Chapter 45: My Lord, I Truly Had No Intention of Stealing the Spotlight

Let Wei Dong personally witness the gradual abundance of goods through the nineties, then the explosive progress of the new century, followed by e-commerce toppling brick-and-mortar businesses, and eventually the fierce competition among e-commerce giants themselves. He didn’t grasp lofty theories, but sitting securely in the mailroom, he could certainly feel that food, clothing, and daily necessities were growing cheaper by the day.

“Oranges bought from the countryside cost only three cents a jin. If a family sells two thousand jin, that’s worth as much as a whole pig. With an orchard, growing two thousand jin of oranges is much easier than raising pigs for an entire year. Life’s better for the farmers. In the past, they didn’t dare plant so much because of weak transportation; the fruit would just rot on the ground. Isn’t that the truth?”

The leader, cigarette in hand, stayed silent.

Wei Dong continued, “The factory buys at seven cents, so there’s a profit of four cents per jin. For fifty thousand jin, that’s a gross profit of twenty thousand yuan. The transport company charges eighteen thousand, and loading and handling cost about three thousand yuan—those are jobs for the factory workers and the transport crew. At this stage, I make about seventeen thousand, but I lose it all in the sand and gravel transport business, because you can't guarantee a profit on every deal—losses and gains are normal.”

The leader seemed a bit lost in the details, but his gaze remained steadfast and unconvinced.

Wei Dong borrowed a common argument from social media about the clash between e-commerce and physical stores: “What matters isn’t just getting the oranges from the countryside to consumers’ hands, but how many people this process supports—how every step yields income. Farmers are motivated to clear more land and plant more trees, workers are willing to work overtime to produce more canned goods; when they earn money, they can buy more and better products. It’s a huge virtuous cycle, not a system where people survive by rationing and subsidies—people need hope, a future to look forward to. Tax is collected on commerce, and the more developed commerce becomes, the more tax can be collected to lift up poorer regions. That’s how everyone gains hope.”

The leader narrowed his eyes sternly. “You speak better than You Qili.”

Wei Dong, feeling as if he’d been pushed onto the stage, explained, “When you approved me to go to the transport company to learn to drive, I didn’t go immediately. While working on the docks, I met a businessman from Jiangsu and Zhejiang who took me from Jiangzhou to Jiangsu, Zhejiang, and Shanghai to deliver goods. That’s when I truly saw the commercial prosperity from the countryside to the big cities in those regions...”

As he described the richness and development of those land of fish and rice, the leader couldn’t help but listen with full attention.

Wei Dong, getting more animated, continued, “…I even met an expert who said Shanghai planned to build a high-speed highway—each kilometer costing hundreds of millions. From Shanghai to Zhejiang, from Sujing to Shanghai, everything would be connected. In the future, from Shangzhou to Jiangzhou to Rongdu, everything would be linked, and cars would be able to reach the provincial capital in just a few hours.”

The cigarette in the leader’s hand froze. “Hundreds of kilometers? Spend so much money just to drive a bit faster?”

Wei Dong tried to recall the right words: “This is called major infrastructure. The state, or the provinces, or even private companies pay to build the roads, then recoup the cost through tolls. The construction process alone supports countless families, creating jobs. Once the roads are finished, it’s easier to ship local specialties like oranges out, encouraging more planting and trade. Businessmen are more willing to come, set up factories, and the place thrives.”

The determined leader was not so easily swayed. “Impossible. Absolutely not! That’s all just talk—it’s bound to lead to big problems!”

Wei Dong had learned to argue, too. “But the journalists who came to interview said the point was to improve the business environment for reform and opening up, to create better order.”

The leader stubbed out his cigarette and snorted, too dismissive to even comment on such nonsense.

Wei Dong didn’t press the point. “We’ve talked about what you call speculation and what I see as business—now let me tell you about a company I encountered returning from Jiangsu, Zhejiang, and Shanghai. They specialize in making special pipelines for the oil industry. Because these pipelines are so crucial, they’re made with titanium alloy for durability. In the past, we had to import them at great expense, but now there are two factories in the country that can produce them: one in the northeast, the other in the southwest. I happened to help move goods for the southwestern factory, so when I got back to Jiangzhou, I went to them.”

Unlike You Qili, who loved grand speeches, Wei Dong preferred specific cases—discussing oranges, then titanium.

