But the moment Liu Jiao started boasting that things were going well, Kong Weihong grabbed the ashtray on his desk and hurled it at him. “Oh, so things are going well, huh?!”
“Do you think I don’t know they’ve been ignoring you?!”
“Zhang Ping already told me!”
Zhang Ping was a newly promoted mid-level manager in charge of business, and he didn’t get along with Liu Jiao.
“You, you… you used to work with that factory boss in Haicheng!”
“You tried to bribe him, and he ignored you!”
“And now? Now look! They’ve built a huge factory—a huge clothing factory!”
“They’re working with every textile factory around, using their fabrics!”
“But not ours!”
“Not ours!”
Kong Weihong threw everything on the desk that could be thrown at Liu Jiao. “You idiot! You fool!”
“A factory that big, and our big textile factory right next door, and the two of you didn’t cooperate!”
“All because of you, a single idiot, I lost so much money! So much money!”
“Get out! Get the hell out!”
In Juxiang Town, near the Shengfei factory, at the town’s best restaurant, the third-floor private room was lively. Jiang Luo entered, and Kong Weihong greeted him warmly, shaking his hand. “Mr. Jiang, truly impressive at such a young age!”
“To run a factory this large, to be a boss while still so young… we old bones here can’t compare. Absolutely can’t compare.”
The room included others Kong Weihong had specially invited: a tax bureau director from Juxiang, and several local business owners, including the two textile factory bosses already cooperating with Jiang Luo.
Clearly, he wanted to build relations, to make Jiang Luo feel like they were all on the same team.
Jiang Luo played along. “Director Kong, you kept me waiting so long. It was hard to get a meeting with you.”
“Just bad timing, but here we are,” Kong Weihong replied warmly.
“Mr. Jiang is in clothing, I’m in fabrics—our relationship is closer than anyone else’s, right?”
“Come, come, sit.”
That night, the table was boisterous. Anyone seeing it might think this group of men were all brothers.
Kong Weihong, flushed from drinking, raised his glass to Jiang Luo. “Come, little brother, one more with me!”
Jiang Luo smiled to himself, fully aware that Liu Jiao was in for trouble.
After the dinner, the others gradually left, leaving just Jiang Luo, Kong Weihong, and the secretary. When the secretary left, Jiang Luo remained seated on the sofa by the table. Kong Weihong placed a small briefcase on the tea table and pushed it toward Jiang Luo.
“This is a small token of my appreciation, Mr. Jiang,” Kong Weihong said.
Jiang Luo glanced down, a small smile on his lips.
Finally, today wasn’t a trap. And this small case of cash wasn’t intimidation from a superior—it was genuine goodwill.
Jiang Luo had now gone from Li Fengrui to Kong Weihong.
He straightened up, snapped the briefcase shut with a “click,” signaling he accepted it.
“Thank you for your kindness, Director Kong,” he said with a smile.
“With Qinghong Textile being such a large, powerful factory, there’s no reason Shengfei wouldn’t cooperate.”
The car rocked lightly over bumps. Lao Si drove; Jiang Luo sat in the back, the briefcase from Kong Weihong beside him.
Behind them, Lao San, Wang Junqing, drove another car silently following.
Jiang Luo had drunk a bit too much; his current health couldn’t handle much alcohol. He closed his eyes, pretending to nap.
Lao Si saw this in the rearview mirror, eased off the accelerator, and drove steadily.
Lao San matched their speed.
Wang Junqing got a call from Huo Zongzuo. “Yes, we’re back.”
“Drank a lot today?”
“No vomiting.”
Unnoticed, the car reached Wukang Road. Turning, it entered the open black iron gate.
The car door opened; Jiang Luo still had his eyes closed.
“Huh?”
Hearing movement, he opened his eyes. Huo Zongzuo stood outside, bending slightly. “Feeling sick?”
Jiang Luo reached for the briefcase, lifted it, and swung his leg out. Huo Zongzuo steadied him and reached for the briefcase. “I’ll take it, you stand steady.”
