“Hello.”
The moment Huo Zongzhuo spoke, it wasn’t Mandarin—it was the local dialect.
The man froze for a beat, then stood up and came over to shake Huo Zongzhuo’s hand.
The two of them spoke entirely in dialect. Jiang Luo couldn’t understand a word. He only saw Huo Zongzhuo turn slightly toward him and gesture in his direction, saying something—probably an introduction. The man then reached out and shook Jiang Luo’s hand as well, offering a brief greeting.
“Come on, sit.”
The three of them took their seats. The man picked up the teapot and poured tea, continuing to talk in dialect. Huo Zongzhuo replied in the same way. Jiang Luo still couldn’t follow any of it and guessed they were exchanging pleasantries.
That was how it went with this former factory director: Huo Zongzhuo chatted with him in dialect over food and drinks.
Jiang Luo, unable to understand and unwilling to interrupt, quietly ate his dishes on the side. Every so often, when the director wasn’t paying attention, he discreetly swapped out the alcohol in Huo Zongzhuo’s cup for plain water.
Jiang Luo tried to guess what Huo Zongzhuo was planning, what exactly he was talking about with the director.
But he really couldn’t figure it out, so he gave up and focused on eating.
Partway through the meal, something in the conversation clearly amused the director—he burst into laughter, looking genuinely delighted. Huo Zongzhuo smiled too, calm and steady. The two clinked cups. The director even stood up for the toast, and Huo Zongzhuo rose with him, holding a cup filled with water.
Seeing this, Jiang Luo thought to himself: Whatever they’re talking about, it seems to be going smoothly.
Just as the meal was nearing its end and Jiang Luo was thinking they were about to leave, there was a knock at the private room door. It opened, and Fourth came in silently, handed Jiang Luo a small briefcase, then turned and left, closing the door behind him.
Huh?
Jiang Luo looked down at the briefcase in his hands. The more he looked at it, the more familiar it seemed, and a guess formed in his mind.
It couldn’t be…
Huo Zongzhuo reached over and took the briefcase from him.
He set it directly on the table and pushed it toward the factory director.
The director didn’t refuse. Smiling, he opened it.
The moment it opened, Jiang Luo saw it clearly—cash, stacks upon stacks of RMB.
This…
The director closed the case again with a smile, then spoke warmly to Huo Zongzhuo, looking relaxed and pleased. Huo Zongzhuo curved his lips in response, the two of them appearing to have reached some kind of understanding.
The dinner ended. Outside the hotel, Jiang Luo couldn’t help asking, “Why did you give him money?”
Huo Zongzhuo answered calmly, “Just watch. Keep steady. We’ll talk about it later.”
He opened the car door as he spoke, signaling Jiang Luo to get in.
Once they were in, the car immediately turned around and headed in another direction.
Jiang Luo guessed they weren’t going back to Haicheng and asked, “Are we seeing someone else?”
“Yes,” Huo Zongzhuo said gently. “Be patient. You’ll see what I’m doing.”
Before long, they arrived at another restaurant.
Just like before: a private room, a man, cigarettes and alcohol, a dinner meeting.
The difference was that this man was clearly harder to deal with than the former factory director. He spoke to Huo Zongzhuo in dialect, his face stiff through the first half of the meal. Huo Zongzhuo raised his glass several times, but the man brushed him off, refusing to drink.
But the similarity remained: when Fourth brought in another briefcase, and Huo Zongzhuo set it on the table and pushed it toward the man, his expression finally softened.
Even so, the man didn’t touch it. He just lowered his gaze, glanced at it, and said something. Huo Zongzhuo replied in dialect.
They spoke quickly, the words a blur of unfamiliar sounds to Jiang Luo.
He guessed they were playing verbal tug-of-war over the briefcase—and that the man wouldn’t truly refuse it.
Sure enough, before long, Huo Zongzhuo reached out and opened the case himself. The man looked down at the money, said something else, and this time Huo Zongzhuo smiled and switched to Mandarin.
“You can accept this gift,” he said, “or you can refuse it.”
“I’ll be honest with you—there are several people at that factory. I’ll meet all of them. I’ll give to all of them.”
In the end, the man took the briefcase.
Once he did, his attitude changed noticeably. He even personally walked Jiang Luo and Huo Zongzhuo out of the restaurant.
Back in the car, watching the man wave goodbye through the window, Jiang Luo already had some guesses.
But as for what Huo Zongzhuo was actually doing, he still didn’t fully understand.
After that, Huo Zongzhuo took him to three more restaurants, meeting three more people separately. One of them was even a woman—judging by her dress and demeanor, she looked like some kind of official.
Without exception, no matter how the meal went, how much they drank, or how long they chatted in dialect, the final thing placed on the table was always the same: a small briefcase filled with cash.
Jiang Luo guessed that Huo Zongzhuo was using money to clear obstacles and lay groundwork. But exactly what was being cleared, and what kind of road was being paved—no matter how he thought about it, he still couldn’t quite piece it together.
After making the rounds of several restaurants and hotels in the county that day, Fourth drove Jiang Luo and Huo Zongzhuo back to Haicheng before nightfall.
