The secretary immediately became polite and warm: “A fresh batch of tea just came in. I’ll brew some for you. You head into the office first, and I’ll bring it in once it’s ready.”
Jiang Luo thought to himself: if they’ve even brought out new tea, this probably isn’t an ordinary matter.
“Mayor Wu,” he greeted with a smile as he entered the office.
“Xiao Jiang, you’re here! Sit, come, sit,” Wu Dayong said warmly, standing from behind his desk to welcome him.
They settled onto a wooden sofa nearby, making small talk for a few moments.
Wu Dayong took out a cigarette: “Busy at the factory lately?” He handed one to Jiang Luo.
Jiang Luo took it, holding it in his hand: “Busy enough, lots to do. But no matter how busy I am, it’s nothing compared to you, Mayor Wu.”
Knowing Jiang Luo didn’t smoke, Wu Dayong lit his own, chatting casually about the factory expansion.
Hearing that the first batch of equipment had arrived, Wu nodded: “Good, with new equipment in place, once you use it…”
Not long after, the secretary brought in tea, smiling: “Fresh tea, give it a try.”
“Yes, yes, new tea,” Wu Dayong echoed, gesturing to Jiang Luo. “Try it. I don’t really know what makes tea fresh, just see if you like it.”
Jiang Luo sipped after blowing the surface of the tea: “Hmm! Good tea.”
“That’s what matters,” Wu said, taking a sip himself before the secretary left.
Once the door was closed, Wu took another sip, then got down to business: “Here’s the thing, General Jiang, I called you here about a matter.”
Wu Dayong didn’t beat around the bush. As deputy mayor, facing a private business owner like Jiang Luo, he could be straightforward and confident.
And Jiang Luo was no ordinary private owner—he had dealings and partnerships with the town government, making Wu Dayong especially attentive.
So Wu spoke politely: “There was a state-owned chemical oil factory here in town…”
“Wasn’t it privatized?” Jiang Luo asked.
“Yes, originally. But for special reasons, it was later merged with a city-owned oil plant. With the merger and reorganization, they no longer need as many workers. You know, these were all local workers…”
Wu sighed: “With so many people laid off, if they have no work, their livelihood and the town’s security become issues, men and women, young and old…”
Jiang Luo understood: Wu wanted the laid-off oil factory workers to join his clothing factory.
Later, leaving the town government and back in the car, Wang Chuang, lying back in the driver’s seat, sat up and said: “That was fast! I thought it’d take a while—I was just about to nap.”
Jiang Luo gestured for him to drive. Buckling up, Wang Chuang started the car, asking: “What did you talk about? So quick?”
Jiang Luo: “The town had a chemical oil factory…”
“What about it?”
Wang Chuang, having traveled frequently, now spoke with a faint northern accent.
Jiang Luo explained: “The factory was privatized, then merged into a city-owned plant. They no longer need so many workers, so a batch of workers was laid off. Mayor Wu, concerned about employment and local security, wants them to come work at our factory.”
Wang Chuang paused, thinking it through as he drove: “That can’t work, right? They worked at an oil plant, and we’re a clothing factory. They don’t know anything.” He quickly asked: “Did you agree?”
Jiang Luo replied: “When the mayor personally asks, can you really refuse?”
“Alright, got it,” Wang said, understanding.
Jiang Luo didn’t really want to agree, but this wasn’t something he could refuse. Wang Chuang, however, thought it wasn’t a big deal: “They can be trained. They’ll learn—operating sewing machines, attaching buttons, ironing. Not that difficult.”
Jiang Luo said slowly: “Remember, the easiest thing in this world is a machine. The hardest? People.”
The next day, Jiang Luo and Huo Zongzhuo had dinner at a restaurant.
Huo, hearing about the town sending the laid-off oil workers to Jiang Luo’s factory, was calm: “Since you’re cooperating with the government and they’re backing you, it’s normal for them to get involved in some factory matters.”
He asked: “Did you agree?”
