Jiang Luo withdrew his gaze and went back to his work, paying no attention to Xu Hu and letting him do whatever he pleased.
Xu Hu sipped his tea, growing restless without a response. He stole a few glances at Jiang Luo, realizing he’d been outmaneuvered.
Clearing his throat awkwardly, Xu Hu said, “Aren’t you going to talk to me?”
“If you want to talk properly, give our workers the treatment they deserve…” Jiang Luo raised his voice.
“Xiao Lu,” he called.
Xiao Lu, ever sharp-eared, immediately pushed the door open and poked his head in, eyes wide and round: “Boss Jiang?”
“Show him out,” Jiang Luo said without looking up.
Xu Hu froze: “I said I’m leaving, didn’t I?”
“Go take the dogs to the gate. All of them,” Jiang Luo replied, still not looking up.
Xu Hu swore under his breath. Soon, dog barks rang loudly from outside. Afraid of the dogs, Xu Hu had no choice but to move toward the door, continuing to mutter curses.
Once outside, he grumbled: “What the hell! A useless factory boss, what’s so great about him?”
“You couldn’t refuse the town government even if you wanted to, could you?”
Xu Hu knew the situation clearly: the oil plant and the town government both wanted these laid-off workers at the clothing factory. Jiang Luo couldn’t refuse even if he wanted to.
So Xu Hu schemed. As the workers’ representative, he expected the factory to bribe him secretly to calm the workers down. That’s how he had operated at the oil plant before.
With him leading the displaced workers, the oil plant and town government couldn’t risk laying them off—they feared unrest, trouble at the plant, at the town, even affecting public order.
Xu Hu thought it through: he’d pocket a little from the clothing factory, then calm the workers, gain favor with Jiang Luo, maybe even get a leadership position, and curry favor with the boss—all without worrying about Jiang Luo disliking him, the usual social opportunist.
After Xu Hu left, Wang Chuang immediately entered the office, asking, “What did that Xu guy talk to you about?”
“What can we talk about?” Jiang Luo replied, glancing at his documents. “He was trying to grab some perks.”
“What perks?” Wang asked, then quickly realized: “Ah, that explains it. That ‘workers’ representative’—just after personal gain.”
Jiang Luo waved him off: “Come, handle something.”
That night, a group of the laid-off oil plant workers showed up at Xu Hu’s single dorm room, furious.
“You’re supposed to represent us! How could you take perks from the clothing factory?”
“Yes! A representative taking perks? That’s betrayal!”
“Xu, you’re blinded by money!”
Xu Hu, initially bewildered, protested: “Who said that? What perks? Nonsense!”
“I went to the factory. Didn’t even get a cup of tea. What perks?!”
Someone added: “Workers saw it! You came out of the factory office with a bundle of tea and a stack of cash wrapped in newspaper!”
“Factory secretary handed it directly to you!”
“People saw it!”
Xu Hu dug into his pockets: “Check yourselves! Where’s the money?!”
“You wouldn’t carry it on you anyway!”
“Exactly. Go inside and see for yourself!”
The crowd shouted, accusing him of betraying their trust. They demanded he hand over any money, insisting it belonged to everyone.
Human nature is such that when interests are at stake, people unite. Trust collapses just as easily.
Yet within two days, the oil plant workers were signing employment contracts at the clothing factory. They no longer demanded a representative or shouted about “workers’ rights.”
How did Jiang Luo manage it?
Simple. He gave them a clear “promotion path”:
- During training, they earned a salary.
- Passing exams meant extra bonuses, better performance yielded higher rewards.
- After training, formal employment came with a proper wage.
- Formal employees had nine levels; higher levels meant higher base pay, better benefits, and piece-rate pay—work more, earn more.
- Top performers could even rise into management positions.
Workers quickly saw this as far more practical than sending a representative to bargain for vague “rights.” Jobs, fair pay, and growth opportunities—they naturally went along, signing contracts, attending training, and showing up on time.
Over the next two days, Zhang Ningfu’s office worked nonstop arranging pay and contracts. The factory gates were bustling, even off hours, with people constantly coming and going.
Everyone who entered seemed ordinary; those who left had smiles, carrying bundles of tea and fifty-yuan red envelopes.
Walking out together, someone said: “This factory is generous, much better than our oil plant. I didn’t know signing a contract could even get you a red envelope!”
“Exactly!”
“I thought we wouldn’t understand clothing work, but the training here is good. Work hard, earn more, even rise to leadership. Not bad at all.”
The workers were happy and motivated.
Wang Chuang, watching, almost couldn’t believe this strategy. He asked Jiang Luo: “Where did you think of this?”
Jiang Luo, reading the new equipment manual: “Use your brain.”
“Just treat the workers like humans, and you’ll always find a way.”
In his previous life, Jiang Luo had tried harsh punishments, fines, and strict cost-cutting to run his factory. After the old factory burned down, returning workers showed him the truth: the most honest people are those who work hard just to earn a living. They sympathized with a struggling boss, even one in debt.
Now, with the new factory expansion, he designed clear promotion and compensation paths. Work hard, earn more, rise if capable.
He knew that good workers plus solid management meant a good factory.
“Where did you learn this?” Huo Zongzhuo asked, impressed by the promotion system.
“Some domestic factories were already doing it,” Jiang Luo said. “The textile mill in Guangzhou that supplies our fabric does the same. They have responsibility systems for positions and leadership. Their pricing is transparent too, almost nationwide uniform, aside from shipping.”
Jiang Luo sighed: “No wonder their factory is so big and the boss so rich.”
Huo laughed: “You’ll earn that much one day too—you’re already a big boss.”
Jiang Luo nodded confidently: “Yes.”
As for Xu Hu, Jiang Luo neither overlooked nor forgot what he had done before.