Huo Zongzhuo smelled of smoke and alcohol from all the socializing. He leaned back against the seat, looking unfazed by fatigue, and even used his brick-sized cellphone to handle several urgent work matters. From start to finish, he was steady and composed—the version of him Jiang Luo knew best.
While Huo Zongzhuo was on the phone, Jiang Luo sat beside him with a lollipop in his mouth, staring out the window. As he sucked on the candy, he kept thinking about what Huo Zongzhuo’s method actually was, what exactly he was doing.
Jiang Luo had thought it was a tough situation. Yet Huo Zongzhuo had gone through it cleanly—meeting several people one after another in a single afternoon, coming and going the same day. Was it already basically settled?
Jiang Luo couldn’t help thinking that Huo Zongzhuo really was Huo Zongzhuo. There was still a significant gap between him and “Papa Huo.”
When Huo Zongzhuo hung up the phone, Jiang Luo turned his head to look at him. “Don’t tell me you’ve already taken care of everything?”
“More or less,” Huo Zongzhuo replied. “It just needs a little time.”
…What?
What did that mean?
Huo Zongzhuo didn’t explain further. “Come back and take a look in a few days. Then you’ll know.”
Jiang Luo was genuinely confused. “Was it really that easy?”
“Just meeting a few people? Eating a few meals? Giving each of them a box of cash?”
What on earth was this all for?
Huo Zongzhuo lifted one corner of his mouth. “Want to take me as your master? If you do, I’ll teach you everything.”
With the lollipop still in his mouth, one cheek puffed out, Jiang Luo snorted. “Why would I take a master? I already call you Dad.”
Then he snorted again. “Not learning. I hate school the most.”
“Suit yourself,” Huo Zongzhuo said.
He thought Jiang Luo was fine however he was.
Even if he didn’t learn, it didn’t matter. As long as Huo Zongzhuo was there, he’d always be Jiang Luo’s backstop.
Back in Haicheng, Jiang Luo was once again pressed into staying home at the Wukang Road house for several days. Other than hospital visits, he wasn’t allowed to go anywhere—he had to rest and heal.
So Jiang Luo spent his days eating and drinking, reading newspapers, singing, watching TV. He also got a call from Zheng Bin, who asked, “Where’ve you been lately? I can’t find you anywhere. None of your phones go through.”
Jiang Luo was sprawled on the sofa on the first floor, his tone lazy and flippant. “Car accident. Almost died.”
“What?!”
Zheng Bin was shocked. “You just invested ten million in a garment factory—how does that end with someone trying to kill you?”
Jiang Luo didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. The root cause of the accident was really that obvious? Even Zhang Ningfu had guessed it, and now Zheng Bin had hit the mark in one sentence.
“Yeah, yeah. A vendetta,” Jiang Luo said lightly. “I’m recovering. Can’t go out. Once I’m better, I’ll come find you.”
Zheng Bin asked, “Was it local gangsters in Haicheng who tried to kill you?”
Jiang Luo snorted. “What gangsters? Where would gangsters come from? At worst, just some thugs. What, Shanxi never got liberated? Still got gangsters?”
Zheng Bin replied matter-of-factly, “Liberation, sure. But gangsters? Of course there are.”
“Let me tell you, when I was a kid…”
And just like that, Zheng Bin chatted with him over the phone for more than an hour. Jiang Luo’s brick phone even ran out of battery, so he switched to the landline and kept talking.
After the call ended, Huo Zongzhuo—sitting at the other end of the coffee table, wearing glasses and reading the newspaper—said quietly, “If you’re bored and want someone to talk to, you can invite him over to the house.”
Jiang Luo let out an “ah,” collapsed back into the sofa, and swung his legs. Bored. So bored.
He started singing in Cantonese:
“By your side, though the road is long, I’m not weary, walking with you, stretch by stretch…”
A few days later, Fourth drove again, taking Huo Zongzhuo and Jiang Luo back to Haimen.
On the way, Jiang Luo joked and laughed with Huo Zongzhuo. Fourth, more lively than Wang Junqing, joined in, chatting about everything under the sun as he drove.
But when they arrived at the gate of that state-owned garment factory in Haimen and saw what was happening, the smile on Jiang Luo’s face slowly faded.
The metal gate of the factory was shut tight. A man in a suit, not yet forty, was pounding on the gate, shouting loudly.
Two men dressed like factory workers stormed out from inside, grim-faced, each holding a wooden stick. The man in the suit shouted back at them; they shouted in return, their body language clearly aggressive, trying to drive him away.
The suited man grew more and more agitated, his face red, practically hopping with rage.
What was going on?
They were a bit too far away for Jiang Luo to hear what was being said. He could only tell that the workers were chasing the suited man off, trying to make him leave.
Jiang Luo looked on for a moment, then turned his gaze back to Huo Zongzhuo.
Huo Zongzhuo was also watching through the window. He spoke slowly, steady as ever:
“That man is Chen Xianlong.”
“What happened to him?” Jiang Luo asked, confused. “Didn’t he buy shares in this factory?”
Why was he yelling at the factory gate, being chased off by workers?