“Yes—more successful!”
In Suzhou these past few days, Huo Zongzhuo took Jiang Luo around Pingjiang Road and the surrounding area. They visited the Humble Administrator’s Garden, the Lingering Garden, and several other classical gardens; went to Shantang Street and Hanshan Temple; ate osmanthus cakes, pan-fried buns, and drunken crab; and dined at Deyuelou.
That afternoon, after lunch, they didn’t go out. Huo Zongzhuo spread out rice paper and paperweights on the dining table, ground the ink, picked up a brush, and began copying “The Preface to the Pavilion of Prince Teng.”
Under the corridor by the doorway, his mother sat on a small rattan chair knitting. Jiang Luo sat on a low stool beside her, a little white cat in his lap, stroking it gently again and again.
Whenever Huo Zongzhuo glanced up from his writing, he could see his mother and Jiang Luo at the doorway.
It truly was a calm, warm, and happy afternoon.
—
In a county town in northern Jiangsu, Mo Wanzhen was afraid her family would find out. She didn’t even take her luggage—only hid her wallet on herself—then quietly slipped out of the house, walking quickly toward the street.
Once there, she hailed a rickshaw and went to the bus station.
At the ticket window, she opened her wallet and said to the clerk inside, “One ticket to Haicheng—the soonest departure.”
—
In Haicheng, with the door closed, Zhang Ningfu stood by the bed packing. He bent over, stuffing clothes into his bag without saying a word.
His wife stood on the other side of the bed, firing off complaints nonstop in a countryside dialect with a Haicheng accent, like a machine gun:
“You’ve gone stupid making clothes—stupid from being a tailor! So single-minded!”
“If it weren’t for our workshop back then, there wouldn’t be this factory now, wouldn’t be all this money!”
“What’s wrong with asking for shares? Why can’t you ask?”
“If you ask me, now that the factory’s expanding, you should be the plant manager!”
…
After the holiday, what would be waiting for Jiang Luo?
A new year meant a new “battle” to fight.
After the holiday, the moment they returned from Suzhou to Haicheng, Huo Zongzhuo booked a banquet at Huating. He invited several senior figures from Bank of China’s headquarters, brought Jiang Luo along, and hosted dinner and drinks.
Anyone at the table could tell that Huo Zongzhuo and Jiang Luo’s relationship was anything but ordinary—
Jiang Luo sat right beside him. Huo Zongzhuo not only put food on Jiang Luo’s plate, but when it came time to drink, he repeatedly emphasized that Jiang Luo was young and drank several rounds on his behalf.
When toasting the bank president, Huo Zongzhuo deliberately stood with his glass. The president returned the courtesy and stood as well. Jiang Luo stood beside Huo Zongzhuo holding his cup, facing the president. Huo Zongzhuo stood between them, speaking on Jiang Luo’s behalf, one hand resting on Jiang Luo’s shoulder as he looked after him. In that posture, Jiang Luo deliberately lowered his glass, politely toasted the president. Out of respect for Huo Zongzhuo, the president smiled, clinked glasses, chatted with Jiang Luo, and praised him for being so capable at such a young age, with a bright future ahead.
Jiang Luo was modest and skilled at polite talk. “Whether my future is bright or not depends entirely on the leaders.”
“If the leaders let me shine, then I can shine.”
The president laughed and said to Huo Zongzhuo, “Did you teach him that?”
Huo Zongzhuo smiled knowingly. “You can teach how to do things, but what to say—you can’t really teach that.”
“It still depends on who you’re facing. In front of the president, even things he wouldn’t usually say, he’ll definitely say today.”
“That’s what you call rising to the occasion.”
“Ha, ha, ha.”
The president laughed heartily and stood there with his glass, chatting with Huo Zongzhuo and Jiang Luo for a while.
At one point, he asked about the relationship between Jiang Luo and Huo Zongzhuo.
Jiang Luo and Huo Zongzhuo exchanged a glance. Jiang Luo smiled. Huo Zongzhuo turned to the president and said, “He’s a kid from my family. Of course I have to look after him.”
“He spent the New Year at my place. My mother treats him like half a son—he even calls her Mom.”
The president immediately understood and chided Huo Zongzhuo jokingly, “Then why didn’t you say so earlier? You let your family’s kid have his loan held up at a branch for so long.”
“If I’d known sooner, I’d have brought it up and had it approved right away.”
Huo Zongzhuo spun it casually. “I’ve already troubled the president so much over Pudong—how could I trouble you again over just ten million with a special call?”
As he spoke, he lifted a hand and rested it on Jiang Luo’s back, glanced at him, and said, “If you’re out doing business on your own, you have to get tempered a bit. You also have to learn that different matters have different ways through.”
Jiang Luo chimed in, looking at Huo Zongzhuo and playing along in front of the president. “If I’d known back then that the way through was here, I would’ve gone crying to Brother Zongzhuo.”
A light joke—everyone laughed.
