he gave a bitter laugh. “Last time, we lost both our chief and deputy factory directors.”

“I understand.”

Li Xuewu finally understood why Gu Litong cared so much about this new vehicle—it directly affected their caps.

Gu Litong ignored his gaze and explained: “Our test results were excellent. It can easily handle 1.5 to 2 tons, with a maximum load of 3.5, even 4 tons.”

Three and a half to five tons is standard for heavy trucks—quality is more than sufficient.

Don’t think this payload is ordinary. The Da Jiefang only carries five tons rated, ten tons max.

The BJ130’s birth marks a milestone in light truck automotive industry progress.

This year, the whole country has only seventeen thousand light trucks, mostly imported—production demand is obvious.

“You’re going to make a fortune.”

Li Xuewu smiled at him, complimenting him.

He really would make a fortune—there were no competitors yet, enough room for them to ramp up production and dominate the market.

Gu Litong glanced back at the workshop, gave Li Xuewu a wry grimace, then sighed helplessly.

It wasn’t just the steel rolling mill that got swindled—the Second Auto Plant, about to enter a major boom, was also about to be bled dry and diluted.

The two men nodded silently, each understanding the other’s helplessness and pain.

“Have you thought about how to handle it?”

Li Xuewu crossed his arms and asked, “Follow the Beijing Auto Plant’s path—build full-category independent manufacturing?”

Gu Litong sneered: “The higher-ups want that, but we refused.”

He turned to Li Xuewu: “Your factory’s production approach is the future—correct, healthy.”

“Bulk procurement?”

Li Xuewu narrowed his eyes slightly, then nodded slowly: “It’s risky. Automotive industry isn’t our main project—we started as an experiment. You…?”

“We can’t afford to lose.”

Gu Litong turned his gaze toward the distance. “If we miss this opportunity now, someday soon, you’ll be leading the team that absorbs us.”

“Hehe~”

Li Xuewu chuckled lightly, not denying it. After a pause, he asked: “Any advanced ideas or experience you can share with us?”

“You share with me, right?”

Gu Litong laughed, then looked toward the workshop and pointed seriously at Li Xuewu: “Don’t flaunt your wealth. Make big money quietly. Watch out—someone will envy and scheme against you.”

“You’re a bit late.”

Li Xuewu shrugged helplessly. “Our Director Li is desperate for the whole world to know we’re making money—we’re aiming for conglomerate status.”

“Huh~”

Hearing Li Xuewu mock his own boss, Gu Litong couldn’t help laughing.

“Your Director Li has a pure heart!”

“Mm, I’ll tell him when I get back—you think he’s foolish.”

Li Xuewu caught Gu Litong’s teasing tone—he could say it, but no outsider could dare insult Old Li.

Even a dog has its master!

How dare you!

Gu Litong hadn’t expected Li Xuewu to be this witty. They stood together, laughing and bantering for a while.

“Compared to you, we’re far behind—constrained in too many ways.”

Gu Litong thought of Li Huai’s boldness and ambition—he knew the man had real confidence, real strength.

“Our factory made our own equipment and tooling molds, built our own assembly line.”

He turned to Li Xuewu: “We chose the BJ492 gasoline engine from the Internal Combustion Engine Factory.”

“For the rest of the parts, we decided to source them from automotive component factories nationwide.”

Gu Litong said seriously: “I heard your factory already completed procurement negotiations—any channels you can share? We really need help.”

“Mm, of course.”

Li Xuewu nodded easily and seriously—it wasn’t stealing from the steel rolling mill’s business; what was there to hide?

“But the information you heard isn’t accurate—our procurement orders aren’t based on fixed contracts.”

Seeing Gu Litong’s puzzled look, he explained: “We procure by batch—select the best suppliers for each batch order.”

“Oh! I get it.”

Gu Litong understood. His eyes brightened. “Your factory really can do it—your thinking is clear!”

“But…”

He worriedly asked: “Without a solid production cooperation system, aren’t you afraid of policy shifts?”

“Afraid?”

