Chapter 64: You Support Me, I Support You, Everyone Shines

After finishing the meal, Wei Dong became certain that Jin Zhuoqun was destined to leave his mark in the era of reform and opening. Though, as an old security guard, his own vision was limited.

After Jin Zhuoqun pointed out the profound potential of the film exhibition, he volunteered to handle its networking. His explanation was straightforward: “I enlisted from a rural area near Jicheng. Didn’t get promoted in the army, but luckily transferred here as a cultural soldier, so I didn’t have to go back and dig ditches…”

In fact, Lao Rang was much the same, only he had to return home and lay bricks. Besides taking university entrance exams, getting promoted in the army was the only path for rural folks to change their fate—Jin Zhuoqun managed to extend his run a few more years.

Jin Zhuoqun was crystal clear about his mission: “These years as a cultural soldier, I’ve traveled all over the country, performed everywhere, met plenty of top leaders. I’ve risked life and limb in the southern border battlefields. But when it came to the final chance for transfer, I couldn’t hold onto it—spent half a year at the Beijing Military Film Studio writing scripts, revising drafts, but never managed to get my personnel records transferred. Had to switch careers and wound up here where they took me in. Still, I refuse to believe I’m destined to stay here forever. I want to seize this chance and head back to Beijing, just to see.”

Wei Dong’s heart stirred. He knew he lacked the ability to orchestrate such things, and had neither the ambition nor the drive for relentless advancement. But if this film exhibition truly achieved some substance, its impact would surely be far greater than previous efforts.

He couldn’t help but slowly nod, “Brother Yu is here, so I won’t hide anything. I attended several symposiums in Beijing, and I got a very clear sense: Beijing is a place where the nation’s best gather and come and go each day. The organizers and the people who actually run things have seen it all. No matter how grand the event or passionate the speech, to them, it’s just routine business. Don’t take yourself too seriously.”

Such is the mindset of a security guard. Even the most impressive township tax reforms or the most sought-after inspectors in companies, to a security guard, they’re just colleagues slacking off every day.

He was hardly ever swept up by grand scenes. Only when he saw university students did he feel moved by their youthful spirit.

Yu Songhai’s eyes sparkled, hinting at something deeper: “That’s what’s unique about Wei Dong—he’s got the drive of reform and the steadiness of hard work. Lao Jin, you should talk more with Wei Dong about these things. I know you have big ambitions, but victory comes from conquering one hill at a time.”

Clearly, he was familiar with his comrade.

Jin Zhuoqun’s eyes shone even brighter, but his sentiment was, “That’s why I say we must turn this ordinary film exhibition into something exceptional. There are plenty of people who toil and bleed, but what’s the point if they never become known? We have to create a resounding triumph—sometimes a single local battle can change the whole strategic landscape!”

He raised his glass, full of heroic spirit, and drank deeply.

The old security guard was inwardly amazed.

Men love boasting, discussing politics, especially after a few drinks—it becomes a wild show. But this man really would take action.

Only in this era did such opportunities seem achievable.

Most people, even Yu Songhai, lacked such ambition and execution.

Wei Dong, with his vision crossing eras, could glimpse a direction, but he knew this path was fraught with danger.

If he knew of a solid way to earn money and change his fate, he wouldn’t gamble everything on this.

Yes, at this moment he was absolutely certain Jin Zhuoqun was a man like You Qili—a hero.

So Wei Dong raised his glass with a subtle smile, careful not to drink too much and lose control of his words.

He managed, “Well, since Brother Jin has such confidence, I can certainly entrust you with this task. Is there anything you need from me?”

The alcohol made Wei Dong’s thoughts lively, and after the college entrance exam, his intelligence was at its peak—he hadn’t yet been dulled by forty years of idle living.

He knew Jin Zhuoqun wanted just such an opportunity, just as he himself, once he had a hospital diagnosis last year, dared to walk openly in Jiangzhou without fear of being mistaken for a vagrant.

Jin Zhuoqun’s obsession with returning to Beijing showed itself: “Of course, you need to give me these agreements—the camera factory, the film factory, the newspaper. I have comrades, former leaders, and life-and-death friends in various departments. I’ll run these errands, but I’ll need some funding—give me ten thousand, I’ll settle accounts as needed.”

A ten-thousand-yuan household was a rare treasure in 1984, yet he spoke with such unrestrained flair—as if money could be picked up from the street.

And his expression was, “I’m asking you this because I respect you.”

Wei Dong laughed, “Agreements… there are quite a few. Does Guozhou have a copier? Or the provincial capital? I can give you copies.”