Jiang Luo, cutting his steak and glancing down, sighed lightly: “In the business world, you don’t always have free will.”
Huo, seeing Jiang Luo still joking despite the situation, knew he already had a plan.
He smiled: “Seems like you’ve got it handled.”
Jiang Luo quipped: “Handled? Just dose the medicine; once it’s out, they won’t come anymore.”
Huo laughed: “Anyway, you needed people at the factory, right? Whether from town or nearby areas, they’ll work.”
Huo comforted him: “Running a physical business means dealing with people. As you grow, you’ll meet even more.”
“Still, it’s good. Turning labor into social value—that’s your contribution as a factory owner to society and the country.”
Jiang Luo snorted: “I run a factory to make money, and money is for me. I’m no saint.” He teased: “The saintly part? That’s yours.”
Huo handed him his cut steak: “Stop cutting, eat this one.”
Jiang Luo let him switch plates, teasing: “See, you really are the saintly one.”
Huo, continuing to cut the steak back onto Jiang Luo’s plate, asked: “How will you settle the oil plant workers?”
Within a couple of days, a crew-cut man arrived, claiming to represent the oil plant workers. His name was Xu Hu, and he came to discuss the “workers’ rights” with Jiang Luo, the clothing factory director.
Wang Chuang, witnessing this, nearly popped his eyes: Workers’ rights? Was this the old society? The Qing Dynasty? What are they treating us like—landlords or capitalists?
Jiang Luo remained calm, letting Wang Chuang attend to other tasks and having Xiao Lu pour Xu Hu some hot tea while closing the door.
Once the door was closed, Xu Hu slouched on the sofa, legs crossed, surveying the office, checking the walls, stopping at the calligraphy of Lantingji Xu.
Xu Hu couldn’t read it but saw the brushwork and glanced at the opening lines, thinking: “What a mess, capitalists, all pretentious.”
Soon, Xiao Lu brought tea, which Xu Hu ignored, signaling for him to place it on the table. Xiao Lu, slightly irritated by Xu Hu’s arrogance, complied and left, closing the door again.
Jiang Luo remained silent, reviewing his documents behind the desk.
Xu Hu picked up the tea cup from the table and began: “Over at my place, including myself, there are 89 workers. If you can arrange properly and give us our due benefits, we’ll come follow the factory and government instructions and work for you.
“If you don’t give us what we deserve, we won’t work, and I’ll lead all 89 brothers and sisters to loiter at your factory gates every day. We’re idle anyway, and you’re the big boss.”
The implication was clear: the weak have no fear of the strong.
Jiang Luo raised his eyes, looking at Xu Hu calmly.
He recognized Xu Hu—from the previous life.
Not because of the now-merged chemical oil factory, though. Back when Jiang Luo had started a factory in Juxiang Town after 1993, that chemical oil plant was already gone, and there were no such workers.
He knew Xu Hu only because Xu Hu had been hired as a security guard at his factory. Xu Hu was a smooth operator, always flattering Jiang Luo, calling him “Boss Jiang.”
It was also Xu Hu who, when the factory was burned down, immediately left and even persuaded other workers to leave with him.
At that time, as the workers’ representative, Xu Hu had demanded Jiang Luo, down and helpless in the hospital, to pay out workers’ wages and unemployment compensation. Jiang Luo had no money and no strength to discuss this.
Xu Hu, seeing Jiang Luo depressed, even stole the cash and watch strap he had left behind, and drove off with his car.
Jiang Luo had felt utterly betrayed, a mix of ridicule, despair, and helplessness.
They hadn’t met since—until now, Xu Hu boldly appeared in front of him. Jiang Luo didn’t feel much, only one thought: this guy really loves being a representative.
The Chinese say, “The bird that sticks out gets shot.” Xu Hu, however, insisted on being the first to step forward.
Jiang Luo smirked inwardly: in the last life, he made things worse, even stealing my stuff—this life, afraid I can’t take you down, huh?