Li Xuewu nodded in agreement, then added: “So every component has at least three suppliers.”

“Brilliant!”

Gu Litong sighed in admiration: “You’re preventing trouble before it starts—your work is thorough.”

“Mainly because we started late and were cautious.”

Li Xuewu said modestly, then added: “Our automotive component procurement team is a permanent unit—we do rolling batch contracts.”

“Mm, learned something.”

Gu Litong nodded, but his face showed no joy—the steel rolling mill was large, massive, so it could afford such an institution.

His factory still couldn’t match the steel rolling mill’s strength—at least not yet.

Seeing his difficulty, Li Xuewu knew he wanted to leverage the steel rolling mill’s procurement channels—but you don’t beg for business.

Supply channels are business—even if you’re giving a favor, you can’t just offer it freely.

So no matter how hesitant Gu Litong was, he never directly asked for help—he just subtly “fished,” shifting the topic.

“Today…”

Li Xuewu tilted his chin toward the workshop, probing: “Is this assistance—or development need?”

“Hehe~”

Gu Litong glanced at him, gave a helpless laugh: “It’s a leadership requirement.”

Then he turned the question back: “And you? What do you want?”

“Us?”

Li Xuewu sneered, glancing at the decaying factory grounds: “We want nothing.”

He raised an eyebrow at Gu Litong: “Why don’t you just take it all? You’re expanding anyway.”

“You’re being polite.”

Gu Litong’s lips twitched. He looked at Li Xuewu, then said bluntly: “If you’re planning to make motorcycles, we’ll stay quiet.”

“As for workers and equipment…”

He hesitated, frowning slightly: “The ministry’s watching. The first integration result has to look good.”

Then he probed: “Fifty-fifty split?”

“Split up?”

Li Xuewu shook his head with a smile, but his eyes were serious: “Workers, equipment, machinery—all yours.”

Before Gu Litong could speak, he added: “We want the land. We want the production blueprints—at least shared access.”

“Not quite right~”

Gu Litong understood Li Xuewu’s meaning—was the land going to become valuable?

He’d never heard anything like that. If it were valuable, the factory would’ve been sold long ago—why wait for bankruptcy and merger?

He looked at Li Xuewu skeptically. He respected Li Xuewu’s ability and vision—he’d heard Li Xuewu personally oversaw all the steel rolling mill’s industrial projects.

Li Xuewu thought himself a nobody, unnoticed—but the moment they met, Gu Litong had already recognized him.

He didn’t believe Li Xuewu wanted something worthless. Maybe he was giving up a melon for a seed.

Li Xuewu spread his hands: “Our factory has too many workers—we’re still recruiting. So…”

He explained, then gestured to the factory: “We want to build several tertiary-sector branch plants, but the Liangma River Industrial Zone has limited land—you understand.”

I don’t!

By now, Gu Litong was increasingly skeptical—such a huge steel rolling mill, opening branch plants outside?

Even if it was just land right outside the gate, wouldn’t Beijing give it?

Even if they had to relocate another factory, they’d make space for the steel rolling mill!

“Then give us the land…”

“Then we want nothing.”

Li Xuewu slightly tilted his head, instantly losing his earlier friendliness, his face now serious.

Seeing the other man’s expression stiffen, he gestured toward the factory and department personnel: “You may respect their faces, but we don’t.”

Right before the eyes of the department cadres glancing over occasionally, Li Xuewu spoke bluntly: “We want this factory—we take it. If we don’t, they have no recourse.”

“Then how do you propose to divide it?”

Gu Litong frowned slightly: “You’re dumping all the elderly, weak, sick, disabled, and pregnant onto us?”

At this moment, perhaps noticing the two had been gone too long, someone from the department was already walking toward them.

Li Xuewu didn’t even glance at him; he looked straight at Gu Litong: “Machinery and equipment are a bonus for us, but for you they’re a lifeline, right?”

Gu Litong studied him, said nothing, waiting for him to continue.

He did genuinely want the machinery, but he also knew the rolling mill had recently been importing equipment—these were clearly the scraps they’d rejected.

