Chapter 41: The Foundation Lies in Popular Support

Wei Dong was indeed the kind of person who could arouse envy.
But he had far more supporters than detractors.
This was because, for the first time at the riverside freight yard, he paid cash on the spot.
Typically, with sand and cement, unloading was done by first dumping the goods from the boat—this was called “breaking the slope.”
The goods would be piled at the yard, and only after securing a deal with a transport company would they be shipped elsewhere—this was called “raising the slope.”
Unloading then reloading meant two separate jobs.
But Wei Dong owned his own truck and was already well-acquainted with several other truck drivers.
The key was, ever since he started moving oranges, payment was made daily.
He’d pay each driver sixty yuan a day, straight into their pockets.
By the end of the run, each had made just over two hundred for the job—a truly happy New Year for their families.
Moreover, word of this spread through card games and chatter at the teahouse.
When people heard that moving sand and stone was being handled this way, everyone rushed in as if possessed, eager to join.
The entire Second Transport Company, with seventeen or eighteen trucks old and new—tractors included—crowded in to haul loads.
The supervisors, busy playing cards and sticking notes on their foreheads, naturally turned a blind eye.
After all, Wei Dong paid the transport company its due; each sand truck was paid per basketful, and drivers collected their cash at the end of the day.
As a result, a rare scene unfolded: trucks lining up waiting for boats—a striking sight in a year when transport capacity was so precious, yet here were convoys waiting their turn.
Unloading was done straight from ship to truck, which then circled back to queue again.
Efficiency soared, and transportation costs dropped considerably.
Yet when Wei Dong saw the laborers—shirtless even in the bleak lunar month, a rag slung over their shoulders, dressed in tattered trousers and straw sandals, their bodies dripping with sweat—many were familiar faces who had “carried goods” with him at the dock only days before.
He started recalculating his expenses, trying to spread more profit to the laborers.
He didn’t worry about disrupting the long-standing pricing system; he simply thought, “If I want to pay, I’ll pay.”
Who shouldn’t have a proper Spring Festival?
Especially when he saw women and children from poor families quietly joining the queue with their baskets—he simply gave away all the sand and stone profits, even supplementing with earnings from the oranges.
He handed his truck over to a retired old driver from the transport company to earn some money, while he stayed by the side to watch over the details. In the end, he still had to call on Wolong and Phoenix Chick to record the payouts.
Having worked a year as a shop assistant, Dong Xueying was experienced and knew exactly what to do.
Ironically, for over a year, You Qili and the others had chanted slogans about serving the people, racking up hundreds of thousands in sales, yet none of that had moved her as much as Wei Dong’s actions.
When she heard Wei Dong say he’d seen children and women coming to carry sand, and that anyone else in need could join, she immediately went out that very night to organize people.
There were plenty of poor residents in the city, especially with the economy so strictly managed that regular folks had no means to earn extra money—often faring worse than farmers who could at least scratch out a living from the land.
At dawn, she even ran to the factory rubbish dump a kilometer downriver to gather people.
Phoenix Chick, originally in charge of accounting, saw Wei Dong joking and handing out cigarettes among the men and, arms full with her child, stumbled after her sister to help.