He deliberately noticed that when Jin Zhuoqun mentioned ten thousand, Yu Songhai’s eyebrows twitched, and when the copier was mentioned, his mouth opened but he said nothing.

As a journalist, he should be most familiar with copiers.

At that moment, Yu Songhai remained neutral.

But hearing about the copies, he relaxed—he must have realized his comrade was capable of stirring things up.

Jin Zhuoqun frowned, displeased, “Copier? Where would I find such a thing? I’ll take them to Beijing and copy them for you. Would I ever harm you?”

Unexpectedly, the secretary, who had been seated quietly like a transparent sticker, occasionally pouring Wei Dong a drink and focusing on the dishes, suddenly spoke up, “There’s one in the provincial capital, near the office at Rongjin Restaurant—sixty cents per page.”

She went back to eating, savoring a slice of spicy tenderloin.

Wei Dong felt, for the first time, the benefit of having a secretary.

Indeed, besides emotional value, that little girl Dong Xueqing couldn’t provide such technical support.

He nodded with a smile, “All right, I’ll have them copied in the provincial capital for you. As for funding, I’ll give you five hundred.”

Jin Zhuoqun’s handsome northern face flashed a hint of sarcasm, “Then forget it. Are you dismissing me like a beggar?”

In that instant, Wei Dong considered whether to simply call it off.

For him, it was merely a cherry on top.

Why invite trouble?

But since he was already making over twenty thousand a week, he had more confidence than ever before.

He wanted to see just how interesting this could get.

So he laughed, “Brother Jin, asking for ten thousand is treating me like a fool. Honestly, if I gave it to you, would you treat me as your benefactor? No, you’d see me as a big sucker, and next time ask for even more, raising the stakes each time, treating me as your personal ATM.”

Yu Songhai quietly continued eating.

Jin Zhuoqun’s gaze met Wei Dong’s, clearly surprised that this young, plainly dressed man could play such a sharp, straight game.

But his face showed no avoidance, “But five hundred yuan in Beijing won’t get you much—barely covers a meal.”

The secretary looked up, startled, then returned to her spicy pork, clearly doubting such expensive food could exist.

In this era, the finest Maotai cost only eighteen yuan a bottle.

Even the best feast in a prefectural city wouldn’t exceed thirty or forty yuan.

Wei Dong expected nothing special from official banquets, maintaining his calm smile, “Are you my employee, my assistant? How much you should get, how much support, that’s my responsibility. Every expenditure has a clear financial item. Since you talk about settling accounts, then if I give you ten thousand, you’d have to obey me for life as my subordinate—can you do that?”

Jin Zhuoqun’s face changed, “You’re joking, brother. I’m helping you accomplish something big, not becoming your servant. That’s a bit disrespectful.”

Wei Dong smiled even more, “So since you’re not my man, if I give you money just for results, isn’t that foolish?”

Jin Zhuoqun wanted to argue.

Wei Dong asserted, “Is it really important whether the film exhibition gets a leader’s inscription or presence? What matters is the connections made, the circles entered during the process. The inscriptions and presence are just the tea brewed after the water’s boiled. But the stove, kettle, and pipes are paid for by me, yet they become your assets. Isn’t that right?”

Yu Songhai finally put down his chopsticks, openly observing Wei Dong.

The logic of asking for favors—the old security guard had seen it for forty years in the tax office. Wasn’t tax all about clear accounting?

Jin Zhuoqun smiled, raising his glass, “Brother, you’re truly extraordinary. So young, yet you see clearly what’s important. I toast you.”

Negotiations are always easier over drinks—any time, you can use drinking as a diversion.

But Wei Dong only sipped, “To sum up, paving the way with money isn’t difficult. With Brother Jin’s abilities, giving you money to get things done is actually harming you. A truly capable person should accomplish big things with little money. The process is what shapes you. If you ever succeed, remember I’m willing to lend a hand—we can work together instead of scheming against each other. That’s a win for all. I’ll cover today’s meal, wait for you a few days in the provincial capital. Until we meet again.”

He tried to strike a nonchalant pose as he stood to leave—any longer and his mind would be exhausted.

The secretary quickly finished a piece of spicy chicken, gracefully stood and bowed to the two men.

Wei Dong was already at the counter, settling the bill. He thought of scenes in TV dramas and handed the secretary two hundred yuan, “From now on, you handle payments.”

That way, his departure would be even more impressive.

Zhang Lanzhi, sure enough, knew what to do—her mouth bulging with chicken bones, she asked the restaurant for a receipt.