Chapter 88: An Investigation

“This has something to do with you as well. If you hadn’t bought our daughter that new schoolbag, would our family have caught anyone’s attention?” Lin Jiayin was fuming with anger, but after she finished speaking, she took a deep breath to calm herself.

“Teacher Wang wants our family to pay for repairing the outer wall of the kindergarten. Isn’t it obvious she thinks we’ve made some money and wants her cut?” She explained the situation and summed it up at the end.

Chen Huajiang finally understood, but this only made him more puzzled. Suddenly, he remembered that something like this had happened in his previous life.

Back then, he had just been dismissed from his job. Being honest, he hadn’t even asked Gou Zhiguo for any severance pay, and life was very tight. He spent his days drinking. At that time, Lin Jiayin was deeply troubled and he had even scolded her, thinking she was looking down on him—believing that her worried expression was a sign of contempt for his inability to make money. Later, he learned that it really was about money: it was the matter of the kindergarten for the Red Flag Factory’s families collecting funds to repair the outer wall.

Every household chipped in except Huahuan’s family. As a result, at school, the teacher made things difficult for her and her classmates bullied her. For quite some time, Huahuan was left dejected and unhappy.

“This is something we should investigate further. Teacher Wang—Wang Xiufang—is indeed somewhat influential,” he said. “But as far as I know her, her power has limits. It’s unlikely she’d only target our family. We should ask around some more.”

“You haven’t made dinner yet, have you? Let’s not cook tonight. Let’s go out and buy some braised food, and at the same time, see what we can find out,” Chen Huajiang suggested, trying to comfort his wife.

“What’s there to investigate? When I picked up Huahuan from school today, she pulled me aside and whispered it to me. If this wasn’t about squeezing the family with money, why be so sneaky? Why not just announce it to everyone in class?” Lin Jiayin insisted on her view, but seeing Chen Huajiang’s gentle attitude, she decided to give him face. Deep down, she wanted to prove she was right—not out of petty jealousy, but because she felt Chen Huajiang was too trusting of others.

So, with Huahuan sitting on his shoulders and holding his wife’s hand, they left home together.

The braised food stalls were itinerant, and the Red Flag Factory was their biggest customer. But the nearby Thermos Factory’s family compound was also sizable, so the stalls typically set up between the two, leaning slightly toward the Red Flag Factory side.

There were three stalls clustered together, obviously teaming up for business, knowing this spot had heavy foot traffic and a ready market. Of the three, the leftmost stall was the most crowded, famed for its flavor. The owner was a middle-aged man in his forties, his face weathered and deeply lined with age. His surname was Huo, and everyone called him Boss Huo.

The other two stalls had customers as well, but far fewer than Boss Huo’s.

“Old He, your granddaughter will be starting elementary school next year, right?” Chen Huajiang approached an older worker by the stall.

The man’s name was He Sanmu, a senior fitter at the factory, set to retire in two years.

“Oh, it’s Little Chen,” he replied. “Yes, my Feifei turns seven next year—she’ll be starting at the factory’s elementary school. Why do you ask?”

He smiled, but there was a hint of distance in his demeanor, and he shifted a step away. Now that Chen Huajiang was no longer with the Red Flag Factory—just another dismissed worker—He Sanmu wanted to keep his distance. In those days, being dismissed from the factory was no less damaging than being expelled from the civil service in later years; people always assumed it was your own fault.

“I wanted to ask if your family was tapped to contribute to the kindergarten wall repairs, so we could coordinate about how to handle it,” Chen Huajiang said, noticing He Sanmu’s discomfort. He took out a cigarette and offered one.

“No, don’t bother. I was just about to borrow one,” He Sanmu declined both the cigarette and the request, barely hiding his disdain.

The cigarette was a Soft Zhong, a brand always in demand and considered high-end even years later. At that time, it was certainly a luxury. Seeing Chen Huajiang smoking Soft Zhong, He Sanmu was scornful. First, as an old-school worker, he looked down on a dismissed colleague. Second, he felt that someone like Chen Huajiang, out of work, had no business smoking expensive cigarettes. Even the factory directors didn’t dare smoke those, not because they couldn’t afford them, but because they worried about gossip.

Seeing the cold reception, Chen Huajiang didn’t bother with pleasantries and moved on to someone else.

This time he approached a younger worker named He Song, who happened to be He Sanmu’s nephew.

“Brother Chen, thanks,” He Song said. “About the kindergarten—yes, when I picked up my son two days ago, Teacher Wang pulled me aside and said something. I thought our family was singled out, but it turns out yours was too.”

Unlike his uncle, He Song accepted the cigarette with some envy but hesitated to light it, just tucking it behind his ear. Hearing Chen Huajiang’s question, he looked troubled, clearly sympathetic.

“It’s probably not just the two of us. Has anything happened at the factory recently? Are salaries still being paid?” Chen Huajiang continued, putting his own cigarette back in the pack when he saw He Song wasn’t going to smoke.

He had a craving—a holdover from his previous life. Since being reborn, he’d barely smoked, but the addiction seemed to transcend time and space, still lingering within him.

“Now that you mention it, Brother Chen, I think I get it.” He Song’s face darkened. “We ordinary workers haven’t been paid this month—wages are half a month late. My uncle and the older workers got theirs, but the factory says it’s a cash flow issue and we’ll be paid next month. Maybe the kindergarten can’t afford the wall repairs because of this.”

So that’s how it was. Chen Huajiang nodded, patted He Song’s shoulder, and offered some comfort.

He now felt certain: the economic crisis at Red Flag Factory—the one from his previous life—had begun.

In later years, many young people misunderstood one thing: the wave of layoffs in the 1990s actually began in the 1980s. It’s like a leaking ship—it doesn’t sink all at once but goes through plugging leaks, bailing water, reinforcing the hull, and various desperate measures before finally going under.

Hao Jianguo’s military factory was the first to have trouble; their workers hadn’t been paid for over half a year. Because of its particular status, the city’s other factories didn’t take heed. Later crises were patched over by delaying wages, paying partial salaries, cutting pay, and reducing benefits—until, in the 1990s, there simply wasn’t even a penny to pay, and the crisis exploded.

But that moment was still five or six years away. The troubles would drag on, off and on, for many years, not really ending until the year 2000.