No one mentioned how many times that ten million had been rejected or stalled at headquarters.
After that dinner, just a few days later, the loan came through.
Two stamped checks.
Five million each.
Ten million total.
“Holy shit!”
“Holy shit!”
In the company office, seeing the two checks, Wang Chuang’s eyes bulged and every hair on his body stood on end.
Ten million!!!
This was that ten million!
Holy shit!
He’d never seen that much money in his life!
Ones, tens, hundreds, thousands, ten-thousands, hundred-thousands, millions, ten millions—
Eight digits. Seven zeros. For real?!
Holy shit!
Holy shit!!!
So excited he was nearly incoherent, Wang Chuang shouted, “We’ve struck it rich! We’ve struck it rich!!!”
He waved Jiang Luo over. “Quick, quick—hold them, I’ll take a photo.”
“We have to get a picture.”
“At least one keepsake.”
He picked up the checks from the desk, incredibly careful, his hands trembling.
Trembling, he held the checks up in front of his chest and had Jiang Luo take pictures with the camera he’d specifically brought from home.
Afterward, he insisted on taking pictures of Jiang Luo too.
Jiang Luo laughed, took the checks, and teased him. “Have some dignity.”
Wang Chuang grabbed the camera. “Give me ten million and you can curse my grandson’s grandson—I won’t complain.”
“Come on, hold them up. I’ll shoot.”
“After this one, we’ll take one together.”
So there, in front of the desk, Jiang Luo held the two checks and smiled at the lens.
Click, click—the moment was frozen on several rolls of film, becoming the first record of the Year of the Goat, 1991.
—
But Jiang Luo’s first meeting with Mo Wanzhen in the Year of the Goat was when she came to the company to resign.
“Sit.”
From behind his desk, Jiang Luo gestured for her to sit, then calmly voiced his confusion. “Why resign? Are you unhappy with the job?”
Mo Wanzhen sat down, clearly finding it hard to speak.
What was she supposed to say?
That her family wasn’t satisfied with a monthly allowance of 200 yuan, wanted her to bring her younger siblings from home, even hoped she’d pull some strings so her own brother could sit in an office at the new factory as management?
That a few days earlier she’d slipped back to Haicheng without a word, without luggage?
Or that after she ran off, her family had bombarded the counter’s landline with calls, calling her ungrateful, accusing her of not thinking of the family, of being selfish?
She didn’t know where to begin. She pressed her lips together and lowered her head.
Jiang Luo knew her family situation well enough. He didn’t need to think hard to know that now that she was earning money in Haicheng, Mo Wanzhen was not only the family’s prized treasure, but also “fat meat” in the eyes of her vampire parents—something they wanted to squeeze dry.
He didn’t press her. Instead, he said directly, “The factory’s expanding and needs people. Go there instead. New environment, new things to learn.”
Perfect for shaking off her bloodsucking parents back home.
But Mo Wanzhen looked up. “President Jiang, I’d still like to resign.”
“Thank you for always taking such good care of me.”
“I’ve thought it through these past few days.”
“I’m resigning. I’m going to Guangzhou.”
…
Later, at the factory, Jiang Luo saw Zhang Ningfu. One look at his drooping, dispirited expression and Jiang Luo knew his family hadn’t let him off either.
Standing by his office desk, Jiang Luo poured himself tea from a thermos, speaking as he worked. “What, are you resigning too?”
“Huh?”
Only then did Zhang Ningfu look up, bewildered. “Re-resign?”
No—he hadn’t said that.
Jiang Luo finished pouring the tea, capped the thermos, glanced at him, and said lightly, “Didn’t have a good New Year, did you?”
“What’s going on with your wife and son?”
“Just say it.”
Zhang Ningfu finally sighed and stepped forward. “President Jiang, I… I…”
Jiang Luo took the hot tea and sat behind the desk, waiting.
Zhang Ningfu looked especially troubled. After hesitating a long moment, he finally said, “President Jiang, my son wants to come work at the factory. And my daughter-in-law. And my wife.”
“Oh.”
Leaning back in his chair, Jiang Luo blew on the tea, utterly calm. “They want to come run the place, huh?”
“All of them come—who’s watching the granddaughter? Bring her to the factory too? Me?”
He said it with biting sarcasm.
Already embarrassed, Zhang Ningfu now found it even harder to continue. He lowered his head, sighing again and again, the very picture of an honest man at a loss.
Jiang Luo sipped his tea, leaned back, and continued unhurriedly. “So what is it? They think because the factory came from buying the workshop back then, because you’re ‘core staff’ and a ‘major contributor,’ they deserve a slice of the pie? They want shares?”
Zhang Ningfu hadn’t expected Jiang Luo to guess it outright. He felt even guiltier. He glanced up at Jiang Luo, then quickly dropped his gaze again, sighed, shook his head, and said,
“I told them—the factory isn’t mine. It’s not mine. It’s yours, President Jiang. But… but they just won’t listen!”