Chapter Sixty-Three: A Day in the Life of Hao Jianguo

North District of Nanming City, a tree-lined path near the residential compound attached to the 115 Military Factory.

“Damn it, when will these days ever end? We can’t even get paid again this month. If things keep going like this, I’ll set the factory on fire myself—death either way.”

A young man of about twenty-five or twenty-six grumbled as he pushed a heavy bicycle with one hand and carried a bottle of liquor in the other.

The liquor was Hengshui Laobaigan, the strongest spirits available on the market these days—cheap, potent, and plentiful, favored by many workers.

His name was Hao Jianguo, a worker at the 115 Military Factory. Today was payday; he had set out full of anticipation to collect his wages, only to return home disappointed.

The factory had been performing poorly, its production halted for nearly a year, with wages unpaid for half that time.

Many employees of the 115 Factory had taken odd jobs during this period, selling goods to make ends meet. But Hao Jianguo felt it beneath him; he was a graduate of a technical college and a level-six technician—surely not just another ordinary worker. He believed the factory would recover; military factories weren’t like others, the government would never let them go unpaid.

So for half a year, he did nothing, living off his savings, sinking deeper into hardship, and developing a taste for drinking.

He took a long gulp from the bottle, thinking of his wife and his two-year-old son at home. The more he thought, the greater his sense of grievance—how could they go on like this?

If he didn’t get paid soon, they’d have nothing left to cook at home. His pride was crushed, and he even began considering going to the countryside to buy farm produce for resale.

“Jianguo! Over here, hurry up!”

Suddenly, a voice from the entrance of the residential compound caught his attention.

He looked over and saw a group of young men, all in their early twenties, standing beneath the banyan tree at the gate.

They all looked at him, their expressions tinged with disdain.

In the past, Hao Jianguo would never have approached; he would have preferred to take the back gate home rather than pass through their gaze.

These were ordinary workers, most with only elementary or vocational school education. His pride made him look down on them.

He looked down on others, so naturally, they didn’t care for him.

But the one who beckoned was Hao Qiang, his friend—a plump man who had graduated from a vocational school.

Firstly, Hao Qiang’s education was a bit higher, earning Jianguo’s respect. Secondly, Hao Qiang was personable, always addressing him as “Brother Jianguo,” which made him likable.

Hao Qiang was Jianguo’s only friend at the factory, and now, with his pride eroded by hardship, Jianguo pushed his bicycle over, almost against his better judgment.

“Well, Jianguo, what brings you here today?”

“I thought you’d just turn away and leave. Didn’t expect the big scholar to hang out with us ordinary workers.”

“Yeah, always looking down on everyone, but we never looked down on you.”

The crowd watched Jianguo approach, their words tinged with sarcasm.

“All right, enough. We’re all people from the military factory, brothers from the same place.”

“We’re all in trouble now, let’s not fuss over past grudges.”

Hao Qiang smoothed things over, reminding everyone of their shared predicament, dissolving old resentments.

“So, what’s going on? Did you guys get your wages?” Jianguo parked his bicycle, his eyes drawn to the stack of cash in Hao Qiang’s hand, surprised.

Hao Qiang held a thick wad of bills—tens, fives, ones, not a single coin.

“Kanggezis” was local slang in Nanming City for coins.

“Of course not, you know full well the factory can’t pay wages.”

“This is for show—to bolster our numbers. There’s going to be a negotiation at Longshou Mountain this evening, and they need people to make a strong impression.”

“Two yuan per person and a pack of Asthma cigarettes. Are you in?”

Hao Qiang waved the cash, looking at Jianguo.

He wasn’t too confident; he knew Jianguo’s pride.

But they were friends, and Hao Qiang knew Jianguo’s family was struggling, so he called him over.

“To bolster numbers?” Jianguo thought it over. He knew it wouldn’t be so simple—these gatherings often ended in brawls.

“Yes,” Hao Qiang nodded.

“Jianguo, it’s just standing around, two yuan, easy.”

“Yeah, if you’re afraid of losing face, you can leave.”

“Two yuan is as much as two days’ worth of street vending. I’m in, anyway.”

The crowd chimed in, urging Jianguo.

“All right.”

After a moment’s hesitation, Jianguo nodded and reached out his hand.

Even a penny can drive a hero to desperation. He’d thought of his wife and son.

So Hao Qiang handed him two yuan and a pack of cigarettes. Jianguo took the money but declined the cigarettes, giving them back to Hao Qiang—he didn’t smoke.

Hao Qiang then placed a form before Jianguo, piquing his interest.

It was a temporary employment contract, detailing today’s arrangement, but instead of “bolstering numbers for negotiations,” it claimed the event was for “reforestation at Longshou Mountain.”

The employer’s name was Chen Huajiang, leaving Jianguo baffled. He never expected such a formal document for a simple job, much less for this occasion.

As for “reforestation,” no one believed it; everyone took it as a joke.

“Who’s Chen Huajiang?” Jianguo asked as he signed his name.

“Who knows?”

“Supposedly a businessman from Hong Kong.”

“No idea, never heard the name, but he must be rich.”

Everyone shook their heads, just as puzzled as Jianguo, but they all noted the name Chen Huajiang.

So, with two yuan and a pack of cigarettes, Chen Huajiang had “hired” some workers from the 115 Military Factory, and made a name for himself in the process.

Jianguo pushed his bicycle into the compound, but suddenly a thought struck him—if people were needed here to bolster numbers, what about elsewhere?

If this happened multiple times?

He would never have done such a humiliating thing before, but now he got back on his bike and rode off again.

Sure enough, across the street at the flour factory’s residential compound, another crowd had gathered.

“That flour factory still doesn’t pay wages. How are we supposed to live? I’m joining in.”

Since they were strangers, Jianguo felt slightly less embarrassed and squeezed in.

“Here, two yuan and a pack, sign your name.”

The leader here was a blunt, straightforward man who handed Jianguo the money and cigarettes, then asked him to sign the contract.

Jianguo scribbled a random name, then pushed his bike and left quickly, head down.