“You need the workers even more. Expanding production requires skilled workers—seasoned ones are far better than newly trained ones.”

Li Xuewu said seriously: “All our skilled workers are being phased out for retraining and further study. Giving us these workers would just be a headache.”

“Besides,”

He gestured toward the buildings and workshops: “These facilities are old and dilapidated. Even if you gave them to us, we’d have to rebuild and repair—worthless.”

The deputy factory director of Factory Seven, who had followed the department leaders over, was nearly furious—these two were openly belittling their own factory right to his face, treating him like nothing!

“Our factory does intend to establish a motorcycle manufacturing plant—but not like this.”

In front of the approaching group, Li Xuewu waved his hand around, speaking coolly: “Apart from the land, the only thing worth learning from here is their failure.”

“If you’re going to say that!”

The deputy director of Factory Seven lifted his chin: “Then let’s settle this!”

He suppressed his anger, pointing inside the workshop: “Our factory has already prototyped and produced the latest motorcycle model. Just give us a little more time…”

“With these scraps?”

Li Xuewu glanced at him with amusement, then turned to Gu Litong: “How about we give you the latest motorcycle production technology too? We’ll take only the land—deal?”

“You—!”

The deputy director of Factory Seven was beside himself, teeth clenched, eyes filled with tears as he looked at the department cadres: “You look down on us? We don’t even want to be absorbed!”

His lips trembled as he added: “If it weren’t for… we wouldn’t have to do this. We want to make a car that brings pride to our nation!”

“Forget cars—dream on.”

Li Xuewu paid no heed to the man’s grievance, coldly cutting him off.

Today was clearly the department’s plan to divide up the assets of Factory Seven and Factory Sixteen, and dismantle them in the process.

The factory’s already on the chopping block, and now they’re crying? Where was this emotion when they were making the decisions?

If they were truly crying for the nation, for the people, suffering injustice—Li Xuewu might have empathized.

But because of their own managerial incompetence, their factory ended up here—these managers bear responsibility.

He wasn’t a judge; he wouldn’t debate who was right or wrong. Industry is cold, unfeeling—no sympathy on the negotiation table.

Gu Litong’s gaze returned from the deputy director of Factory Seven, ignoring his hysteria and rage, frowning slightly: “We can give you the land, but you must take half the workers.”

“No workers.”

Li Xuewu stated firmly: “The rolling mill can provide you with parts procurement channels.”

“…”

Gu Litong hadn’t expected Li Xuewu to set this trap—this offer was tempting; it could save the Second Auto Plant over half a year of production prep time.

“Parts channels are fine, but you must take at least half the workers—no less than one-third—or we take half the land.”

“Fine, take it all!”

Li Xuewu sneered: “You really think this land is a prize?”

He glanced at Gu Litong, paused a few seconds, then added: “We won’t give you the land. As for the workers…”

He looked toward the workshop, where the workers still producing were watching them, their eyes filled with unclear unease and anxiety.

“We can discuss the workers—but we only want skilled workers, minimum Level Three, no one over forty-five.”

“Let me finish!”

Before Gu Litong could speak, Li Xuewu pressed on forcefully: “We’ll compensate Factory Seven fifty thousand yuan for worker resettlement, in exchange for the land and some skilled workers.”

“As for this fund,”

Li Xuewu glanced at the deputy director of Factory Seven, then at Gu Litong: “It’ll be wired to the Second Auto Plant’s account—you’ll handle the distribution.”

“Why?!”

Before Gu Litong could respond, the deputy director of Factory Seven exploded: “Why should the money go to the Second Auto Plant?!”

Li Xuewu didn’t even look at him—he kept his eyes on Gu Litong, waiting for his reply.

Gu Litong frowned deeply—he felt this deal was a guaranteed win.

Workers, machinery, equipment—all they needed. The factory land? Useless to them; their plant was in Erligou.

As for the elderly, weak, sick, and disabled? They could find a way—wasn’t there fifty thousand yuan?