Even if he embellished a bit, the framework was honest. “It’s a military factory, a third-line factory—just as you said, built by the state, able to do only one thing. In the past, the state would take all the titanium ingots and send them to the satellite and aerospace industries in western Sichuan for research. Now, since last February or March, Jiangzhou has become a separately administered city, and this military factory under the Ministry of Metallurgy has been pushed into the market to fend for itself. The old system of state-run commercial and production units simply can’t survive anymore. They didn’t even know where to sell their titanium—the whole factory, thousands of people, had no idea what to do. What would you have them do?”

He gestured as he spoke. “This factory has spent decades making titanium, contributing so much. Now, with the national economy in trouble, even the satellite and aerospace industries are suspended. The people who once made atomic bombs now have to sell tea eggs to feed themselves. The factory director is the backbone of the enterprise; he said it with tears in his eyes—everyone’s livelihood depends on this. Should the factory apply for poverty county status and ask for subsidies?”

Nearly every county under the Shangzhou prefecture was a nationally designated poverty county.

Poor as they were, they insisted on pride to the bitter end—if they were going to refuse subsidies, they might as well starve with dignity.

It was as if he had struck a nerve. The leader’s steely gaze now burned as he stared at the young man before him, as if he could order Wei Dong thrown into jail with a slap on the table.

Wei Dong remained unfazed. “I helped them sell the titanium ingots, and in return, they let me take over the sales business and the truck. At least it solved the factory’s New Year food problem. Then, on my way back to Jiangzhou, the local police suggested I visit another group of military factories—five or six optical equipment factories, reportedly the country’s best producers of telescopes and artillery sights. They too are being restructured, forced to convert from military to civilian production. Once, they were like towns unto themselves, a whole region as big as a city living off the state, but that peaceful life is over.”

There were few third-line factories in Shangzhou, because the industrial base was thin and support industries were scarce.

But state factories everywhere had the same pattern. “I really love that feeling of a state-run factory—everything from birth to death provided by the state: cinema, library, school, hospital, everything, like a paradise. But the world is too big, and development outside is so fast. If we keep working slowly and inefficiently, we’ll fall even further behind the rest of the world. So, eliminating these old factory models is the only way forward.”

As a farmer, he understood. “In the countryside, we’ve already contracted land to individual households—people work harder and produce more; it’s nothing like the old days of communal teams. It was the same with the orange haul—state transport teams were inefficient, but in private business, everyone was motivated. Once factories in developed areas become this driven, backward regions in the southwest will be left in the dust—these factories will starve!”

Someone easily persuaded wouldn’t have been called an old stick-in-the-mud.

But there was a change in the leader’s eyes; he watched Wei Dong closely, waiting to see what he would say next.

He didn’t refuse the cigarette Wei Dong offered. “You can check with the authorities about the Hongguang Factory, same with the optical instrument plants. A few years ago, they started switching from telescopes to cameras, hoping every household could take photos to record their lives, but they don’t know how to sell them—before, the state just took everything. After the New Year, I plan to help them sell cameras, but not in Shangzhou. Everyone who wants to do business is quietly leaving, because You Qili and his people are the warning example.”

Hearing the name, the leader seemed to recall something. “What do you think of what he did?”

Wei Dong thought for a moment. “I was just a young man who finished college entrance exams this year and became a porter to pay for my father’s medical treatment. My father faces paralysis and needs expensive care. According to household registration rules, I’m not even allowed to work in the city. But nobody wants to be disabled for decades, just as nobody wants to spend their whole life in grinding poverty, so we do need people like You Qili to break new ground.”

He spoke with candor. “Watching You Qili and his group do business in the old street, it’s true, there was some boasting and exaggeration, but it inspired me to see more possibilities. He might go down in history as a pioneer of reform and opening, or as a notorious swindler, but it’s for time to judge. Just as whether reform and opening up should invigorate the commercial economy—time and the people will decide.”

This final emotional appeal was well played.

The leader, fifty or sixty years old, looked at the vibrant young man before him.

Compared to the balding, greasy You Qili, this youth was much easier on the eyes—like the sun at seven or eight in the morning, glowing with energy and warmth, without the cunning of an old fox.

So he slowly lit another cigarette. “If you’re all explorers of reform, you seem steadier and more reliable than You Qili. So you’re the one who should take responsibility for this situation.”

When had the old security guard at the tax bureau ever been the protagonist? He’d always been a bystander, a peripheral figure.

Now he was a little dazed. “Take responsibility for what?”

The old leader smiled as he had at their first meeting, nodding. “The provincial investigation team will arrive in a day or two. I have a clear conscience. You’ll be the one to face them.”

Wei Dong?

Wasn’t this stealing You Qili’s thunder?

He’d never wanted to stand in front of him.