She knew there was hardship in the city, but hadn’t imagined it was this dire.
The rubbish dump wasn’t a building, but a shared dumping spot for several nearby factories.
Riverside docks in the city were built against cliffs several stories high; every morning, factories with boilers dumped huge loads of coal ash, or cleared out the previous day’s production waste.
Women and children, unable to find work or do heavy labor, tied towels around their mouths and scrambled up the steep, slippery mounds, searching for unburned coal to carry home for heating and cooking.
If a cotton mill, paper mill, or printing factory dumped their waste, crowds would rush in with baskets on their backs to snatch it up!
If lucky, they’d recover some cotton thread or scrap paper to sell, but if hit by a rock or iron, it was just bad luck.
Watching women and children hold baskets above their heads, hiding their faces under the rim, only to be buried in a sudden downpour of garbage, then scramble out to keep scavenging—Dong Xueqing finally understood why her sister had never let her join in collecting coal or scrap paper as a child.
A local young woman, well-familiar with the area, quickly rounded up the other women and children, directing them to hurry to the freight dock to carry sand for cash—no need to go far or carry much, just shuttle between the truck and the boat.
Dong Xueqing, tears in her eyes, led the group along the river path.
From a distance, Wei Dong saw this crowd of dust-covered women and children arrive. Laughing and cursing, he squeezed out from among the men and gave them the best unloading spot, parking his truck directly alongside the barge.
The women and children worked together, passing loads by hand, even using dustpans to lighten the burden.
He didn’t let them mix with the burly, professional laborers, as it would disrupt the flow and they’d be easily pushed into the river.
He kept the old driver company with small talk, so the man wouldn’t get impatient waiting.
Seeing Phoenix Chick climbing the side of the ship with her child in her arms to count loads, he could only helplessly take the baby from her.
That evening, he scolded her for being too earnest: “You were only supposed to take roll call for show, not actually count every last load to the penny. This is just an excuse to hand out New Year’s money to those who worked hard. If you make your child sick, the cost of treatment will be more than any wage you earn.”
Having been caught by the English teacher, Wei Dong couldn’t go play cards at the teahouse, and with nowhere else to go that night, he just ate at the dock and came back to watch TV.
He called his parents to say he’d come home in a few days, deciding to stay put for now.
Phoenix Chick insisted on watching TV with him, and Wolong, silently facilitating, probably even encouraged her, sending her daughter over as well.
The little one was like a prop, comfortably nestled in Wei Dong’s arms, curiously watching the flickering screen.
Wei Dong hardly dared raise his voice, always lowering his head to amuse the child.
Phoenix Chick treated the place as her brother-in-law’s room, wandering around with her hands behind her back, undeterred even by scolding.
These old city brick houses were all low, dark, with uneven clay floors. The kitchen, main room, and bedroom varied in size according to whim. There was a toilet for urinating, but for other needs, you’d have to use the public restroom outside.
Livable, but probably not much different from a century ago.
Wei Dong had inquired and learned that houses still couldn’t be bought; these homes were all old family properties reclaimed after the reforms.
Their father had died young, and their mother had passed away a few years ago—the two sisters only had a roof over their heads thanks to the policy of returning homes.
So, he still had to buy a place in Jiangzhou, but for now, making do here didn’t bother him.
Dong Xueqing flipped through the magazines and books at the bedside, fiddled with the TV antenna, examined the tape recorder, and even tried to pop out the cassette, exclaiming with surprise, “You’re learning Russian! I see you have Russian textbooks. I studied Russian too, got top marks.”
Wei Dong realized—no wonder she was Old You’s trusted housekeeper; perhaps she was already an insider in the airplane trade.
She was worth keeping around; Phoenix Chick might well be a key helper in the airplane deal.
Russian lessons thus gained a new companion. Dong Xueqing marveled, “Brother-in-law, your pronunciation is exactly like mine.”

Wei Dong did some mental math and realized she was only two or three years younger than Old Lady Shi—they had both attended No. 1 High and were, in fact, fellow alumni, with her being the junior.
Wolong, now like a seasoned housekeeper, dressed dowdily and bundled up tightly, urged the two to the riverbank to practice languages, while she handled the enthusiastic women and children eager to carry sand.
Yesterday, they’d handed out over a thousand yuan to seventy or eighty people; today, even more turned up, and many laborers had brought their wives and children to earn a little extra.
Wei Dong nodded, “No problem,” and even showed off a bit to the other drivers: “We’re all men here; let’s not compete with the women and kids. It’s the holidays—let’s give them a little more, make everyone happy.”
The company drivers, already enjoying a high status, didn’t spend a penny of their own, yet now also basked in the virtue of charity.
They were firmly on Wei Dong’s side.
In private, everyone figured out Wei Dong must have used the orange profits to subsidize the dock work. Word spread that none of the other orange collection trips had ever been this generous—this was a benefit Little Wei had fought for everyone.
Anyway, the boss didn’t charge it to the now-sealed Wan Shang Trading Company, but to the legendary Hongguang Metalworks.
That big truck made the company’s identity clear.
Not even the usual dock bosses or gangs dared say a word. Not only was the military factory’s name intimidating, but the public support was now overwhelming.
The whole freight dock was bustling with joy and excitement.
So when the tax officials appeared on the dock in uniform, they were genuinely surprised.
With a few more fluttering banners, the usually chaotic wharf would have resembled a grand official campaign.
Trouble may have started with the group of blue-gray uniformed officials, among whom was one in white, conspicuously standing out.
Most people on the dock had never dealt with the tax bureau and couldn’t even tell what department the uniforms belonged to.
But seeing the team head straight for Wei Dong, the entire dock surged as if a wave, as if a handful of peppercorn had been tossed into a sea of happiness—no noise, but the flavor and mood changed.
Everyone crowded around.
Wei Dong’s legs trembled a little—damn, was this about the trading company, or that little minx Shi Linyan’s mother?
Fortunately, the man in white was the one who would later become deputy director—a familiar face, a stickler for the rules and with an old policeman’s temperament—so Wei Dong felt less nervous.
More importantly, he recognized all the tax officers, at least from afar.
So he stood calmly as they approached: “Comrade Wei Dong? We’ve received a report that you’re suspected of tax evasion. Please come to the bureau and explain the matter.”
In the eighties, the tax bureau acted like a law enforcement agency—ready for a real fight, in the physical sense.
These were some of the bureau’s toughest!
Perhaps even they were wary of Wei Dong, the butcher who’d once killed two men.
They were prepared in case he resisted violently.
But now, Wei Dong didn’t even need to speak. A crowd of drivers pressed in around him, faces dark. The laborers, porters, and carriers—seasoned workers—closed ranks with the pungent force of chemical weapons, easily forming a silent wall of over a hundred, all eyes fixed on the officials.
They all knew: if Wei Dong was taken away, today’s work would be for nothing.