The department officials watched coldly, feeling utterly superfluous today.

Originally, the plan was: inspect and evaluate, then gather for a meeting to explain policy and ideology, then use departmental pressure to force both sides to pay up.

But now both sides were playing their own game—they’d nearly reached a private agreement.

What could they do? Grab each by the collar and slap them? Tell them who was boss?

Of course not. They set up this “pig slaughter” precisely because these two were strong enough to solve problems.

If they pushed too hard, neither side was easy to handle—especially the rolling mill. Their Director Li had cultivated powerful connections over the past half-year.

So while Li Xuewu and Gu Litong negotiated at the gate, the department officials could only endure, watching.

No one listened anymore to the deputy director of Factory Seven, no matter what he shouted.

This was the gap of power. This was the ruthlessness of business—even under planned economy.

“What about Factory Sixteen…”

Gu Litong hesitated, glancing at Li Xuewu: “Same deal?”

“Yes, same.”

Li Xuewu knew he’d agreed. He smiled, nodded, and extended his hand: “Don’t worry—fifty thousand for Factory Seven, fifty thousand for Factory Sixteen.”

“Deal.”

Gu Litong ignored the crowd gathering around, smiled, and shook Li Xuewu’s hand.

“Oh, by the way,”

He suddenly raised his eyebrows: “What about the motorcycle technology and blueprints…”

“Do you even have to ask?!”

Li Xuewu, amused by the man’s lack of gratitude, snatched his hand away.

As he walked toward Jing Yunong, he said bluntly: “Of course they’re ours!”

As he spoke, he looked directly at Jing Yunong—and winked his left eye, making Jing Yunong barely suppress a laugh.

Such a serious setting—and this troublemaker dared to flirt with her!

Behind them, Gu Litong raised his hand to call out to Li Xuewu—he wanted the blueprints; they were valuable technical reserves.

“Director Li…”

“Of course!”

Li Xuewu cut him off again, turned, nodded: “You can make a copy—we’re partners now.”

“…Right!”

Gu Litong sighed, nodded reluctantly. Using the rolling mill’s parts procurement channels—yes, that was partnership.

But watching Li Xuewu chat easily with his colleagues, he couldn’t shake the feeling he’d been had.

He turned again to survey the dilapidated Factory Seven grounds—just over a hundred mu of land on the second ring road. Where was the value?

“Director, did we get cheated?”

On the way back, Li Xue walked from the front passenger seat, turning to look at Deputy Director Jing in the back, asking softly: “Don’t you think we lost out?”

This was an unwanted merger. All they got was land, technology, blueprints, and a few workers—and they had to pay out one hundred thousand yuan.

One hundred thousand yuan—that could build half a building. Residential buildings cost only 180,000 yuan each. Just thinking about it hurt.

Jing Yunong leaned back, eyes closed, hearing Li Xue’s question. He opened his eyes slightly: “Why ask that?”

After Li Xue voiced her concerns, he smiled faintly: “Forget the rest—what do you think of your second brother?”

“I…”

Li Xue hesitated, unsure how to answer. She disliked discussing family with superiors—especially her second brother.

They worked in the same unit—it was too awkward.

But Jing Yunong didn’t care about her hesitation. He closed his eyes again, murmuring: “Be blunt—do you think your second brother is the type to get cheated?”

“???”

Li Xue blinked, then narrowed her eyes. Are you seriously saying that about my brother?

My brother never…!

Well, she had to admit—her second brother did have a touch of cunning.

But it wasn’t entirely his fault. The environment was bad—he wasn’t always like this!

Before, he was mischievous, a bit of a rogue, but never this calculating, never so scheming.

He became this way only after starting work—forced to mature, forced to calculate, forced to be cunning!

It’s because there are too many bad people in the rolling mill!

Jing Yuyu didn’t know what Li Xue was thinking, but seeing her silence, he could guess the general idea.

He found it amusing, yet also felt moved by the deep bond between the Li siblings.

“If you think from the perspective of the acquirer, you’re always at a loss.”

