Or who could point a finger at him and say, this is his second life?
Ghost stories and the supernatural—no one believed in that.
Who would?
No need to worry at all.
Jiang Luo quickly pushed such thoughts from his mind.
The loan was settled. Funds would be released after the Spring Festival. Jiang Luo knew that besides his own determination and correct decisions, Qian Heng and Manager Zhou also had a hand in it.
That day, he reserved a small private room at Huating to host a meal for Qian Heng and Zhou Qian.
At the table, Jiang Luo expressed his gratitude to Manager Zhou, politely toasting him with the cup held low.
“No, no,” Zhou Qian quickly returned the gesture, lowering his cup in turn. “Handling the loan was part of my duty. That it got approved is thanks to your skill, Boss Jiang. I only ran a few extra trips; no real credit to me.”
Jiang Luo sat back, sincere. “I approached other banks at the time—most refused. Only your branch at the Bank of China, Manager Zhou, not only didn’t refuse, but kept helping me with headquarters.”
“I truly appreciate it,” Jiang Luo said. “Your kindness, Manager Zhou, Jiang Luo will never forget.”
“Nonsense,” Zhou Qian responded politely. “No need to use a word like ‘kindness.’”
“In the end, it was because you got the town government to co-sign the guarantee that the loan finally went through,” Jiang Luo continued.
“I did little—it was your own ability that made it happen,” Zhou Qian complimented him further. “I heard from little Qian that you wanted to industrialize your factory, to promote efficiency. You aim to do big things properly, Boss Jiang.”
As they conversed, clinking glasses and enjoying the meal, Qian Heng ate tirelessly, like a little hamster—his chopsticks never paused, from start to finish. Delicious.
“Less, Manager Qian,” Zhou Qian urged.
Jiang Luo laughed. “Let him eat; he’s earned it. Without him, I wouldn’t even know Manager Zhou. And without him, you wouldn’t have had to make so many trips and ruffled some leaders’ feathers.”
“It’s fine,” Zhou Qian waved it off. “Leaders are busy—they don’t fuss over a small branch manager like me.”
In this way, Jiang Luo strengthened ties with Zhou Qian, becoming almost a friend.
He then went to Jiuxiang Town, dining with several government leaders, including Vice Mayor Wu Dayong, discussing factory investment and shares.
Through international calls via the post office, he also communicated with the German company, finalizing the machines he wanted to purchase and arranging deposits.
With Spring Festival approaching, all parties had agreed: loans would be disbursed afterward, and government shares and equipment purchases would proceed post-holiday.
Having finally managed the business, Jiang Luo took a break, visiting his factory, checking the office, and designing clothes. He also arranged with Huo Zongzhuo to go to Sucheng together before the festival. Since he wasn’t going home, he’d spend the New Year with Huo Zongzhuo.
In the meantime, Accountant Xue and colleagues bought all sorts of seasonal goods for the company and factory. Jiang Luo made a list for them to deliver gifts to the town government, Manager Zhou, Manager Yu at Pacific, and heads of two other commercial buildings, as tokens of goodwill.
He also allocated bonuses and festival funds to employees, including a separate bonus for Wang Chuang. Everyone happily accepted, calling him “Boss Jiang,” understanding that he was generous and fair—anyone who worked hard for him wouldn’t be shortchanged.
Just before the New Year, Jiang Luo received two calls: one from Zhao Guangyuan, one from Li Fengrui of Pacific.
Hearing Zhao Guangyuan’s call, Jiang Luo hung up immediately. When Zhao called again, his mobile rang endlessly, but Jiang Luo didn’t answer.
Li Fengrui’s call surprised him slightly. “Boss Li, something up?”
“Lunch,” Li Fengrui said bluntly.
Jiang Luo raised an eyebrow. “A trap?”
Li Fengrui laughed. “You’re bold asking outright if it’s a trap. Relax—it’s genuine. Just lunch.”
Jiang Luo thought it over and agreed. Same restaurant on East Nanjing Road, same private room—but no Guo Ronghai kneeling and slapping, no briefcases of RMB and USD.
Li Fengrui spoke earnestly: “I’ve already fired Guo Ronghai. He’s gone. The counterfeit ‘Weilannido’ at the commercial building? Closed a few days ago. And these design sketches you gave me? Returned to you.”
Jiang Luo glanced at the sketches, accepting them calmly. “What’s the meaning of this, Boss Li?”
“Just to be friends,” Li Fengrui replied.
He continued bluntly: “Rumor in Haicheng says someone used the town government, a German company, and their factory to get a 10-million loan from Bank of China. It’s your doing. I admire your ability, Boss Jiang.”
Li Fengrui cupped his hands in a traditional Chinese salute. “Last time with the lunch and brand placement, I was wrong. I offended you, touched on your interests. I apologize, make amends. Guo Ronghai is gone. The commercial counter is removed. Don’t hold it against me. Today I want to apologize and make friends.”
Jiang Luo smiled, lightly pressing down Li Fengrui’s cupped hands. “No need, Boss Li. We’re all in Haicheng, all business people—it’s one circle. No need to be so formal.”
Li Fengrui invited him to the main seat, chatting comfortably.
So, drinks and networking alone weren’t enough. What mattered was accomplishing what others couldn’t. Success attracts allies. And Jiang Luo understood why Li Fengrui suddenly changed attitude.
In business, there’s no permanent enemy—strength earns respect. Even someone like Li Fengrui could bow his head.
As for Guo Ronghai? Jiang Luo didn’t care where that dog went.
At the silk factory’s staff housing, the New Year approached. Apartments were lively, with everyone preparing for the festival and enjoying recent bonuses.
On the second floor, west apartment, Zhang Xiangping hung cured meat and sausages outside the window. Just then, Bai Ting returned from work, heavy bags dangling from her bicycle.
“Little Ting, so much New Year’s goods?” someone called from downstairs.
Bai Ting laughed while climbing the stairs. “Our store didn’t get much—just some meat, two gift boxes, and 500-yuan red envelopes from the lady boss for Junwei and me.”
“500?!” the person exclaimed.
Bai Ting smiled. “Yes, quite generous.”
Another aunt asked, “And all these bags? Bought them yourself?”
“No,” Bai Ting said from the stairs, arms full. “Jiang Luo and Wang Chuang’s company gave them. They called me to collect. Their company gave plenty.”
“What’s in them?” everyone gathered.
Bai Ting lifted the bags: “Mushroom gift box, fresh meat, cured meat, yellow croaker, and this…”
Zhang Xiangping craned her neck over the railing, peering downstairs, but saw nothing. Her heart turned sour—so petty.
She returned to the kitchen, muttering: “It’s all your fault! Last time they smashed the car, Jiang Luo argued with us. Now he’s gone, they give Bai Ting all this, and we get nothing!”
She complained further: “This lousy factory—this year we only got some meat and oil. Couldn’t even make the sausages properly.”
Zhang Jianjun played cards nearby, expressionless. “Why bring up that bastard? It’s New Year!”