The moment Jiang Luo stepped out, he looked like he was about to throw up. Huo Zongzuo immediately wrapped an arm around his back.
Jiang Luo laughed. “Just kidding, no puking.”
Lao Si drove away to the courtyard parking. Huo Zongzuo carried the briefcase and supported Jiang Luo inside.
“Drank a lot today?” he asked while walking.
“Don’t mention it,” Jiang Luo replied, leaning against him. “Director Kong was so worried I wouldn’t cooperate, he called all the locals—almost had Mayor Wu there too.”
“They all know each other. Director Kong drinks well, everyone egged each other on… I drank too much.”
Still, Jiang Luo smiled. “But it was fun. Everyone there was part of the circle. Many I already had business with. Talk with Director Kong went smoothly. Fabric issue at the factory, solved.”
Huo Zongzuo said, “Xiao Lu can’t drink. You just hire someone to drink with you next time.”
Jiang Luo shook his head. “They can only keep me company. Can’t actually drink for me.”
“I’m a factory director. Can’t skip business drinking.”
Jiang Luo was exhausted, half his weight leaning on Huo Zongzuo.
Inside, Huo Zongzuo changed shoes, then led him to the sofa. Jiang Luo rested his head on his shoulder, sighing, “Feels so good… home means no more drinking.”
“Thirsty?” Huo Zongzuo asked, placing the briefcase on the table.
“No, if I drink more, I’ll be running to the bathroom.”
Huo Zongzuo wrapped him closer, glanced at him with concern, and couldn’t help but want to kiss his forehead. For the first time, he realized how obedient Jiang Luo could be when drunk, like a little lamb in his arms.
If Jiang Luo were a student, Huo Zongzuo thought, he could just study, relax, and live a simple life—no busy schedule, no business dinners.
But Jiang Luo had his own path. Huo Zongzuo accepted that. He wouldn’t stop him from drinking—he would just be there to catch him and bring him home safely.
“Go upstairs and sleep early,” Huo Zongzuo said.
Jiang Luo suddenly remembered. “The case.”
Huo Zongzuo pointed to the tea table. Jiang Luo reached for it. “Open it?” Huo Zongzuo asked.
“Mm.”
He opened it. Inside, stacks of dark-colored RMB bills. Jiang Luo’s face lit up. “Not bad. Finally, someone’s flattering me. This factory director didn’t waste his effort.”
Huo Zongzuo grinned. “Want to see what I got?”
“Hmm?” Jiang Luo asked, curious.
Huo Zongzuo pulled a similar small briefcase from the tea table drawer, opened it. Inside—a case full of gold bars.
Jiang Luo burst out laughing and crying at the same time. “Compared to you, I’m still a rookie.”
Laying out gold bars and cash on the table, they talked.
“You did what? Someone gave you this?”
“I collected a debt for someone; they wanted to thank me.”
“Debt? What debt?”
“Seen the newspapers lately?”
Jiang Luo hadn’t—too busy.
“What do the papers have to do with it?” he asked.
Huo Zongzuo explained patiently: “I suggested posting in the newspapers to collect some outstanding payments for that company.”
Jiang Luo, half-drunk, processed: “You can collect debt through the newspapers?”
“Not only would the people involved not want to lose face, the company wouldn’t either,” Huo Zongzuo continued.
“These days, the public’s well-off. People don’t just care about their own business—they watch national and world affairs. Newspapers sell well.”
“I have a friend whose company had multiple triangle debts. I suggested they post in the paper.”
“Once printed, a private business dispute became a national spectacle. Companies didn’t want to be embarrassed in front of everyone, so they paid up immediately.”
“This time, we recovered at least ten million yuan.”
“Wow,” Jiang Luo exclaimed. “That’s you, Huo Zongzuo. Amazing. No wonder they sent you gold.”
He nudged Huo Zongzuo’s shoulder with his head, joking: “Dad, you really are incredible.”