At this moment, Jing Yuyu spoke up to explain: “Think the other way around—we acquired hundreds of acres of land, along with technical blueprints and skilled workers, for just one hundred thousand yuan. This deal isn’t a loss; it’s a huge profit.”

“Then…”

Li Xue hesitated and asked: “But our factory still has to pay the ministry twenty thousand yuan for the merger—won’t that be a loss?”

“Do you think if we didn’t merge like this, we’d save that money?”

Jing Yuyu sighed, opened his eyes, and looked at Li Xue: “That money is something the ministry demands outright—it must be paid.”

“That’s not…”

Li Xue frowned but didn’t say the word “robber,” yet her dissatisfaction was clear.

The driver glanced at her, thinking this young girl was sharp-witted, yet unexpectedly had a simple side.

Jing Yuyu shook his head helplessly and said no more on the topic, gazing out the window: “There’ll be more of these things in the future.”

In truth, no matter how you calculate it, it’s not a loss—three hundred thousand yuan for two factories, including land, technology, blueprints, and a portion of skilled workers—it’s profitable.

After the merger is complete, these two plots of land will be exchanged with other factories in the Liangma River Industrial Zone.

That means the rolling mill’s expansion will still center on the factory district, developing along the Liangma River.

These technical blueprints and workers will be assigned to the new motorcycle factory under construction, accelerating its rapid setup.

According to the budget for component procurement, the new motorcycle factory will begin production this year.

Of the thirty-thousand-yuan cost, the factory land alone recovers one-third; the workers and technical blueprints account for another quarter.

The rest? Once the motorcycle assembly line starts running, it’ll pay for itself in less than a year.

Li Xuewu had just spoken privately with her in the factory—he said the motorcycle design had absolute advantages, and sales wouldn’t be a problem in the future.

At first, Jing Yuyu had some doubts, but Li Xuewu asked her: “Would you worry about selling a thousand-yuan motorcycle? What about a six-hundred-yuan one?”

Seeing this rascal so confident, Jing Yuyu could only believe him.

She wanted to see what a thousand-yuan motorcycle looked like—and what a six-hundred-yuan one looked like.

On this point, Li Xuewu had absolute confidence, mainly due to the advantage in component procurement—costs were slashed outright.

Look, even the Second Auto Plant has started building cars using the rolling mill’s supply chain—future automakers will all face the rolling mill’s fierce challenge and market pressure.

Everyone says mergers have problems, aren’t suitable—but it depends on how you handle them.

If forced to choose, Li Xuewu preferred to compete across industries, learning from the future Lei Jun.

What does Xiaomi have?

Xiaomi has distribution channels!

If your product is good, I’ll find a factory to make the same product, then use slightly worse quality but an absolutely superior price, paired with my channels, and crush you!

You lower your price? I’m not afraid!

Because lowering your price means your original price was inflated, you’re compromising to consumers, admitting you’re unfair.

When your price aligns with mine, you’re acknowledging my product’s quality—and its value.

Then, pricing power rests in my hands—how can you possibly outplay me?

So competition isn’t scary; price wars are awkward.

Since you refuse to submit to the shackles of planned economy, you must become a price butcher, harvesting markets in other fields.

Even if one day you’re forced out of the market by “policy” interference, the value of your factories will already have multiplied many times over.

The cost was recovered long ago—what’s left is just whether you make a billion or ten billion; it makes little difference.

Jing Yuyu glanced at the lead vehicle ahead, thinking of Li Xuewu’s words—her earlier resentment had vanished completely.

Especially seeing the faces of those from the ministry, she felt especially satisfied today.

Working with him, sometimes she thought, was surprisingly easy—just stand by, say “good job,” and that was enough.

Li Xue actually wanted to ask how they could bring down the cost of such large-displacement motorcycles from these two factories.

Jing Yuyu had heard Li Xuewu say that 250cc and 500cc engines were unsuitable for two-wheel motorcycles, but could be used for three-wheelers as cargo vehicles.

Undeniably, the weak complain about their environment; the strong challenge themselves.